#instead of them being stuck in the kitchen taking care of making the evening happen

[ghosttotheparty]

a place where i belong

also on ao3 // 13k words cw: verbal abuse; gaslighting; family angst; smut/nsfw

He’s in the kitchen when he hears it. Standing by the sink and downing a painkiller, shoes on, jacket on, car keys in hand. He pauses when he hears it, hypervigilant as always, freezing without swallowing the gulp of water, the pill floating in his mouth for a moment as he realizes.

A car pulls into the driveway. 

He swallows, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, and he sets the glass in the sink. 

He’d forgotten they were coming back today. It’s been on the calendar, marked with a vague, innocuous red dot that he’d begun to look past, to look through, to ignore without meaning to. He’s been too focused on everything else, on his own messy handwriting reading Lucas basketball - 3pm and kids theater - noon and Max physical therapy - 1pm. His weekly hours are jotted down on a piece of paper that’s stuck to the wall next to the calendar, updated every Saturday evening. Robin’s handwriting is just as bad as his, but he’s gotten better at reading it, the same way she’s gotten better at reading his. 

Steve rests his back against the counter by the sink, taking a breath, steeling himself. He crosses his arms, clutching his keys in his hand so tightly the teeth bite into his palm. He looks at the ground. Follows the lines between the tiles with his eyes like he’s mapping out a maze. Or an escape.

He hears the front door open. Hears some shuffling, some muttering, the clunking of suitcases coming through the entryway. 

And then he hears, “Steven, your car is filthy, when was the last time you had it washed?”

 His eyes get stuck on a tile, at the corner of it. The tiles used to be a pristine, shining, sparkling white. When Steve was a little boy, they were always sparkling. Glistening. Always freshly mopped, scrubbed, waxed. They don’t look like that anymore. They’re dull now, still white but just barely grey. The one Steve is looking at has a crack in it. It’s a tiny crack, thin as a hair, branching off from the corner, but he sees it from where he’s standing. 

“A few weeks ago,” he says, even though he knows it’s been months. “I don’t know.” 

The house has aged with him, he thinks. His parents stopped making sure the floors were being taken care of when they started leaving. They stopped making sure the chimney was cleaned, the pool was cleaned, the walls were sturdy. Steve gave up on keeping everything in order when he started high school. When he started to question whether or not they were coming back at all instead of what day they’d show up. 

Steve stares at the tile. Traces the crack in it. 

“Steven, I paid good money for that car, I expect you to take care of it.”

He nods at the floor. 

Quiet. 

Good. 

He hates when they come home. It’s like the house gets a little colder, like the echoes of the kids’ laughter get sucked out the windows. Like the last burning embers in the fireplace have turned to ash. 

It doesn’t happen often, them coming home. But when it does…

“Goodness, this floor is filthy. We need to get these tiles replaced.” 

He blends into the walls. Turns to mist that they look right through. Fades back into the little boy he used to be, too small to look into his father’s eyes or to reach the liquor cabinet, quiet and well-behaved and good. 

They keep talking. He doesn’t hear his name. He keeps looking at the floor. He decides he likes the crack in that tile. He kind of wishes they were all like that. It took almost twenty years for that crack to appear, that tiny, thin crack. He wonders how many tiles there are in the whole room, wants to multiply that number by twenty. See if he’ll still be alive when they’re all like this one, damaged so subtly he has to look for it. He imagines it, the tiles grey and dusty with age, cracks spreading across them like a spiderweb across the floor. In his head, it’s beautiful. 

And then he remembers that they want to replace them now. Because they’re not as shiny as they used to be. 

Steve doesn’t feel very shiny. He doesn’t think he’s ever been shiny. 

They’re still talking. Steve exhales. 

His eyes find a scuff on his shoe. He blinks at it, trying to remember where it came from, and for an awful, awful second he thinks it’s from gym class, from basketball practice, from fucking around in alleyways, before he remembers. 

He thinks it’s from the Upside Down. From running, hiding, fighting. 

The keys bite into his palm, and he loosens his grip, inhaling sharply as his brain registers the pain. He looks at his hand, holding his fingers open to make sure he isn’t bleeding. He isn’t. His skin is red, indents from the teeth of the keys sharp in his skin, in the creases of his palms. 

Fuck. 

He looks at the clock across the room, and for a moment he wants to just leave silently, to walk right past them to the front door. But he doesn’t. 

“Uh,” he says, quietly enough that he isn’t really interrupting them. They both look at him, turning their heads a little but still glancing at him out of the sides of their eyes, and he finally looks at them. Sees them. They look older than he thought they did, lines around their eyes and mouths and on their foreheads. His father’s hair is mostly grey now, his mother's still dark red. It looks fake, just like the pearls around her neck. “I need to… go.”

“Go where?”

“To— To pick up some kids.” He stutters. He hates stuttering. “And take them home, I— I told their parents I’d get them home by six.”

Walter sneers. 

“Why are you driving children around?” he asks. But he isn’t really asking anything at all. He’s just… commenting. Like he always it. Your grades are shit. Your car is dirty. Why are you driving children around?

“I’m their babysitter,” Steve says. He used to hate that word. It felt so demeaning. He remembers his babysitters from when he was little, teenagers that only took the job for the money instead of for Steve, teenagers that would spend hours in the living room smoking or nursing beers and watching movies while Steve played by himself upstairs or in the corner. 

But he doesn’t mind it now. Being the babysitter. Driving the kids around. Making sure they’re okay, they’re safe and healthy and happy. Even though he tells them to shut up, he likes hearing their laughter and relentless bickering from the backseat. Even though he calls them little shits, he thinks he loves them. 

“Babysitter,” Walter repeats dryly. He’s making that face again. He’s always making that face at Steve. Like he smells, like he’s a stain on the carpet. Like he’s a dirty floor tile. Walter sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “We’re going to need to discuss your career plans, Steven, you can’t go on with your life babysitting.” 

Steve stares at him blankly. He won’t meet Steve’s eye. 

He’s wearing a suit. He’s always wearing a suit. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him in anything else. 

And now, come to think of it, Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him. 

It’s been months that they’ve been away. Months since they’ve stepped through the front door into the boring entryway, through the boring hallway, into the boring kitchen. With no greeting, no Hi, Steve, how’ve you been? No We missed you, how are your friends? What happened with the earthquakes and the serial killer? Are you okay?

Nothing. 

A comment about the dirt on Steve’s car, and the dull floor tiles, and Steve’s future career. He wonders if they even know what color his eyes are. 

“Right,” he says finally, his hand clenching around the keys again. “Well, I’d love to have that conversation with you, but I really need to go, so…”

“We just got home,” Catherine says sharply, looking at him from where she’s sitting at the table, unbuckling her high heels. “You haven’t seen us in months, Steven, and this is how you greet us?” 

Steve looks at her. At her hair. It’s stiff with hairspray, piled up on top of her head in fake curls. Her makeup is creasing in her wrinkles, and her lipstick is faded around the center of her lips. Steve blinks. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here right now,” he says carefully. “And I already told the kids’ parents I’d have them home by six, it should only take a few minutes.” He pauses, looking at her but feeling Walter’s eyes on him. Like he’s analyzing him, looking for faults. He can’t see the scars under Steve’s shirt. “I can’t just leave them there,” he says, pausing, thinking about how worried the kids would be. How they’d blow up the walkies trying to contact him, calling Eddie and Robin and even Nancy to ask if they know where he is, if they’ve heard from him. But he knows Walter would just laugh. “I’m responsible for them,” he finishes. 

And he starts toward the door. 

“When did you turn into such a little adult?” Catherine says lightly behind him, teasing. Careless. 

He stops walking, fist tightening on the keys again. He’s facing the doorway, and the room is quiet except for the soft shuffling of her shoe on the ground as she undoes the buckle. And he feels like his whole body is aching and sore, because he was nine. 

The first time they left him home alone. It was just a few days while they went to Indianapolis, but he remembers how quiet the house was. How he suddenly missed the smell of cigarettes and weed, how he missed the indistinct chatter of the television, of his babysitters’ voices muffled through the walls while they talked to their friends on the phone. He sat on the stairs for a while after hearing their car pull out of the driveway. Like he was waiting. 

He realized after a few hours that without a babysitter, he could go outside. It was his first time outside without supervision. 

He just tried to catch the fireflies. 

Steve turns around and looks at them. They’re both looking back at him, eyebrows raised curiously at the way he stopped short, at the way he froze. 

“Probably when I turned into an actual adult,” he says, his voice quieter than he intends. 

Walter scoffs. 

Steve feels like he just plunged into Lovers’ Lake again. Ice cold all over, in the dark. Eyes straining to see what’s ahead of him. 

“You’re an adult when you finish high school, Steven. You’re a child.”

Steve blinks. 

His gaze shifts over to him, to that fucking expression, at the earnestness in his eyes. The fucking ignorance. And Steve, inexplicably, laughs.

It’s a short laugh, but it’s almost hysterical, and he really just doesn’t know how the fuck else to react, to respond. They’re looking right at him. And they can’t see the age in his eyes, in his height, his face. They don’t even know him. He’s a stranger in their house. 

They’re strangers too. 

“I’m an adult, Dad,” Steve says dryly after the laugh, still half-smiling, even as the expression on Walter’s face deepens. Condescending, and mean, and judging, and even with the grey hair and the wrinkles, he’s the same man that Steve used to look up at as a child. “I graduated high school,” Steve says before Walter can say anything. “Two years ago.” 

Walter blinks, making a face and looking at Catherine, who just raises an eyebrow at Steve. 

“You were in Italy,” Steve says, trying as hard as he can to remain light, nonchalant, to keep his voice soft and sweet and quiet and good. “I sent you an invitation to the ceremony.”

“Oh, Steven, you know we never check our main when we’re abroad,” Catherine says lightly. 

Steve looks at her. The faux kindness in her eyes. The smile gracing her red lips. Like it’s Steve's fault. Like he’s a child.

He hates her. 

“Right,” he says softly, nodding slowly, looking away. “Silly me.”

“So you think finishing high school makes you a grown-up?” Walter says, amused. Steve looks at him. 

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“...Steven, you have no idea what it means to be an adult.”

Steve looks at him. At his face. The condescending shine in his eye, like he’s talking to a kid, like Steve isn’t his height. (Maybe taller. He’s too far away to tell right now.) 

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. 

Steve nods. Puts his keys down. 

“I’ll be back in a second.”

The phone is in the living room, near the doorway, and he closes his eyes as he picks it up, taking a deep breath before he dials the number he memorized within a day of learning it. 

“Munsons.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Uh, would it be cool if you picked the kids up from the arcade for me?”

“The arcade…” Eddie repeats, his voice more distant like he’s leaning away from the phone. “Weren’t you getting them today? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies easily. But Eddie’s always able to know when he’s lying. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Every time Steve lies that he’s fine, that No, my head doesn’t hurt, and I didn’t have a nightmare, I just wanted to get some water, and I feel fine. Eddie just… looks at him. 

“Steve.”

And Steve always breaks. Lets the brick wall between them crumble to dust. 

“Uh.” He pauses, glancing down the hall. He feels like they’re listening. “My parents came back a minute ago. We’re talking.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. “Is everything okay? Do you need backup?” 

Steve smiles into the phone, closing his eyes as his stomach flutters. 

“No, just… It’ll be fine. We’re just talking.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear the gears in his head turning. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the little shits, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course, Stevie.” Steve’s stomach flutters again. “Good luck with your parents.”

“Thanks.”

They hang up. Steve presses his face to the wall for a moment, taking a slow breath before he exhales. 

He goes back to the kitchen. 

Leans against the counter by his keys. Crosses his arms and looks at the floor. Finds the cracked tile and stares at it. 

It feels farther away now. Like he’s gotten taller. 

“You don’t think I know what it means to be an adult,” he says. 

“No, Steven,” Walter says lightly. Jovially. Condescendingly. “I think you’ve lived a very sheltered life. You haven’t seen the world, or experienced anything that could push you into adulthood. But that’s okay,” he adds like it’s reassuring. “You’re fortunate, you know.”

Steve's jaw twitches. He grinds his teeth. Stares at the tile, then the scuff on his shoe. 

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Steve asks quietly. 

Walter scoffs again. 

The sound grates at the inside of Steve’s skull, and his stomach twists. His lungs feel constricted, like they’re too tight. 

“What do you think?” Walter asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle it sounds like he’s talking to a five-year-old, humoring him, playing along. Steve lifts his head and levels a gaze on him. 

And across the kitchen, in the soft late afternoon sunlight, Steve looks at his wrinkles and his grey hair and his goddamn suit, and he’s just a man. And Steve wonders how the fuck he used to look up to this man, how the fuck he used to think he was anything more than this.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” Steve says softly. 

Walter’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head in shock as Catherine lets out an Excuse me!

Steve nods, staring, and staring, and staring, and he can’t look away. 

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he says again. “I think I have been… through hell. And you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here,” Steve snaps, his voice a little louder. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight, and he thinks he is taller than his father. His stomach twists again. “You wanna know when I became a little adult, Mom?” 

She stares at him, eyes wide. 

“I became a little adult when you left me home alone to fend for myself,” he says forcefully. “When I was a child. And I should have been off playing with my friends, and memorizing multiplication tables, and getting my knees scraped on the pavement.” His heart is pounding now, and he can barely hear himself over it. “I wasn’t doing any of that. I was learning how to fucking cook, because there was no one else to do that for me. I was learning how to reset the heat in the house, and I was growing up when I shouldn’t have been.” 

“So you’ve been through hell because you had to learn how to use the stove,” Walter says dryly. Steve looks at him. 

“God, you really have no idea who I am, Dad.”

“I’m your father,” Walter says, an amused smile teasing his lips. 

“Is that what you call yourself?” Steve asks. “Is that what you tell people? That you’re a father? Because, I…” He scoffs and shakes his head, and maybe he’s more like his father than he’d hoped he’d be, but he doesn’t care right now. “I gotta tell you, man, that’s gonna be really misleading when people hear that.”

“You don’t think I’m your father,” Walter says. He’s starting to get angry, and a part of Steve feels vindicated. Good.

“No,” Steve breathes. 

“How on Earth is he not?” Catherine interrupts, and Steve had almost forgotten that she’s even here, looking up at them from the chair she’s sitting in. “You have his DNA.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So we’re related. Biologically.” He looks back at Walter, and they’re closer than he thought they were, but he can't tell how close they really are. Concussions and trauma do wonders to one’s depth perception. “You didn’t raise me.”

“I didn’t raise you?” Walter says, his cheeks flushing red. Something in Steve cheers. 

“No,” Steve says calmly. “You left me alone with teenagers that didn’t know shit about how to take care of children, and you left me home alone. By myself. In the middle of the fucking woods.”

“You weren’t that young, Steve—”

“I was nine.” He looks at Catherine, silencing her. “I remember.” He looks back at Walter. Their eyes meet. They have the same eye color. Steve hates it. “Fathers know their children,” he says. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” Walter snaps. “You’re my son, Steven, how could I not—”

“How old am I?”

The room falls quiet. 

Steve stares back as Walter looks at him. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own breaths. The water tapping in the sink. A bird chirping outside. 

And he nods. 

“You don’t know me,” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re still our son,” Catherine says haughtily.

“...When’s my birthday?” he asks. When they’re silent, he says, “What am I allergic to? What’s my favorite color? Who’s my best friend?”

“The Hagan kid,” Walter says, like it’s an accomplishment, answering one question incorrectly. 

“I haven’t talked to Tommy Hagan in three years,” Steve says. “And you didn’t know that.”

Walter huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” he mutters. “Look, Steven, this…” He gestures aimlessly at Steve, making a face. “Your favorite color, your friend’s name, they don’t matter.” He laughs lightly, dismissively. “You wanna be treated like an adult, but these are the things you care about, Steven, they’re irrelevant.”

“It doesn’t matter that they’re irrelevant, Dad,” Steve snaps, his voice louder. “It matters that you don’t care. I’m your kid, you should care about the things I like, and— and about my friends, and about my fucking birthday.”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Walter says, his eyes darkening with anger, and Steve aches. 

When he was six, he was watching Looney Tunes on the television on a Saturday morning. He laughed a little too loud, and he was sent to his room for the rest of the day. Because his father needed quiet to focus on his work. Walter’s always hated hearing Steve speak, so Steve has kept quiet. Seen and not heard. Fading in the background, hiding in plain sight. But Steve is fucking sick of being looked through. Ignored. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. “No, I’m gonna raise my voice at you. Because I’m pissed, and because you never had a problem raising your voice at me.”

“You were a child—” 

“So that made it fine? To yell at me? To tell me to keep my fucking mouth shut? That’s all fine to tell a child?” He stares at Walter. “You wanna talk about the shit that actually matters, fine. Let’s talk about the shit that actually matters.”

He’s shaking now, breathing hard and trembling with twenty years of anger that's boiling and spilling over his edges. 

“You guys know about Hawkins,” he says, crossing his arms and looking at the floor, avoiding their gazes as he takes a breath. 

“About Hawkins,” Walter repeats. 

“Hawkins, yeah,” Steve says. “The shitshow that is my hometown, you know all the shit that’s happened here, right? The missing kids, the— the fires, the lab.”

“Of course we know everything about this town, Steven,” Catherine says curtly. “We’ve lived here twenty years.”

“You really haven’t,” Steve says lightly. “But that’s fine. You know about everything.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You know the girl that went missing?” he asks, looking up at them. “Barbara. And the whole conspiracy with the lab and the chemical spill and everything.”

“Yes,” Walter says. “We heard about all of that.”

They’re both staring at him curiously now, quiet while he looks back. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I was involved in all of that.” He watches their confusion deepen the wrinkles on their faces. “She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. She went missing from here, from—” He gestures out the window, toward the pool that’s covered with a blue tarp. The water is probably swimming with dead leaves. 

“You know anything about Billy Hargrove?” 

Catherine blinks. 

“The… The boy that passed away in the fire,” she says slowly, remembering. “At the mall.”

The fire. 

“The boy,” he mutters to himself before he bites his lip, pausing. “Yeah. The year before he ate shit, he almost fucking killed me.” 

They both blink at him, blank. 

“And he tried to kill me,” he continues, “because I stopped him from killing a thirteen-year-old.” He takes a shuddering breath, uncrossing his arms, looking at them, and his vision wavers as he remembers it, as he remembers the glass smashing over his head, the floor against his back, Billy’s laughter. The kids’ shouting. “He beat… the shit out of me. Gave me a grade four concussion.”

He looks back at forth between them, waiting for a reaction, but they keep staring. Catherine’s eyes are wide, but Walter just looks angry. Like Steve is wasting his time. 

“It took me three weeks to recover from it,” he says. “And you were in fucking Spain.”

His voice shakes. 

“The mall fire,” he continues before they can say anything. “You know about it. Fourth of July, thirty dead.” 

“Yes,” Catherine says softly. 

“Take a wild fucking guess where I was.”

Silence. 

Until Catherine’s voice says quietly, “...The mall.”

“Inside,” Steve says softly, looking at her intently. “With my friends, with the kids I babysit— and it wasn’t just a— a fucking fire.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t tell you what really happened, because I signed a goddamn nondisclosure agreement—”

“Steven, what—” 

“But I can tell you,” he interrupts loudly. “That I got the shit beaten out of me again.” 

A flash of light. A fist cracking against his face. An ache in his ribs, a sharp pain in the side of his neck. His own voice, rough from screaming, broken and pleading. 

“Another grade four concussion. The medics asked for my home number so one of you could come to pick me up,” he says, his throat tightening, his eyes stinging. “And I had to tell him that you were in Chicago for a fucking business trip.” His breath shudders, and his vision blurs, and his hands are trembling as he gestures aimlessly, pointing to nothing. “I was driven home by a fucking government agent, because you weren’t here.” 

“Steven—”

“You heard about the kids in town that were murdered?” he says, his voice breaking, tears sparking his eyes. “The kids that were fucking… broken?”

“...Of course we heard about them.”

Steve exhales shakily. 

“...There was a serial killer loose in town,” he says, fingers curling into fists. “And you never even called.” 

“We were working,” Walter snaps. 

“You’re always fucking working,” Steve says strongly. “I got used to you not being around, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier. You weren’t here when I had concussions, when I couldn’t fucking see, or when my hearing started going, you weren’t here when I could barely move because my injuries were infected, you were never fucking here.”

“Oh, Lord,” Walter says, rolling his eyes and scoffing, glancing at Catherine. Steve’s stomach twists, and he can’t see clearly. Everything is too bright, swimming in his tears. “How were we supposed to know you were hurt?” 

Hurt. 

He makes it sound so… little. Like Steve had a papercut. Like he needed a band-aid and a kiss on his forehead to feel better. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dad,” Steve says adamantly. “Obviously you wouldn’t fucking know, that’s not the problem— The problem is that you weren’t here for any of it, for anything I’ve gone through, and even when you knew what the fuck was happening in this town you couldn’t even be bothered to call, to— to make sure I was okay.”

“You said you’re an adult, didn’t you?”

Steve exhales. 

He doesn’t feel like an adult right now. 

He feels like a child. Like he’s five years old, searching for his parents’ attention, their affection, anything. Like they’re looking past him, through him, ignoring him in the hopes that he finally shuts up. 

Seen and not heard. 

Seen and not heard.

“You said you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Walter says. “Let’s say you really did— You have to be eighteen for contracts to be legally binding. So you’re an adult.” Walter looks into his eyes, like he’s sizing him up. “You shouldn’t need mommy and daddy to take care of you.”

Steve’s lip quivers. He blinks tears back. And he’s stuck here. A kindergartener in the body of a twenty-year-old, the way he was thirty when he was twelve. Unmoving. 

Walter scoffs again, looking at Steve trying not to cry.

“Are you done with your little temper tantrum?” he asks dryly, turning slightly. “It was a long trip back, I’d like to take a shower and rest.”

And Steve longs to tell them. About the monsters, the dark, the flickering and flashing lights. About the Upside Down. To show them the scars that cover his skin. 

“You weren’t here when I was a child, either,” Steve says, stopping him before he can leave, and Walter turns with a heavy sigh, giving Steve a bored look. Steve’s fists tighten. His nails bite into his palms. 

“Steven,” Catherine says, standing from the table like she’s bored too. “That’s quite enough.”

“You weren’t here when I was injured,” Steve says shakily, his vision blurring again. “You weren’t here when I was concussed, and when I couldn’t see, and you weren’t here when I turned twenty, or when I graduated high school, and you weren’t here when I learned how to ride a bike, or how to swim, and you weren’t here when I got my first A, and you weren’t here for parent-teacher conferences— I went by myself,” he adds roughly, gesturing at himself, hitting his own chest. 

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here when I had nightmares or when I got sick, I took care of myself.”

“It made you strong—”

“I was a child!” 

He’s never raised his voice at them like this. Never yelled. But he’s crying now, tears falling freely down his cheeks as they stare like he’s grown another head, and he can’t help it. 

“I didn’t need to be strong,” he shouts. “I needed to be loved, and I fucking wasn’t.” 

“How…” Catherin huffs, her face red, and Steve looks at her, taking a hiccuping breath. “You think we didn’t love you,” she says. “But we provided a roof over your head, and—” 

“A roof wasn’t enough,” he says, holding back a sob. “I used to— I used to wait after school, fucking waiting for you to come get me, to— to drive me home, I used to watch all the other kids with their moms and dads, I used to watch them laugh, and smile, and hug them, and I fucking waited for you. I waited until nighttime once, and you never fucking came.” 

“Steven, that’s just irresponsible,” Walter says, and Steve hiccups. 

“I was nine,” he says. “I waited for you, all I fucking wanted was my parents to drive me to school, and you were off in fucking Paris or wherever the hell you were. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike, and I had to take myself, because you weren’t here—”

“I have responsibilities—”

“I was your responsibility,” Steve finally screams. “I was your son.”

He takes a gasping breath as they stare at him again, and he wipes his face so roughly it hurts. 

“I missed you,” he chokes. “I needed you.”

“You clearly didn’t need us that much,” Walter says, huffing, gesturing at him. His wedding band sparkling in the sun and Steve wants to melt it. “If you’re doing just fine now.”

“I’m not,” Steve says before he can stop himself. 

He’s never said it before. That he’s not fine. Even when he was concussed, when Robin was concerned, he insisted he was okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad, Robbie, don’t worry. And he went home. Turned off the lights. Covered the windows. Laid in bed. Cried. 

It’s some cruel, cruel irony that these are the first people to know. 

“I’m so fucking far from fine,” Steve says. He covers his face for a moment, and for a brief second, he wishes he was bruised, purple and blue and bloody. He doesn’t know why. Maybe so they could fucking see it. So they’d believe him. 

“...The first time my best friend said I love you to me, I laughed.” He looks at them, and he suddenly wants to crumple to the floor, to lean against the wall, to go to bed. Exhausted. “I never fucking heard it from you guys. Never heard it from my girlfriend. I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what it fucking meant.”

He looks at them across the room. They’re both near the doorway of the kitchen, both turned slightly toward each other like they’re leaving, hesitating to watch Steve. Like he’s putting on a performance, like he’s pretending.

“You really fucked me up,” he says weakly, tiredly. 

 They’re quiet for a moment. And he doesn’t know what he expects. An apology. We’re sorry, Steve, we’ll be better parents from now on. We’ll be present in your life. 

“I really don’t like the language you’ve been using today, Steven,” Catherine says. Ignoring him. The tears on his face. “It’s really no way to speak to your parents.”

But he supposes he should have seen this coming. The deflection. 

He looks away, blinking tears back and exhaling, but before he can say anything, a car pulls into the driveway. He turns to look out the window, wiping his face as he catches the end of Eddie’s van before it’s hidden from view, and in spite of it all, he smiles. 

That was quick. 

He should have anticipated Eddie coming over as soon as he could. He probably sped on the way here. 

“Who…” Walter starts, but he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open. The doorknob hits the wall with a muffled bang, and a moment later, Eddie appears behind in the entry to the kitchen.

Walter and Catherine part, looking him up and down, looking, scandalized, at the rips in his jeans, the swords on his t-shirt that form an upside down star, at his hair. And he isn’t even wearing a jacket or any jewellery, and Steve’s stomach flutters with the realization that Eddie really didn’t waste any time. 

Eddie’s eyes find Steve, and he crosses the room, pushing past Walter. 

“Are you okay?” he asks Steve quickly, his eyes scanning over his face, his body, lingering on the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” Steve says softly, wiping his face again, and Eddie’s eyes follow the movement. Steve thinks he must be holding himself back; usually after nightmares, he wipes Steve’s tears for him, the same way Steve wipes his. “No, I just…”

Eddie exhales, looking into Steve’s eyes, looking for a lie. He’s out of breath, like he ran here instead of drove, and Steve smiles weakly. Until Walter interrupts. 

“Who the hell do you think you are,” he says forcefully, and Eddie and Steve turn to look at him. “Coming into my house.”

Eddie looks back and forth between Walter and Catherine like he’s trying to memorize them both, scanning their clothing the way they scanned his. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pursed, and even though from here Steve can’t really see him, there’s a warm pit in his stomach, because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he came for Steve, and he’s stepping forward a little bit like Walter is going to try to lay a hand on Steve, and Steve’s never felt so fucking safe before, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, and—

Catherine gasps. Steps back with a slight stumble even though she’s not wearing her high-heels anymore. Clutches at her pearls. 

“You’re that boy,” she says, touching Walter’s arm and pulling. “That Hellfire boy, you—”

“Eddie didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts, his stomach dropping, but Walter recognizes him too, and he turns red, glancing at Steve and then looking back at Eddie. 

“Get out of my house,” he says, his voice too loud, and Steve feels so fucking small, and he hates feeling small.

But Walter starts toward Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, and Steve remembers suddenly that he isn’t small anymore. 

He steps in front of Eddie, knocking Walter’s hand aside before he presses his fingertips to his chest, pushing him back gently. Walter stares, wide-eyed, red-faced. 

“You lay a finger on him,” Steve says too calmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Walter blinks, shock coloring his face darker before he laughs, but it’s a forced laugh, and Steve’s never been more serious in his life, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his heart pounding, and Walter doesn’t seem to know that Steve will do whatever the fuck he needs to for Eddie. 

“You think you can kill me, Steven?” Steve looks into his eyes. 

He’s smaller than Steve. Not by much, but when Steve lifts his chin, he has to look down at him to hold eye contact. 

“We just had a whole conversation about how little you know me,” he says quietly. “Do you really wanna fucking test me?”

He hears Eddie exhale behind him, but he doesn’t look away, staring into Walter’s eyes, challenging him, and his hands almost itch. He hasn’t had any fights in a good long while. 

Walter looks past him, breaking eye contact, staring Eddie down now, but his eyes flicker like he’s looking across Eddie’s face, analyzing him. Steve knows what he’s looking at. The scar on his cheek, the mangled skin. Steve loves that scar. It had to be stitched together, but it makes Steve think of the constellation Cassiopeia, almost W-shaped. He longs to trace it someday. To thank it. 

Walter backs up finally, and Steve exhales, watching him go back across the room to stand with Catherine, who’s still watching, wide-eyed, a hand on her chest over her heart. 

“Sickening, Steven,” Walter says, shaking his head and glaring at Eddie. “Really. I thought I raised you to associate yourself with better—”

“You didn’t raise me,” Steve interrupts. “Stop… acting like you were some fantastic fucking father that a fucking stand-up job of raising a son, you didn’t do shit.” He stares, breathing hard, his back tingling with some sort of anticipation. “I did. Not you.”

“So you think you’re so independent?” Walter says with that awful fucking laugh again. 

“I had to be,” Steve says softly. Eddie is closer now, still behind Steve, but less like Steve is protecting him, and more like Eddie is here. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

Walter looks at him. At Eddie. He’s holding the back of a chair, exasperated, and he shakes his head. 

“Never thought I’d be so disappointed in my own son.”

Steve looks away, hesitating. 

“Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so kind. 

“...Can you go upstairs and pack me a bag?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie touches the small of his back gently as he passes by toward the entryway, where he passes Walter and Catherine with a faux polite nod that’s so on brand for Eddie that Steve wants to smile. 

Walter glares at Steve while Eddie goes upstairs, and Steve can hear him breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw him this angry. 

And then Walter is standing up straight abruptly, muttering something about fucking trash in my house under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, and Steve’s stomach drops as he follows, his vision blurring as his blood courses in his veins, fingers twitching. But instead of going up the stairs, Walters passes by them, headed toward the master bedroom, and Steve stops, watching. He scoffs when he realizes where he’s headed, and he leans against the wall. He hears a thump upstairs. 

“Steven, you really…” Catherine shakes her head in disappointment. She’s got her arms crossed, twisting the plastic pearls of her necklace. “This is all very disrespectful.”

Steve looks down at her. 

“...You think you deserve my respect?” he asks quietly. She looks at him like she’s alarmed. “You think I care if you think you do?”

He looks away before she can respond.

Eddie is coming down the top steps just as Walter appears again. 

Steve looks up at Eddie.

He’s carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, carrying the nail bat in one of his hands, and he raises an eyebrow as Walter yells at Steve from across the room. 

“Where is it?”

“Nowhere you’ll find it,” Steve says lightly, lifting a hand to catch the bat as Eddie tosses it to him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Walter is huffing, and puffing, and it’s kind of ridiculous now. 

“What’s he looking for?”

“Gun.”

“Ah.” Eddie is almost smiling. The gun is in the back of his van, taken for target practice when Nancy taught Robin how to shoot.

Steve turns back into the kitchen to grab his keys, swinging the bat. It scratches the tile floor. When he turns back around, Walter and Catherine are staring at it, at the rusted nails and the blood-stained wood. 

“What the hell…”

Steve swings it again, moving his keys so he’s holding the one for his car between his fingers. 

“You don’t know me.”

Eddie is by the door with the duffel bag when Steve gets to the hallway, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. The light is dimmer now. The sun’s starting to go down. 

“Come to my place, yeah?” Eddie says softly, touching Steve’s arm gently, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his jacket before he squeezes. His eyes are shining earnestly, and Steve’s chest aches. He nods. 

They both step out onto the porch. It’s cold out, the air biting at Steve’s face, but it feels refreshing, like inside the house was stuffy and claustrophobic, like he’d been trapped under a blanket for too long. Eddie goes to the van, tossing the duffel bag in as he gives Steve one more look. 

“Is there anything else we don’t know about you?” Walter says behind Steve, who turns to look at him again. 

Walter’s eyes are lingering on Steve’s arm, like he can see Eddie’s handprint on it, and then he looks into Steve’s eyes, shining with disgust and judgement and hatred, and Steve

doesn’t

fucking 

care. 

“You’ll never get to know,” he says quietly. 

And he leaves. 

He’s vaguely aware of Catherine saying something, her voice high-pitched and wavering, and Walter shouting something about the car, but Steve ignores them, blank and empty as he gets into the car and pulls out of the driveway. He glances at the house in the rearview mirror as he leaves. It occurs to him that with the location of it, hidden by trees, away from town, Steve could live in Hawkins all his life and never have to look at the house again. 

He smiles. 

Eddie and Wayne live in an apartment in town now. It’s two floors above a cafe that opened a little after Starcourt, and sometimes when Steve is going to the door, he smells coffee and baking pastries. It’s nice. 

He doesn’t smell it at this time of night, though. 

He and Eddie arrive around the same time, and they’re quiet as Steve parks next to the van, grabs the bat and silently follows Eddie to the door. Eddie leads him in, up the narrow stairs, and they’re quiet as he unlocks the apartment, as they step inside and kick their shoes off. Steve leaves the bat resting against the wall by the door in Eddie’s room, and Eddie tosses him his bag. 

Steve looks into it, rummages through the bunched-up, hastily-packed underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters. His fingers brush cold cans that he recognizes as his hairspray, and he smiles, his stomach fluttering because Eddie remembered where they were. 

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. He’s leaning against his dresser. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily. 

“Steve,” Eddie says again, almost whispering. 

“I am, Eddie,” Steve says, looking up at him, his hands falling still on top of the bag. Eddie’s eyes are shining with concern, and his arms are crossed. “I really…” He trails off, looking at the ground. 

It’s hardwood, the wood faded and creaky, and there are a few gaps between the floorboard. He can see the nails in them, shining in the dim light of Eddie’s room, and it makes Steve think about the tiles in the kitchen at his parents’ house. Faded and dull and cracked because they’ve been walked on. Used. 

“I feel great,” he says, looking back at Eddie, half-smiling. 

Eddie’s expression softens. 

“Just tired,” Steve adds, looking away. “I haven’t… cried. In a while.”

“You wanna lay down?”

Steve hesitates. 

“...Can I borrow a sweater?”

Eddie smiles. 

“‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve likes it when he calls him that. 

It makes him feel little, but not in the way his parents make him feel. Not little like a little boy, like he has to stay quiet, stay still, like he can’t ask for a second serving of dinner or turn the volume of the television up past three in case he pisses them off. 

Little like Eddie will take care of him. 

Which he does, even though he has no idea how it really affects Steve, how it makes butterflies erupt in his belly every time he touches him, every time he calls him Stevie. He has no idea how hard Steve is crushing on him, and a part of Steve hates him for it. For how sweet he is, how kind. 

Because there are nights he’ll call after a nightmare and Steve will look out at the moon while he listens to him cry, while he listens to Eddie tell him he called because in the dream he lost Steve, because he needed to make sure he was okay. 

Because Eddie touches him in ways no one else does, in ways no one else ever has. In ways Steve wouldn’t ever let anyone. 

He blushes every time he remembers that night, the night he’d spent after staying up too late watching movies with Eddie. He’d had a gruesome nightmare, but as soon as his eyes opened he couldn’t remember what had happened. But Eddie was there, tentatively touching his hand, eyes wide awake, saying Stevie. Stevie. I’m right here. You’re okay. And Steve had just cried, reaching out to Eddie, who took him in his arms. 

He held Steve until he stopped crying. And then he kept holding him. Steve had pushed his face into Eddie’s chest, gripping his shirt, listening intently to Eddie’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but it still helped. 

And then Eddie pushed a hand into Steve's hair. 

Steve was already falling asleep, and he had let out a soft hum. Eddie pulled his hand away, apologizing. 

Sorry, I know you don’t like your hair being touched.

And even half-asleep, Steve spoke. 

Only you. Please.

Eddie pushed his hand back into his hair gently. Steve hummed. Eddie’s fingers twisted around the strands carefully as his other hand slid up Steve’s back, and Steve just fucking melted. He let out a whine that he could barely hear, and Eddie’s fingers curled into a fist, gripping his hair in a tightening fist until it almost hurt, and Steve groaned. 

Too hard?

Mm. Feels good.

Eddie kept doing it until Steve fell asleep, pulling his hair, squeezing his fist in it, tugging until Steve’s scalp ached dully, and when Steve woke up, Eddie was still asleep, his hand still in Steve’s hair. And then it was normal, every time they slept in the same bed or sat too close on the sofa during movie nights, Eddie’s fingers would find Steve’s hair again.  

They both change. Eddie tosses Steve some sweatpants along with the sweater, and Steve smiles, glancing up at Eddie as he changes, facing away from Steve. He’s paler than Steve, and Steve kind of wants to see what their skin would look like side-by-side, pressing close. His scars are mesmerizing. Steve wants to trace them with his fingertips, with his lips and tongue. 

Eddie beckons to Steve when they’re climbing into his bed, and Steve sighs. They move into their normal position, Eddie leaning against the wall, Steve between his legs, back to his chest. 

He feels little again. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly, and Steve lets his head fall back to his shoulder, sighing. He slides his hands over Eddie’s forearms. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and the fabric is soft. Steve plays with one of the folds, looking around the room, and he realizes they haven’t communicated at all about how long Steve is staying here. 

His bag is on the floor by the dresser. It blends right in with Eddie’s dark clothes littered around the floor and hanging out of his drawers, with the dark rug that Eddie bought when he moved in. 

Steve’s eyes trail across the wall, across the sliding doors of the wardrobe that are partially open, the interior hidden in shadows. At the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry that’s pinned up, the Judas Priest poster on the back of the door. The photos and magazine pages and posters that are covering the old, faded wallpaper. Eddie’s lamps have a golden glow, and it makes everything look warm. Steve loves it here. 

“How long am I staying here?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie snorts, arms tightening, burying his face in Steve’s neck. 

“Forever?” he says. “I hope?” 

Steve’s stomach flutters. 

“You want me to stay forever?” 

“Mm.”

Steve exhales when Eddie’s hand finds his, and he watches, spreading his fingers to lace with Eddie’s. His hand is a little cold. 

“Sounds nice,” he says quietly. Eddie hums. He sets his chin on Steve’s shoulder. 

“You still feel okay?” he asks softly, his voice soft and breathy next to Steve’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He feels so okay. Here in Eddie’s room, in his clothes, in his arms. “I feel good.”

One of Eddie’s arms reaches across his chest like he’s keeping him secure, and he rubs Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes a breath, unlacing their fingers to trace the back of Eddie’s hand. 

“It was kind of, like. A lot of stuff.”

“Tell me, Stevie.”

Steve closes his eyes. 

“They, uhm. Came back and just… started telling me my car was dirty, started saying the— the kitchen floor was dirty, that they should get the tiles replaced. They didn’t even say hi.”

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. 

“And when I tried to leave, I had to, like, explain I had to pick up the kids, and Dad started, just, berating me for babysitting, and Mom made this… comment. That I was acting like an adult. And when I said I am one, Dad…” He exhales, pressing closer to Eddie, whose arms tighten. “Said I’d be an adult when I graduated high school.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before, 

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t— they don’t even know how old I am.”

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, squeezing him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve ignores the butterflies that erupt in his stomach. 

“It’s…” 

“You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“...It’s not fine.”

“‘S right.”

“I tried… I tried telling them, like— showing them how they just don’t know me, but they just— everything I fucking said, they just… Tried to make it so it wasn’t their fault. Pretended it was no big deal, even though— even though it is, I…”

“It is,” Eddie murmurs softly. “It matters to you, they never treated you right, Stevie.”

Steve exhales shakily, relaxing against him again. 

“They’re so fucking condescending,” he says after a moment, his voice softer. Eddie rubs his arm gently, reassuringly. “He always does this thing, where, like… If I point something out, or I— I do something, he pulls this bullshit, and he’ll say, like, Oh, let’s say that’s true, as though I don’t fucking know, like I didn’t just fucking tell him.”

Eddie lifts a hand and reaches to touch his hair, running his fingers through it gently. 

“He said I’d be an adult when I graduate high school, and then as soon as I told him I did, and I am, suddenly I actually know nothing about adulthood and I haven’t experienced the world, and I’m— Whose fucking fault is that? They never took me along on any of their fucking trips, they left me in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.”

Eddie plays with his hair, listening to him talk. His fingers are so gentle. 

“He said I was having a temper tantrum,” Steve says, looking across the room. Eddie’s hand tightens, tugging gently. “I just… They make me feel like— like such a child. And it’s bullshit, because how can I feel so fucking little when they never treated me like I was little when I was?” he rambles. “They acted like I was a grown man when I was a kid, they acted like I knew how to live my life, but they were never there to show me how. And now I am grown, but they tell me I’m disrespectful, and that I’m having a tantrum, and…”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly. 

Steve inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and he exhales after holding it for a moment, relaxing against Eddie again, who murmurs a soft, “There you go.”

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie asks quietly. Steve nods, holding his forearm with both hands as his fingers drag through his hair slowly. “...You did everything fucking right, Stevie.”

“...You think?” 

“Jesus, yeah. They’ve never treated you the way you deserve, Steve, you have every fuckin’ right to stand up for yourself, to— to tell them to go fuck themselves.” 

Steve exhales again, a feeling settling in his chest. 

“I hate them,” he says quietly. 

“Me too.”

“And I hate that fucking house.”

“You’re here now.”

Eddie tightens his fist in his hair, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes. 

“Love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a second. 

Eddie says that a lot. Every time they say goodbye, every time Steve does something stupid, every time either of them has a nightmare. 

It was a nightmare that prompted it the first time. Eddie had slept over at Steve’s, and Steve woke up to Eddie crying in his sleep, his body shaking as he cried into the pillow, whimpering and clutching at the blanket. Steve woke him up carefully, touching his face, his hands, his arms, squeezing as gently as possible, whispering his name. Eddie woke after a minute, his eyes finding Steve in the dim moonlight, and before Steve could even say anything, he was reaching out for him, sobbing and pressing his face into Steve’s chest as Steve pulled him into a hug. He whispered it when he stopped crying, as they were rocking back and forth, as Stee combed the tangles out of his hair. 

I love you, Stevie.

And Steve’s world flipped inside out, and he was in pain, every cell in his body on fire, because he was hearing it, because Eddie told him, and because only Robin had ever said it to him like that, all three words, carefully annunciated, intentionally said. And also because Steve knew how he meant it. 

I love you too, Eddie.

“Why’d you come?” Steve asks. “After taking the kids home?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Eddie says. “...Had a feeling.”

“...Thank you,” Steve whispers. 

Eddie takes a breath, tugging again before he turns his face and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple. 

He’s never done that before. 

Steve feels almost sick with butterflies, and he can feel his face flushing with heat, but he can’t suppress his smile. Eddie looks at him for a moment, and then he does it again, slowly. Deliberately. 

Steve exhales, letting himself feel it, Eddie’s lips on his skin, his breath warm and close. Eddie’s hand tightens again, his fist squeezing in Steve’s hair before he lets go. 

And then Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, slowly and softly, and then again, and again, slowly moving down toward Steve’s jaw. Steve tilts his head, his eyes closed, and he’s scared to open them, scared he might wake up. 

Eddie’s lips press under his jaw, sucking a soft kiss into his skin, and when he pulls away, his lips brush Steve’s skin as he murmurs, “So fuckin’ proud of you.”

And Steve whimpers. 

He’s gripping Eddie’s arm tightly, and he feels like he might start crying, but Eddie just kisses him again, moving down to the side of his neck, gently pulling his hair out of the way. 

Steve bites his lip to hold in another sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to it, to Eddie’s lips on his skin, to Eddie’s soft, slow breathing, as he feels Eddie’s fingers tug at his hair. He feels fucking weightless, like he’s floating in the air, like nothing in the world exists right now except for them. 

“So proud,” Eddie breathes against his neck, kissing him again. 

“Did I do good?” 

Steve wants to jump out the fucking window. 

His voice comes out weak and breathy, quiet and so fucking desperate that he flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his eyes like he’s going to look for an escape, to leave even though he just got here, but Eddie…

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he whispers without hesitation. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales sharply, his head falling back as Eddie kisses his neck again. It’s wet this time, and Steve keens at the thought of Eddie’s open mouth against him, of his tongue and his teeth and his spit. 

“Eddie,” Steve whines breathlessly, squeezing his arm. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quickly, his hand pausing in Steve’s hair. 

“Don’t stop,” Steve says weakly. Eddie hums softly, his hand tightening, and Steve lets out a soft noise before Eddie kisses a slow line up the side of his neck until he finds his earlobe, where he pauses, kissing it before he sucks it between his lips as gently as possible. “Eddie.”

“Alright?”

“Mm. Feel so good.”

Eddie hums quietly, and Steve keens as he nibbles at the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping gently, tenderly. His arm tightens around Steve’s torso, his other hand squeezing in his hair so hard that it hurts, and one of Steve’s hands finds Eddie’s leg next to him, gripping just above his knee desperately. 

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, like he just knows how overwhelmed Steve is, how his whole body is flooding with this feeling. 

“You got me,” Steve repeats absently, head lolling back onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“‘S right, Stevie.”

He kisses his neck again, harder, more confidently, his teeth and tongue on Steve’s skin, and Steve fucking hopes he leaves marks in his path. He wants evidence of this, proof that it wasn’t all in Steve’s head like some fucked up wet dream. 

Eddie tugs on his hair, moving his hand to the back of his head before twisting his fingers in it tightly. Steve lets out a broken noise, biting his lip to muffle it. 

“Eddie—”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. 

“I…”

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, kissing his jaw gently. “Tell me.”

“Need more,” Steve says weakly, his face hot with embarrassment. 

“More what?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve wants to be annoyed, to roll his eyes and tell Eddie not to make him say it, but he can’t, because his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his limbs feel heavy, and he feels fucking high, just because of Eddie’s mouth on him, because of Eddie’s sweet words. 

“You,” he chokes. “Please, Eddie, I need you, please—”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhales, tugging Steve’s hair so his head tilts before he leans down and kisses his neck, his lips brushing his skin as he speaks. “I need you too, Stevie.”

Steve stifles a whine, pressing his lips together as Eddie sits up a little, leaning closer to kiss his neck, and he’s almost kissing his throat now as Steve’s head falls back, and Steve reaches up to his head, pushing his fingers into Eddie’s curls messily. 

“Eddie, please,” he says softly. “More.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, breathing hard against Steve’s neck. “Turn around, come here.”

Steve turns, aching when he has to leave Eddie’s chest, and he tries to keep his balance on Eddie’s soft mattress that’s covered in blankets. Their legs tangle, and Steve has to take a moment to sort them out, and Eddie giggles softly, reaching to push Steve’s hair out of his face. Steve smiles hopelessly, moving forward. 

Eddie pulls at his legs, tugging him so their legs are wrapped around each other, so their chests almost press, so their faces are close. Eddie looks wrecked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shining like he’s going to cry, and Steve knows he can’t look much better. He exhales, reaching up to trace his scar. It stretches when Eddie smiles. Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head to let him.

His hands slide up from Steve’s legs to his hips, his waist, pressing and firm and gentle on Steve’s sides. Steve slides his hands to hold his face, leaning close enough that their noses nudge together. 

Eddie exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide to Steve’s back, pulling him closer as he murmurs. 

“So fucking proud of you, Stevie, I can’t even tell you,” he says softly, nudging their noses together again. “No fucking words.”

Steve’s body flushes with heat, and he melts, his hands slipping to Eddie’s neck. He can feel the scars under his fingertips. 

He tilts his head, his eyes stinging as Eddie keeps talking, keeping whispering and murmuring about how proud he is. 

No one’s ever told Steve that they’re proud of him. He’s never heard it before. 

But Eddie says it so earnestly, like he’s fucking reverent, and Steve listens. 

And then Eddie is kissing him between words, his lips gentle and a little chapped against Steve’s, and Steve feels like he’s going to fall over with it all, his lips parted because he can barely kiss back. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, whispering to him. 

“So proud of you, Stevie, you did so fucking good. So brave.” 

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s head again, his fingers pushing into his curls, and he sighs, listening and listening and listening and absorbing the feeling of Eddie’s lips pressing to his softly. 

His hands tighten in his hair after a moment, and he pulls Eddie in, shutting him up with a hard, lingering kiss. Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, his fingers pressing into the scarred skin, and Steve’s whole body aches. They part with a slick sound and a gasp, but Steve pulls him back in before he can say anything, tugging his hair. 

Eddie kisses him back desperately, clutching at his back, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, and Steve thinks he might be dying. It feels so fucking good, and the way Eddie is touching him…

His fingers dig into the knit of the sweater he’s wearing, holding him close as his legs tighten around him, and after a moment, one of his hands slides around Steve’s side, up over his chest slowly until it reaches his neck. It feels like he’s being so careful, gentle like Steve is delicate, and Steve’s never wanted to feel delicate before, but he’s basking in Eddie’s touch like it’s sunlight. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, and their chests are almost touching as Eddie nibbles his lip the way he did with his ear earlier. 

It feels kind of silly, really, in the grand scheme of things. 

That they’d survive the end of the world, stop the end of the world, live through horrors beyond comprehension, and Eddie is proud of him for yelling at his parents. And now they’re making out, kissing each other stupid in Eddie’s bedroom, surrounded by his posters and blankets and the glow of his cracked lamps. 

But Steve can’t think of a single place he’d rather be. 

Eddie is holding the side of his face now, his fingers gentle on his skin, and Steve holds in a groan when Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, his chest tightening. 

Eddie pulls away and they both gasp for air. 

“Baby,” Eddie breathes. 

“God, yeah.”

“Was that okay?” Eddie asks quietly, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek, and Steve closes his eyes as they start to sting. He doesn’t want to cry right now. 

“Yeah,” he says weakly, almost choking the word out. “It was so okay, Eddie, I… Please.”

Eddie kisses him again. Pulls away to breathe, resting their foreheads together. 

“Want you,” Steve says softly, whispering. 

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he can’t take it back. 

Especially when Eddie is kissing him like this, like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’s drowning and Steve is air. Steve’s arms tighten around his neck, and he’s shivering, chills spreading over his skull, down his spine, as he listens to the soft breathy hums Eddie is letting out as he listens to the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues. Eddie licks into his mouth, licks his lips and his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and Steve lets him, even though their lips and chins are wet now, slick with each other’s spit, and it’s a little gross. Steve doesn’t fucking care. It feels good. 

He lets out a whine, letting his jaw drop for Eddie to suck on his tongue for a moment, and his cheeks flush with heat. Eddie smiles against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“You still want more?” Eddie murmurs, caressing his cheek. Steve exhales, nodding. 

“Please.”

Eddie presses wet kisses over his jaw, down his neck, and Steve melts, his head falling back to give him room. He shivers, tightening, when Eddie’s lips find his throat, pausing to suck on his skin lightly before he continues, kissing across the scars on his neck. 

His scars are lighter than Eddie’s. Shallower. A metallic, faded pink that only stands out against his skin when he tans. 

His parents didn’t notice them. 

Or the scar on his chin, which Steve forgets about himself a lot of the time. It’s from that night at Starcourt. He used to stare at it in the mirror, hating it, hating himself. It’s faded so much it’s barely noticeable, but everyone knows it’s there. Steve knows it’s there. 

Eddie knows it’s there. 

He kisses it when he finishes with Steve’s neck, holding Steve’s face in place as he presses kiss after kiss after kiss to it, softly and tenderly, and Steve wonders if he looks at this scar the way Steve looks at his scar. 

“Eddie,” he breathes. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie presses his thumb to his lower lip, pulling it free before he kisses him gently. 

“Do you wanna take your sweater off?” he asks quietly, whispering. Steve nods.

“You too,” he whispers, opening his eyes and meeting Eddie’s gaze. He looks so… tender. His eyes are shining at Steve, and he’s almost smiling, just barely, and his face is so relaxed, more at peace than Steve thinks he’s ever seen him while awake. “Please.”

Eddie nods, kissing him again before pulling his hands away from his face, and he reaches for the hem of the sweater Steve is wearing. 

They have to separate for him to pull it up over Steve’s head, and Steve shivers when it’s off, the air in the room colder than he expected. Eddie tosses the sweater aside, his eyes skimming over Steve’s body, and he feels shy suddenly, overcome with the desire to hide his chest, his scars, the soft rolls of his belly. 

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt off, and Steve watches, crossing his arms over his stomach as he looks at Eddie’s pale skin, at the scars that mark his sides, his chest. The art that’s inked into his skin. One of the tattoos is almost gone, the bare edges of it rough around the skin graft on his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says softly, like he’s scared of disturbing the quiet air. He reaches for Steve’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re hiding his stomach, and he leans in to kiss him, pulling his hands to touch Eddie. “Wanna see you.”

Steve kisses him back, squeezing his eyes shut, and he slides his hands across Eddie’s chest to touch his neck. Eddie hums, pulling his mouth away to look at him, and Steve blushes as Eddie’s eyes scan his chest, his arms, his belly. 

“So fucking gorgeous, baby,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth. 

Steve whines. 

He pulls Eddie into another desperate kiss, and he shifts onto his knees, leaning over him, holding Eddie’s jaw so he tilts his head back. 

“You too,” he says breathlessly, into Eddie’s mouth. “So fucking pretty, Eddie, you’re so beautiful it fucking hurts.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, and he wraps his arms around Steve’s legs, holding him as they kiss, and it’s messy and sloppy and desperate, and Steve feels like Eddie is touching him everywhere, his callused hands rubbing away every bad feeling Steve’s ever had. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s, and Eddie’s hands tighten, squeezing his thighs. 

He slowly shifts onto his knees too, moving up so they’re face to face, and he hugs Steve’s waist, pulling him against himself. Steve groans softly, stifling it, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again before he slides his hands over his shoulders. 

And they can’t keep their hands off each other, palms and fingers sliding and pressing and touching. Eddie’s hand pushes into Steve’s hair, tugging sharply as he sucks on his lip, as his other hand slides across his back, gentle on his scars, and then he’s running his hands over Steve’s waist and chest and reaching down to his thighs, murmuring beautiful into Steve’s mouth, and Steve believes him. 

They kiss until Steve’s mouth is sore, until his legs are tired from kneeling like this, until his chin is wet again, and Eddie is smiling against his mouth, still fucking talking, still telling Steve how proud he is, how good Steve was. 

He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve’s head falls back. 

“God, baby,” Eddie breathes, panting as he kisses his neck again, and his tongue slips over Steve’s skin. “You’re so fucking good, shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, pushing his hand into his hair and pulling. “I need— Fuck, I need you, baby, Eddie, please, I—”

Eddie lowers so he’s kneeling, and he pulls at Steve’s thighs again, pulling him so he’s straddling his hips. Steve wraps his arms around him, letting out a sharp breath as he lowers, as Eddie licks a line up his neck. Eddie’s hand runs over Steve’s stomach until it reaches his sweatpants, and he touches him over them, gently pressing against his dick. Steve chokes, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his other hand running up his back and holding the base of his skull. Steve nods. “Baby, I need words, please.”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “‘S okay, it’s so okay, please, just… I need you .”

Eddie does it again, pressing and squeezing, and Steve is so hard it almost hurts, but Eddie is so tender with him, rubbing his back as Steve clings to him. They’re both breathing hard, and Steve is biting his lip to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Eddie whispers. 

“Can I take it out?” 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Yeah. Please.”

He holds his breath. 

Eddie’s hands are warm. And gentle. Eddie pulls away just enough to glance down to look, carefully tucking Steve’s sweatpants out of the way, and he’s smiling. Steve tugs at his hair, making him tilt his head back so he can kiss him so hard their teeth clash. Eddie is still smiling, his hand moving slowly, carefully. 

When they part, Steve is gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut so hard he might get a headache, and Eddie notices, reaching up and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb. 

“Breathe for me,” Eddie whispers. Steve exhales slowly, looking at him, watching as he nods, and lowers his head. A moment later, he’s letting a line of spit drip out of his mouth to Steve’s dick and Steve groans quietly, pulling him back into a hug as Eddie slides his hand to spread it. Eddie’s other hand presses to Steve’s back securely, holding him close. 

“Do you like it?” he asks softly. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s so high-pitched, weak and shaky and breathless and so vulnerable he wants to hate it, but he also doesn’t care, because Eddie is holding him like this, touching him and letting him tremble. “I like it, I like it so much, Eddie.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs. 

And fuck. 

Eddie moves his hand slowly, and after a moment he shifts so he’s sitting, and they’re back to how they were before, their legs wrapped around each other. Steve keeps his arms around his neck, hiding his face. Eddie slides his other hand into his hair. 

“You want me to pull?”

“God, yes,” Steve chokes. “Please.”

And Eddie definitely noticed how it made him feel just a moment ago, because—

“Good boy.”

Steve can hear his smile. 

His hand tightens, his fist squeezing in it, and it’s a slow, dull ache that grows on Steve’s scalp. He stifles a groan, pressing his lips together. 

“Stop doing that,” Eddie says breathlessly, his hand loosening, and Steve exhales with relief, his mouth falling open. A moment later he processes Eddie’s words, and he hums in confusion. 

“Keeping yourself quiet,” Eddie says. “Stop, I wanna hear you.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, his eyes blearily finding the Slayer poster above Eddie’s bed. His vision is blurry, and he feels like he’s cross-faded, out of his damn mind with the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him. 

“You don’t want me to be quiet,” he mumbles absently. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“No,” Eddie says softly, twisting his hand. Steve’es eyes close again. “I don’t want you to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby.” He moves his hand a little faster, tightening his fist, and Steve lets out a whine, burying his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Louder,” Eddie says, moving his hand faster, his other hand tugging Steve’s hair sharply. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasps before he moans weakly. 

“Louder,” Eddie whispers, his hand tightening in his hair. Steve lets out a sob. 

“Eddie.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to kiss his jaw, and it sounds almost condescending, but it wraps around Steve like a blanket. “Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

So he isn’t. 

His mouth stays open, panting against Eddie’s neck and shoulder, letting out soft moans and whines and whimpers and Eddie’s name as Eddie pulls at his hair again, his other hand jerking Steve off, alternating between rapid and fast and slow and tender, squeezing and tugging and drawing it out. 

“I love how you sound,” Eddie murmurs after Steve lets out a sob. “So fucking pretty, baby, God.”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers. 

“I got you, honey, ’s okay.” He scratches Steve’s scalp, pulling his hair. 

“Fuck, I love you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and he pulls at Steve’s hair sharply, tugging him away from where he’s resting his head, and he kisses him. Steve kisses back after a moment, almost lightheaded, and he clutches at him, at his hair, his arm. 

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie pants when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Steve lets out a long groan, squeezing Eddie’s wrist. 

“Eddie, I—”

“You can come,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

He kisses Steve’s cheek, murmuring as Steve buries his face in his neck again, moaning as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, and Steve is crying into his neck, sobbing as his body floods with heat, as he comes.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers, fingers still working, jerking Steve until he finally slows down. “Did so good, Stevie.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s hand finally stops, and he lets go, his other hand running through Steve’s hair comfortingly as Steve catches his breath. He tucks Steve back in his sweatpants carefully, patting his crotch when he’s done, and Steve snorts.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly when Steve is breathing slowly. Steve hums. “That good, huh?”

“Mm. No one’s ever wanted to hear me before.”

“No?” Eddie says, running his hand over Steve’s back, tracing his spine. “But you sound so good.”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Steve mumbles. “One girl commented that I was noisy and it just… made me self-conscious, I guess.”

Eddie hums softly, sliding his hand up to hold the back of his neck, and it feels protective, possessive, and Steve could die happy here. 

“I like hearing you,” Eddie says. “Don’t ever want you to be quiet.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck before he kisses him gently under his jaw. “Can I get you off?”

“Mm. Yeah. ‘S not gonna take much, though, I almost came just listening to you.”

Steve giggles, lifting his head and reaching for the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants as their eyes meet. He pushes his hand under them, watching Eddie’s expression shift, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part, watching his shoulders slump. He’s still holding the back of Steve’s neck, and his hand tightens. 

“Can I take it out?” Steve whispers. 

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Go ‘head.”

Steve does, licking his lips, and Eddie pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and spits on his palm before reaching down again, touching him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing lightly. “Fuck.”

“You always this easy?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie hums.

“Only when I have the… hottest boy in the world touching my dick.”

Steve giggles, sliding his hand up and down slowly, listening to Eddie breathing heavily. He’s having fun. He’s never had fun like this during sex. It’s always felt like something to just do, to get done, to make his partner feel good. But even as he focuses on Eddie, he can’t stop smiling, watching his own hand on Eddie’s dick, listening to the soft moans and hums Eddie lets out. Eddie’s other hand finds Steve’s thigh and squeezes tightly, gripping so hard Steve wonders if he’ll leave bruises under his fingertips. He kind of hopes he does. 

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps after a while. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve kisses him. Messily, desperately. 

“Come for me.”

Eddie grunts, his hand slipping to hold the base of Steve’s head, and he pants, breathing hard against Steve’s cheek as Steve watches, almost mesmerized by the come dripping over his fingers, his knuckles. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes as Eddie comes down, his grip on Steve’s leg and head relaxing. “You’re so…”

Eddie hums softly. 

“So…”

“I don’t know,” Steve says quietly, pulling his hand away as Eddie softens, and he tucks him back into his sweatpants, imitating him with the gentle pat. Eddie laughs. He has a beautiful laugh. 

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” Eddie says. 

“You are,” Steve says, looking into his eyes. He smiles, and Eddie tilts his head curiously. “In a good way,” he adds. “I like it.”

Eddie smiles bashfully, his cheeks pink, and Steve nudges their noses together, closing his eyes. 

“...Are you gonna talk about it?” Eddie says after a few moments. Steve exhales, swallowing. 

His hands are in his lap, and he looks at them, at the come on his hand. 

“...I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Eddie touches Steve’s chin, gently prompting him to lift his head. He’s smiling when Steve looks at him, and he leans in to kiss him softly, chastely. Familiarly. 

“Cool,” he says, his lips brushing Steve’s. “Same.”

And Steve laughs. 

Eddie kisses him again, smiling against Steve’s smile, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, keeping his dirty hand in the air as his other hand pushes into Eddie’s curls. Eddie’s hands slide across Steve’s back. 

Steve pulls away. 

“You are getting come all over my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve snorts. “What do you think about a shower to clean you up?”

“Ah, that was your master plan, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, my goal was to get you naked by getting you mostly naked.”

“Pure genius, Eddie.”

“I know…”

Steve follows him to the bathroom after they get clothes. (Eddie just gives him more of his own) 

It feels nice when Eddie washes his hair. Even though he forms it into a mohawk with the soap. He’s grinning as he does it, his eyes sparkling, amused, and Steve lets him. It also feels nice when Eddie washes his body, which he does without saying anything, scrubbing him gently, tenderly, washing the soap away with the showerhead and pressing kisses to his wet skin. Steve does the same to him. It feels nice to do this, to help him even though he doesn’t really need it. 

Steve kneels to do his legs, and as he does, he kisses his scars. Eddie holds a hand out, blocking the water from hitting Steve’s face. And Steve somehow falls in love all over again. 

The tile wall is cold as Eddie pushes him against it to kiss him, but he doesn’t mind. 

They separate to dry themselves off, and Steve stops him when he starts to scrub his hair dry with the towel. He scolds him lightly, pulling close and taking over, scrunching the ends and drying it gently, noting that he wants to get some product for him. Eddie just gazes at him silently, his hands on Steve’s hips. 

“I love you,” he whispers when Steve hangs the towels. 

Steve hugs him, and Eddie hugs him so tightly that he lifts him up a little bit, his toes touching the ground. 

“I love you too.”

Over his shoulder, Steve can see them in the reflection of the mirror. It’s fogged over from the shower steam, but he can see the shape of them, their dark clothing in the bright light of the bathroom, and Steve sighs. 

They go back to bed, arms around each other as they find their places again, Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie kisses his neck. Steve closes his eyes. 

“So what do you say about forever?” Eddie asks quietly as Steve is starting to drift off. He hums, turning to tuck his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, holding him gently. 

“Forever sounds nice.”

if you like my work maybe consider supporting me on ko-fi or looking into my commissions <3

#say it with me #This Is So Much Longer Than I Expected It To Be #oh well #steddie #steddie one shot #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[gatitties]

just wondering If you're able to write straw hats x Gn! reader who ate a devil fruit that allows the user to stop time in 10 seconds every time although when overuse the user can exhaust themselves. they also happened to learn rokushiki. The reader is somewhat reserved and doesn't talk much other than speaking a few words because of them thinking that they don't feel like speaking if it not that important so reader says something like "...... ...... .....Words are unnecessary"

─Strawhats x gn!reader

─Summary: you're not a person of many words, but that's okay, you're still super cool!

─Warnings: none

I love silent readers 😌

─ Your abilities fascinated everyone and not just because of your devil fruit powers.

─ Probably only Franky, Robin and Jinbe know about your fighting style, rokushiki, something that only cp9 agents and the like mastered, although they don't care how you learned it because you are now part of the group and you demonstrated your loyalty from the first day.

─ Luffy thought you were mute when he dragged you onto the ship.

─ Then he heard you talk briefly with Sanji because he needed to know if you were allergic to something and your captain decided to bother you until you talked to him.

─ Nami hits him to make him leave you alone, since at least she understood that you were not someone who talked a lot, you liked to listen more.

─ In general, no one had a problem with having a silent partner, everyone adapted well to your silent form of communication, somehow a look was enough to express what you wanted to say most of the time.

─ Usopp always complains that you cheat when you play tag on the deck with Chopper and Luffy because you use your powers, you will never admit that his accusations are true.

─ Zoro adores you because, just as you find it unnecessary to talk, you appreciate silence and when everything is getting too loud you take it upon yourself to silence everyone, and although Zoro is capable of taking a nap even in a life or death situation, also appreciates silence when taking a break.

─ You probably have Chopper constantly worried about the abuse of your power, more than once you have fainted and been scolded for trying too hard in battles, but you feel that your power is an advantage that you need to use, having ten seconds of advantage can be crucial.

─ You love being with Brook because he will just play music, he doesn't ask you to talk, it's just the two of you enjoying the type of music you ask him to play.

─ Just like you like to have tea or coffee with Nami and Robin, (Sanji probably coming and going constantly) because you like to listen to how they argue about different topics, they don't care that you are there simply nodding at their words, your mere presence is grateful since your silence is reassuring.

─ Sometimes you help Sanji in the kitchen and he is completely grateful for the help, since unlike in the Baratie, where orders and insults were shouted, despite not dealing with the same stress, it's always good to have a partner who just listened to his orders and got to work in silence, you just heard the utensils colliding with each other, which made the kitchen time more enjoyable.

─ You have taken up the habit that when you are shopping or in a bar, you look at the person next to you like a little child at their mother/father waiting for them to look at you to say with their eyes 'I want this' or 'order my favorite drink'.

─ They don't usually worry when someone messes with you because before they can do anything you have already stopped time and the poor person who had insulted you had his own finger stuck up his nose and their own fist ready to hit themselves instead of to you.

─ That's why they don't usually play pranks on you most of the time, your power makes you a threat and your revenge is much worse, although Luffy will always ask you to team up with him to annoy Zoro and Usopp.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #request #reader insert #headcanons #sfw #strawhats #strawhats x reader #one piece x gn!reader #strawhats x gn!reader #x reader #gn reader #gn!reader #one piece x gn reader #strawhats x gn reader

[briarmoon1015]

What are your headcanons on the halbarry?

lol I have so many headcanons buckle in

1. I’m a big fan of Barry falling first but Hal falling harder. We do not get enough of pining Barry and I need it. I need to see more of Barry letting Hal crash at his place, and having to hold back any feelings he may have as the two eat like five pizzas and watch the latest Star Wars movie that Hal missed in space. Barry is a master at holding in his secrets, so it just makes so much sense to me

2. I like to headcanon that Barry isn’t a fan of pda, but the instant someone isn’t around he’s very touchy. Doing things like brushing hands with Hal or knocking knees makes him giddy.

3. I also like to think that Hal gets pretty bad insomnia when he gets back to earth from long space missions. His ring makes it so he doesn’t need sleep, so getting back into that cycle can be difficult. Barry also has pretty bad sleep habits. I imagine speedsters struggle to sleep eight hours straight thanks to how fast their bodies work, and with Barry having a somewhat typical 9-5, he isn’t catching up on sleep any other time. Whenever Hal gets home they both focus on getting their sleeping patterns down, and find it a lot easier to do with the other one around.

4. Hal knows he’s one of Barry’s lightning rods and takes full advantage of it. He will be getting healed by Barry after every stupid situation he gets himself into, and he will drag Barry out of the speed force every time Barry tries to do something even stupider. He also tries not to get stuck in other dimensions or in the speed force himself, just to avoid throwing Barry off.

5. Whenever Hal is away on missions, Barry will often go outside to star gaze. He doesn’t tell anyone it’s because he’s missing Hal, but his family will join him anyways. Hal, on the other hand, likes to find the direction earth is in and just take a moment to breathe.

6. Hal is a Star Wars fan and Barry is a Star Trek fan. They get into a ton of nerdy arguments about it, but they both watch them together. They also love Top Gun. It’s Hal’s favorite movie for obvious reasons, but I think it’d be hilarious if it was also Barry’s gay awakening.

7. Neither of them are good at cooking. Barry’s lack of patience while trying to heat things up often means undercooked food, or overcooked when he tries to use his powers to heat things up. Hal can make a couple of really good dishes but beyond that he is incapable of making edible food. It never turns out right because he tries to do his own thing instead of following a recipe, and ends up getting the proportions all wrong. They often eat out.

8. I need to stress how nerdy each one is. Barry may seem like it the most with his love of chemistry and dressing up like an old man half the time, but Hal will talk your ear off about planes. Not even just types and models, but also weird history facts about them, and mysterious crashes that happened. Because of this, Barry now is quite good at telling the make of a jet, while Hal has a good chance of being able to tell you what chemical compounds you are looking at.

9. On occasion, the two will need to stitch each other up. Hal is a lot faster at it, but his technique isn’t always perfect. It does make do, however. Barry, on the other hand, more gentle and effective, but he’s quite slow at it. He tends to overthink each stitch.

10. Hal doesn’t let a lot of people wear his dad’s jacket, but he often leaves it with Barry when in space. Barry often will leave it on the kitchen table chairs as a reminder of Hal, and will occasionally fix it up if need be. Having to mend his own suit has made Barry a pretty good seamstress, but he takes extra care with Hal’s jacket.

These are just some general ones :) hopefully you enjoy them

#the flash #barry allen #dc comics #green lantern #hal jordan #halbarry

[reverieaa]

I reason not.

Reason is the trickster of inner self's freedom. It temps you to trade your desire for comfort and new over the old.

Throughout our lives we've accepted that reason is a sort of currency in the world of imagination, you want to convince someone of something in return for the feeling of having their trust and do so through language. But words have no place in the world of imagination, they build roads that limit the inner man from going where he wishes to go. We've accepted that to convince self, or be convinced, has to be through words of logical reason.

It's only when we truly go within and feel around that we realize how limiting words themselves can be. Realize this, trying to reason yourself into why and how you are what you want to be will also be how you reason yourself out of it. As the inner man you don't have explain why u are who you want to be, why you have your desire through words and then hope it works.

Are you trying to convince the 3D or yourself?

Because then after the acceptance of doubtful event, your inner self feels " I don't have it" and is met with you saying "no i do have it now, look" then you proceed to imagine different things in an attempt at changing things in the 3D bc you believe satisfaction lies there, only to spiral further and panic.

Do not trust in my advice to be the full proof answer that will finally make u manifest but trust in your ability to understand and guide yourself through it, you can take my words and make them your own.

If creation is finished, then to desire is to have because it exists, you desire it because it exists and how could u want sth beyond your comprehension or its existence? you reason yourself into why you should go into the kitchen if you're hungry? Do you reason why you are in your bed right now?

Trying to reason or explain why you have what you want is the outer man trying to find a logical way things would happen through his limited sight, because he does not see what you, the inner man feels.

I know it can be incredibly difficult for some of you to silence the thoughts of reason, but the point is not to silence thoughts. It's about choosing not to deal with them.

I remember a time after I decided to let go of my negative thoughts, it was only because I cared only about what I wanted to feel, rather than what I should. Reason tried to argue with me but I would always shut it down with "but I really do not care" because I didn't, I didn't care how real it was or even I'd it was real, if I was doing it right. I only cared about feeling it for myself.

If you have to use words and reason yourself into it, you'll find yourself stuck bc words can be limiting to the inner man who feels beyond man made language. We put our feelings into words, but we know that what we feel is far greater than what we say. In a change of state you won't have to explain how you have what you want when you're met with doubt.

You don't reason with your thoughts,you don't reason against objects, you're going against yourself and trying to convince yourself at the same time. It is the same as " well I can't make it happen in the 3D but I have to find a way to materialize it by imagining and if I convince myself then I'll finally have it "

The feeling (acceptance) of self is all that matters and the core of Neville's laws. Neville never imagined to "get out" of a situation or "make something happen" he did it to change himself. He imagined being in Barbatos-the complete opposite environment where he was- to convince himself he was already there, not to forcefully feel happy or greatful, but to show himself proof he was there, and the outer world followed.

Instead of using words as your way to get by in imagination, bring life to it through feeling. Reason might be your currency but belief is your fortune.

#law of assumption #affirm and persist #loa #manifesation #manifesting #neville goddard #3d #affirmations #loa methods #void state

[pomegranateboba]

ArTw boys if they followed us back to Mid Earthium

Based on this undone prompt provided by @sleepytwilight

Context: one of the gang somehow went to Mid Earthium with us (we dragged one of them there's no escape) now they are stuck with us til who knows when

Tw: Nothing too serious, Sirius being a red flag, its mostly crack I don't know how to write sad stuff

Arcturus

You found him in your kitchen on the ground, confused

"S-Summoner? What...where is this?"

"This is your house..??"

Poor baby was still confused even after you explained to him what happened.

Oh well, it just means he can know more about Mid Earthium culture (and the Summoner)

You both found out that your imprints with each other still work here (Arcturus was knitting at home and you summoned him to the florist to ask him which flowers looked better)

He found the crustiest animal shelter once and was absolutely horrified (You had to give therapy afterwards)

*in tears* "These poor things are sitting in their own waste-WHY IS THAT DOG BEING CRAMPED UP IN SUCH A SMALL CAGE"

You both came back home with your own personal petting zoo after that. (Let's assume our house is big enough)

He takes care of all the plants and animals in the house for you

Now your house is not only a petting zoo, but also a jungle. Yay.

He helps old ladies cross the street.

Literally the best housemate you could ever ask for.

He was amazed when you pointed out that he was an actual star in Mid Earthium.

The star Arcturus literally looks like him IT GLOWS ORANGE AJHSKHDKAKJGH

Very sweet.

*arcky appreciation*

Spica

You were in your nearby public library and saw Spica lecturing some kids about yelling in the library.

How Spica of him, you thought.

After bringing him home and explaining the situation to him, he was surprised to say the least.

At least now you would be by his side.

After 1 day your house now smells of coffee

Because he makes you coffee every morning (you drink it out of politeness and your love for Spica, despite the coffee being very bitter and like a 100 degrees Celsius)

Your house is also suddenly 10 times more organised

He has a considerable amount of free time now that he doesn't have to do work for the Guide Committee 25/7, so he can finally catch up on sleep.

And you can also bring him outside more

In which he gets major culture shock, because my dude used to like ballroom music and people articulating themselves in proper English (or whatever language I guess)

"Summoner, what does 'pogchamp' mean?"

Yeah. Time to teach this man about the internet.

I don't know about you, but I feel like Spica would fall for internet scams, because they don't have that stuff in Bound Arlyn (or maybe Spica just never used the internet.)

If you have any work to do, he will be watching very closely over your shoulder.

You try to teach this old man how to play online games and fail.

"...How do I know which team I'm on? How do I crouch?"

I think you should just let him read Mid Earthium books instead.

He is a very considerate housemate, doesn't really bother you unless you go bother him

He feels so weird not doing anything since he is overworked most of the time at Contell, please give him something to do.

Your imprints still worked, you summoned him from the living room to the bathroom because you were too short to fix a lightbulb (admit it you are short because so am I)

Alpheratz

You found him on a bench, being questioned by the police whether he was some homeless guy or not.

You manage to bring him home and explain to him what was going on (I mean as if we know what's going on)

I feel like he would either be really surprised, or just not care.

His logic: No Spica nagging = good

He spends most of the time asleep on your couch or somewhere in the house, or maybe the backyard if you have one.

He honestly would not care less, but his mood would be better overall because no Spica, and also no Schedar.

So you may be able to convince him to do stuff (maybe)

Your imprints work pretty much fine, you were trying to figure out how to wake him up from his century long coma on the couch, so you went to your room and summoned him there

It worked yeah, but he just went back to sleep, but on your bed.

Ah well.

He would be more than happy to accompany you around though, because Spica isn't there to show up out of the blue.

He can reach the high shelves for you.

If you are shorter than him (me), he will tease you for being short, because Pollux isn't around.

"Give me back my phone."

"But can you reach it?"

"..."

"That's right. You can't. :)"

You hit his face with a pillow

You may have to do your chores on your own though, you could try asking Alpheratz and there is a 50/50 chance he would help you

He helps you get more sleep as well, it is stressful being the Summoner in Bound Arlyn after all.

Pollux:

You found him in a park. On a swing set. He was taped to it.

Somehow, you were not surprised.

Little boy was overjoyed to see you.

You tried to explain what was happening to the best of your ability

He was a little confused, but that was all forgotten when you offered to go out to explore with him.

You took him to 7eleven, where he got a shit ton of snacks, because who's gonna stop him, not you.

He was so excited to stay with you without anyone else.

He also ensured that you had to clean up some stuff because the bad luck be bad lucking.

Anyways, you made the mistake of introducing him to social media

Its too late now he has actual followers now

Ah well.

Get ready to do tens of hundreds of tiktok challenges

It just feels like a very Pollux thing to do

He runs around everywhere, he wants to see everything in Mid Earthium and then compare it to the boundary

"Wow, everything's so...bleak. I mean not you of course, you're really pretty-I MEAN YOU DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING-"

Someone calm this tsundere down please he's feral

Would attempt to help out in the house, ends up giving up half way through

Your imprints work, you could not find Pollux anywhere in the house so you summoned him. Apparently he was hiding in the closet eating half the candy in the house

Loves dragging you around the place (he's adorable ahgjhgsajhg)

Vega

You both went back to Mid Earthium at the same time, together, so you both appeared back in your room

You were very enthusiastic about showing Vega around, BECUASE HE'S TECHNICALLY BACK HOME

Let's say you 2 lived in the same neighbourhood and you still live there now.

Bring on the nostalgia.

You showed him around all the places you used to go (according to Vega, since your memories of your time with Vega as a kid were non-existent)

Some changed, some didn't. Vega was really emotional after that (wait I didn't mean to put in all the feels no I'm not crying you are)

Vega would be either really teary or really happy, or both because he can finally spend some quality time with his beloved best friend <3

You both are inseparable the whole time, and if you have to leave the room, he can and will wait at the door until you are back

and don't take too long or else he will be sad (or he will break the door down and find you himself.)

All the time you both had was extremely wholesome without even trying and Vega was simply overjoyed just to be able to be with you.

Sometimes (read: every time) he would come into your room to cuddle with you because he has been overwhelmed with all The Feels ™

I literally love Vega he's adorable

Your imprint works, not because you needed to summon him (he was always by your side anyways), but because you know there's always this bond between the sorcerers? (amplifier stone type stuff or something)

You guys did build a blanket/pillow fort in your living room and cuddled :)

He is the most normal housemate because he knows how things work, except you would not leave your side for more than 10 minutes.

"Please stay by my side, Summoner."

Very sweet 100% chance of survival.

Sirius

You did not need to find him. He found you.

He somehow found where you lived and climbed through the window when you woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water (He refused to reveal where he spawned in to)

May Ursa Minor, Polaris and heck even Lilith from obey me why not, give us all strength to survive this

This man can and will tease you about the 2 of you living together in the same house

He has definitely suggested that the 2 of you could share the bed, but stopped before you could throw him out.

He has, despite the locked windows and door, came into your room at 3am in the morning in the form of a dog, just to bother you. You know, just because.

Polaris please come pick your kid up. I don't care whether you're dead, in the void, or is an ice monster.

Barks at people as a dog for no reason.

Got used to living in Mid Earthium very quickly.

Has most definitely pretended to be your boyfriend, up to the point where even you are confused. (gaslight gaslight and gaslight even more)

Will find a way to cause chaos.

Still pretty protective of you though, we don't talk about what he said in chapter 13

Will take you out pretty frequently (interpret it however you want)

You can never find him, so you do summon him to your side when he isn't already (he knows where you are he's just being a stalker dw)

Is very happy that he can have you all to himself, without other people questioning his questionable behaviour.

Will either help out in the house, or knock down glasses like a cat and stare at you dead in the eye.

"...Sirius please. It's 2 in the morning."

*Happy barking noises.*

"What do you want?"

"Can I be the little spoon?"

"Get out."

He somehow makes it seem like he lives in Mid Earthium, and not some wanted criminal from Bound Arlyn.

He's a menace, a hot menace, but a menace nonetheless.

#yeah i have not finished the assessment book i have been tasked to finish #in fact i have only done 15 pages #but arcana twilight takes priority #arcana twilight #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight alpheratz #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight vega #arcana twilight sirius #arcana twilight summoner #arcana twilight headcanons

[wndaswife]

the warmest season

wanda maximoff x gn!reader

tags: fluff, slight angst, mentions of a car accident, slight sexual content.

word count: 3008

summary: After an accident that leaves you bedridden for the remainder of December, Wanda is assigned to be your at-home nurse.

gif credit to creator.

It happened because of something stupid and entirely avoidable should you have been paying attention to your surroundings. 

A series of things happened beforehand: telling yourself you’d get your winter tires done once you had the time, going out in the midst of a storm to submit a report to your boss whose office was a town away.

For a while, you’d get stuck on the fact that if you had simply declined, you’d never have gotten into the accident. But weeks of being bedridden told you that holding that regret so close was fruitless. It didn’t heal you faster, didn’t make the days and nights spent doing nothing but sleeping any less tiresome.

Your nurse steps into the kitchen where you’re reading with a cup of tea in hand.

A bright smile forms on her face when she lays her eyes on you. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Wanda says cheerfully. You greet her with a smile. She lifts three bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter and huffs out softly. She pushes her hair back behind her ears and begins to unpack the groceries while looking up at you. “You’re up early.”

You put your book down and reach over to one of the bags, carefully unloading everything onto the counter one by one. “I got some pretty great sleep,” you tell her, dividing the groceries between produce and things for the pantry.

She takes a few things into the fridge and looks over her shoulder at you. “Your ankle isn’t bothering you at all, is it?” she asks. 

Yesterday, Wanda drove you to the hospital to get your ankle cast removed after having it on for weeks.

Shaking your head, you hand her a container of cream cheese. She takes it from you and stores it in its place.

“Good,” she says and closes the fridge before moving onto unpacking the last grocery bag. “We should take a walk later today since you’ve been off your feet for so long. The snow finally melted a bit so we can start off by walking down the street.”

“Down the street?” you repeat. “Can’t I do something around the block, at least?” 

Two days have passed since Christmas Day, and you’ve been cooped up at home ever since you were released from the hospital on the third. Even before then, the most of the outdoors you’d gotten was from an open window in your hospital room which was closed after no more than six minutes of being open.

Sometimes Wanda let you sit out in the backyard for a little while, but because the snowfall had been relentless as of late, she wouldn’t risk having you get a cold, so you stayed inside more often than not.

Wanda shook her head. “No,” she answers. “Not yet. You might have your cast off, but your fracturing was rather intricate. I’m sure you remember. I don’t want you to put any more pressure on your ankle than necessary until your next check-up.”

You slump down in your seat and begin folding up the empty reusable grocery bags silently.

Wanda stares at your forlorn reaction to her words, a guilty pang spreading through her chest at the sight of you.

Over the last few weeks, she had seen how prone you were to feeling down. She couldn’t blame you.

You had told her once during the time you spent with her that you weren’t very close to your family, and you hadn’t been to a Christmas dinner with them in years. So instead, you’d developed a habit of prioritising work to the point where having time for your family wouldn’t have been feasible anyway. It was easier to see it that way.

But because of the accident, you hadn’t been able to do any work either.

You’d tried a few times, but you were always so heavily fatigued and weak to finish anything significant. In some ways, Wanda was thankful you were spending more time focusing on taking care of yourself rather than working on anything else, much less for a boss who hasn’t even sent you so much as a concerned email when it was him who had called you out into the snow storm that day.

“I can drive us around instead,” Wanda offers and you suddenly feel yourself in the likeness of a sulking child. “We can go to that restaurant you really like, but we’ll have to order out. It’s not recommended that you put any unnecessary sort of stress on your body just yet."

You straighten in your seat and stand to store the folded bags under the sink. “No, it’s fine. Down the street sounds good,” you say. “Thank you for the groceries.”

The next few hours of the morning are occupied joyfully as you sit in the kitchen talking with Wanda, talking about nothing in particular.

She makes herself scrambled eggs and you a small omelette of the size you requested, both filled with mushrooms, red peppers, and diced carrots and bacon. Because you didn’t want it cooked into the omelette, Wanda makes you eat half of her canned tuna to ensure you got enough protein.

She sits across from you on the kitchen island counter, retelling her Christmas spent with her family while you nod and make a few comments here and there. She tells you she’d love it if you could meet them, and that both her twin brother and parents have gotten increasingly curious about the patient she’s been spending so much time with.

You silently question why they would know how much time Wanda spends with you, but the thought is left behind when she reaches over with her fork, slicing a bit of your omelette onto it and bringing it to your lips. 

“Here, take one more bite,” she tells you after she’d noticed you were finished with your breakfast. “I’ll finish the rest.”

You move your head forward and take the piece of omelette from her. Wanda slides the fork out from beyond your lips carefully and takes your plate.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” she inquires with a smile, looking up at you from her stacked plates. “You have me until six.”

You suggest to your nurse after swallowing your last piece of your omelette, “Nothing, really. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sounds cool,” she says, her smile growing so her eyes wrinkle at their corners. She forks the last bit of your omelette into her mouth and carries the dishes into the sink. 

While she washes them, you approach her and give her your empty glass. She takes it with a smile and steps to the side, closer to you. 

“Do you shower today? Or tomorrow?” she asks. 

“Today.”

Wanda places a washed plate on the rack to the right. “I bought the plastic wrap for your cast,” she informs. “I’ll help you put it on before you get into the shower. Do you need my help with anything?”

You shake your head. “I think it’ll be much easier now that I don’t have the ankle cast,” you ponder aloud.

“I think so too,” she agrees and begins washing the cutlery. “Let me know if you need anything. I won’t be too far.” Wanda looks over at you with a warm smile that makes you flush and scratch at the pad of your thumb with your fingernail. 

You nod.

Once Wanda is finished washing the dishes, you decide to shower first before you start the movie together.

With an arm around your waist, an instinctive act of assisting a patient turned into something like a display of affection, Wanda helps you ascend your staircase. 

You don’t really need her help in going up the stairs anymore, not after your ankle cast was taken off. You had no problems going down this morning before she came to your house.

Wanda must also know you know longer need any assistance in going upstairs anymore. She was the nurse, after all.

But neither of you say anything as her hand tightens around your hip when you take that last step onto the second floor. 

She sorts through a plastic case she brought with her in your bathroom while you get undressed in your bedroom.

The way Wanda’s eyes dart down your partially-uncovered body is not lost on you. A towel is wrapped around your chest that conceals you down to your mid-thighs. She’s seen you this way countless of times before, though her eyes seem to linger a bit longer every time. 

Wanda clears her throat and you see her jaw clench before she gestures to the edge of the bathtub. 

You take a seat there and Wanda takes the wrap out of the case. She unwraps it and you lift your arm up. The stretchy material fits your hand like a fingerless glove. Wanda leans down, one hand circled gently around your wrist and the other tugging the wrap up above your cast.

From this angle, you can clearly see down her loose t-shirt. You don’t have enough time to look away before your eyes run down her exposed clavicle, and the swells of her breasts and her black bra.

Wanda turns away to take surgical tape from the box on top of the toilet lid and you focus on cooling your flushed cheeks. Her hand snakes up the length of your arm and she holds the end of the cast wrap in place while she tears the tape from the roll with her teeth. She places the roll down and tapes the end down with her free hand. She wraps a few more strips of tape around the edge of the wrap to ensure no water can come through before she finishes.

When she straightens, her eyes find your face and the concentrated furrowing of her eyebrows dissipate into a concerned expression. 

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, stepping forward and placing a hand on your upper arm.

You look up to her and shake your head, hastily saying, “No, no, no.”

“Is the wrap too tight?”

You shake your head again.

“You look a little flustered,” Wanda notes.

“I’m fine. It’s hot in here.”

Your nurse runs her hand down your arm then reaches behind you to turn the tap on. She runs the shower, playing with the handle a bit as she feels out a cool temperature for you.

“Okay, come up,” she says quietly. She places an arm on your hip and takes your hand into hers, lifting you from the edge of the bathtub. “Is that too cold for you?”

You feel the running shower water with your hand. “It’s perfect. Thank you,” you tell her. When you turn your head to look at her, Wanda’s face is only a few inches from your own. 

Her hand on your hip raises to your shoulder. She brushes your hair back behind your shoulder so it spills down your upper back and leaves your neck and chest exposed. 

You hear your breath begin to quicken alongside your heartbeat and you try your best to steady yourself lest Wanda think you’re overheating in her arms.

Suddenly, she lets go of your hand and steps back from you.

“I’ll give you some space,” she hesitates. You watch her pack her things back into the plastic box she came with. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be just downstairs.”

And with that, she leaves the washroom, closing the door carefully behind her.

You pull your towel from your body and set it beside your sink.

The cool water from the shower makes you feel as if the tension from earlier, thick enough to have slickened your skin with layers of nerves, could slip down from your body and into the drain with ease. 

You take care in ensuring you avert your wrapped arm from the shower despite the covering around it as you could already envision Wanda’s panic if she were to find her wrapping hadn’t properly cared for your cast. 

You don’t notice that the very thought of it has made your cheeks flush a warm pink until the cool shower brings a refreshing downpour onto your face.

Wanda is sitting on the couch with your book from earlier in her hand when you head back downstairs after your shower. At the sound of you descending the staircase, she turns. 

“Feeling better?” she asks, eyes following you as you approach the couch and take a seat beside her.

“Better,” you say with a reaffirming nod. 

You threw your cast’s wrap out in the washroom, observing your wrist’s cast in detail to ensure it stayed dry in the shower.

Wanda does the same and you smile when she brings it up to her eyes. Satisfied, she lays your hand back in your lap and pulls herself closer to you so your arms brush against each other.

“Anything you’re thinking of watching?” she inquires, taking the television remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“We should watch a Christmas movie,” you suggest, pulling your legs onto the couch and leaning back comfortably.

In what seems like a response to your act of bringing your knees up to your chest and getting comfortable on the couch, Wanda leans into you.

She smells good.

The next few minutes are spent deciding on a movie while Wanda cuddles close to you, looking over her shoulder at you occasionally with a curious glint.

It is not even halfway into the movie when you end up stuttering out a quiet, “Wanda. Can I ask you something?”

She hums and looks over to you.

“Don’t you ever feel, like, a little taxed that you have to come here almost every day and take care of me?” you question.

Wanda looks completely bewildered at your question, her eyebrows pushing together as she straightens and detaches herself from your shoulder. You feel a chill where her warm body used to be. “No. It’s not taxing at all. It’s my job, you know. I do it for a living,” she answers.

At the rationality of her answer, you just nod. “Right. Okay, yes,” you say, almost more to yourself than to her, before looking back to the television. “It’s a job.”

Though you’ve started watching the movie already, decidedly focused on something else and having moved on from the question, Wanda continues to look at you. You can see her face and her unmoving stare from the corner of your eye.

While you question whether it would be better to look over to her and acknowledge the way she’s staring at you, Wanda moves close to you again. Her hand reaches up to the back of your neck and you bristle momentarily. Her fingers play with the wisps of your hair and your shoulders untense.

“Why do you ask that?” she asks, her voice quiet and indicative of sincere curiosity and something intimate.

You stutter, trying to find your words to answer the unexpected question, “N-No reason, really, I was just curious about-”

Warm slender fingers are placed against the side of your face, redirecting your attention over to Wanda’s face. The corners of her lips tug upwards slightly at the sight of you, and she urges you to continue with lifted eyebrows.

But you can’t find your train of thought, not once you’d lost it when Wanda’s touched your cheek.

“I wish I could have spent Christmas with you,” she whispers. She’s smiling again, wider this time.

With an embarrassed smile, you look away. “You don’t mean that,” you say. “It’s boring here.”

Her head tips to the side. “You have a bit of a problem with keeping eye contact, Y/N,” she teases. 

Your ears feel hot and your fingers tremble around your knees. 

Were you sick?

Wanda made sure you never went out without both a jacket and a sweater if she ever let you go out in this weather at all.

You’d felt normal this morning and this afternoon.

“Y/N,” she whispers. 

At the sound of your name, hushed on Wanda’s lips and said like a quiet prayer, your head turns quickly.

The last thing you register is the scent of the nurse’s perfume before her soft lips are pressed against yours. Wanda’s eyes flutter closed, and her fingers that had been playing with your hand are now wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you into the kiss.

You can feel her soft exhale on your upper lip.

She looks so pretty.

Your eyes run over the freckles on her face that you hadn’t noticed until now.

When she pulls away from the kiss, your lips parting with a soft pop, green eyes flit over your face. At your frozen expression and parted lips, her face forms into something concerned and regretful when it comes over her that she had completely missed the mark.

What would happen now that she forced a patient to kiss her?

What would happen to her relationship with you?

She pulls away from you, averting her gaze and moving to stand up. 

Her wrist is seized by a stubborn hand, and she’s tugged back down to the couch where you lean up and kiss her, eliciting a small squeak from the surprised nurse.

Slowly, she settles back down on the couch. Wanda leans forward, placing her hand on your knee and squeezing softly. Her lips leave yours to kiss your cheek, then your jaw.

“Isn’t it… breaking some rule to kiss your patients?” you suggest teasingly.

You feel her grin against your temple. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she says and raises a gentle hand to your face, making you look up at her. She breaks out into a fit of giggles as you wrap your arms around her hips, pulling her on top of you as you lay yourself down onto your back.

“Deal,” you affirm, burying your nose in her soft hair while Wanda kisses up the column of your neck with a wide grin.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[feverishly-kpop]

Ateez - Flu - Part 5

Wooyoung glanced up at the clock on the wall. They had the practice room reserved for another few hours but he decided to call it anyhow.

“This is pointless. Only half of us are here. We’re spending more time trying to figure out how to navigate all the empty spaces than actually working” he said with a shrug.

The rest of the members nodded in agreement, nobody having any objections to getting out early.

Yeosang and Jongho packed up and announced that they were going to catch a movie and maybe a meal before heading back home, heeding Seonghwa’s advice about avoiding the apartment for the time being. They had invited San and Wooyoung to join and San was about to accept the invitation before he turned back to Wooyoung, who looked deep in thought, completely oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

“Have fun, I’m going to try and take care of this though” San responded, indicating toward Wooyoung.

Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed the others leave and was momentarily startled when San sat down next to him, ducking his head slightly to get a look at Wooyoung’s face.

“What’s on your mind?” San asked gently, not wanting to pry too hard while also addressing the proverbial elephant in the room.

“Hmm? Oh, no I’m fine” Wooyoung replied flatly, but San wasn’t about to let it go so easily.

“Wooyoung I don’t think you are fine. It’s just us. What’s wrong?” San continued to push. This time Wooyoung looked up and San immediately noticed the tears in his eyes.

“The way I snapped at Mingi…” Wooyoung started, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know he was sick. But I shouldn’t have responded the way I did.”

Wooyoung was spiraling, that much was obvious to San. “What’s done is done Wooyoungie. Just apologize. Things happen and I’m sure he knows that you didn’t mean it.”

Wooyoung only nodded. There was nothing else to say.

San took the opportunity to change the subject, hoping to get Wooyoung out of his own head. “Do you want to catch up with Yeosang and Jongho? We could still make it to the movie theater in time.”

Wooyoung shook his head at that. “I’m just not in the mood. I want to go home” he responded pulling himself to his feet. “You can go though. I think I’m going to go home and take a nap.”

San quickly stood up, following Wooyoung to collect his things. “Actually a nap sounds good. We never get to nap.” San smiled sadly at Wooyoung before heading toward the door. “Would you mind if I crashed with you again? From the sound what Hwa hyung said when he left Yunho’s not feeling any better.”

“Only if you’re willing to cuddle” Wooyoung quipped back, a small smile crossing his face much to San’s relief.

San wouldn’t have it any other way, holding the door open for Wooyoung. “Deal.”

*~*~*~*~*~

When San and Wooyoung arrived home the apartment was silent. San poked his head into the hyungs’ room, finding them sleeping on top of their blankets fully clothed. He quickly indicated to Wooyoung to be quiet before pulling their door closed again.

“Hyungs are tired too” San whispered as he and Wooyoung changed into something more comfortable in Wooyoung’s room.

“Of course they are, they are stuck taking care of two big, sick babies.” Wooyoung’s mood seemed to be lightening now that they were home. He wasted no time getting into bed, relieved to have the opportunity to catch up on some sleep.

By the time San had returned from the kitchen where he had grabbed some snacks for the two of them, Wooyoung was already fast asleep. He considered lying down in Yeosang or Jongho’s bed in order to avoid disturbing Wooyoung but he remembered that Wooyoung had asked him to cuddle. So instead he carefully pulled the covers back and eased himself down. It was only a matter of seconds before Wooyoung had his face buried in San’s chest.

*~*~*~*~*~

Hongjoong was surprised when he woke up in a dark, empty room. He sat up quickly, much to the dismay of his aching head, being pulled back into reality. Before he could make his way out of his room he noticed a note on his bedside table in familiar handwriting:

Joong -

I’m taking Yunho to the hospital. His temp isn’t budging and he’s extremely nauseous. I think he’s dehydrated. Please look after Mingi. And make sure you are looking after yourself as too. You’ve been overextended lately and I don’t want to be taking you to the hospital next.

-Hwa

Hongjoong tried to make sense of what Seonghwa had written but his brain was having trouble comprehending. He couldn’t seem to figure out how long he had been asleep, how he hadn’t heard Seonghwa get up, and why he hadn’t woken him before he left with Yunho for the hospital.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud coming from somewhere in the apartment. The overwhelming lethargy he had been feeling was immediately shaken as he jumped up from his bed to determine what had happened.

Hongjoong was met with the sound of muffled voices punctuated with occasional sobs as soon as he opened his door. He quickly found the source when he opened the door to Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Jongho’s room, finding Wooyoung crumpled on the floor, crying in front of an overturned desk shelf and plastic vitamin containers strewn across the floor.

And then there was San seated next to him on the floor, tears streaming down his own cheeks as he looked up at Hongjoong like a deer in the headlights.

“San, I can’t - breathe” Wooyoung choked out. Hongjoong was immediately kicking the mess out of the way to take a seat opposite to San, his mind replaying their time in the dance studio together earlier that day. Wooyoung had been involved in the fight with Mingi, sure, but nothing happened that would have led Hongjoong to predict the situation unfolding before him.

“Young-ah, hey, look at me” he started, a bit startled when Wooyoung’s eyes snapped up to meet his own and finding them red, glassy, and swollen. “I need you to take a deep breath.”

Wooyoung struggled for a moment before letting out a whine. “Hyung, I can’t…” he groaned, tears continuing to soak his cheeks.

“Yes you can, just keep trying,” Hongjoong interrupted, grabbing Wooyoung’s hand and placing it to his own chest. After a few exaggerated breaths he was able to get Wooyoung to follow along, slowing his shallow quick breathing to match his hyung’s.

“That’s better, Woo. Just relax” Hongjoong continued, glancing over at San, who was white as a ghost as he silently held Wooyoung’s other hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. They remained that way for a few minutes until Wooyoung had calmed down, hiccuping a quiet apology. All three startled when the door unexpectedly open, revealing Mingi with a bottle of water in his hand.

“Mingi, you should be in bed,” Hongjoong murmured, loud enough only for Mingi to hear. A small shake of his head indicated that Mingi had heard him but he joined the other three on the floor anyhow before handing Wooyoung the water.

“I’m sorry” Wooyoung said, his eyes glancing toward the downed shelf on the floor and resulting mess around them. He then averted his gaze to Mingi as tears began to well up in his eyes again. “I’m so sorry” he repeated, but Mingi only shook his head.

“It’s okay, don’t give it another thought” he replied, laying his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, exhaustion quickly settling in again.

Hongjoong rubbed his back before getting to his feet and helping Mingi to his. “I’m going to get Mingi back to bed” he said quietly to San. “Can you get Wooyoung up and this mess cleaned up? I’ll be right back.”

San nodded, doing his best to muster a confident smile as Hongjoong led Mingi out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~

Sam’s mind raced as he set Yeosang’s shelf back on his desk, absentmindedly placing the containers back on it. He wracked his brain, trying to think of what could have caused Wooyoung to wake up gasping for breath and in tears. Wooyoung had seemed fine when they went to sleep, tired sure, but okay. Which is why San was so shocked to be woken by Wooyoung pushing him away in an attempt to get out of bed before stumbling into the desk and knocking Yeosang’s prized vitamin collection to the floor.

Once the room had returned to a state of normalcy San turned back to Wooyoung, who was lying in his bed, buried in his blankets with his back turned to him.

“What’s going on Wooyoung?” San asked gently, sitting at the foot of the bed, careful to avoid Wooyoung’s feet. Wooyoung didn’t respond, only burrowing himself deeper into the blankets.

Not sure what to do, San stepped out before standing in Mingi’s doorway. Hongjoong looked at the thermometer that he had just taken from Mingi’s mouth with a frown.

“Your temperature is up, Mingi. I’m going to get you some meds and I want you to hydrate as much as you can before you go back to sleep. Hwa’s at the hospital with Yunho right now because he’s dehydrated. I don’t want to have to take you too” Hongjoong said firmly as Mingi’s face sunk even further upon hearing Yunho was in the hospital.

“Anything I can get you?” San asked as Hongjoong left to get Mingi some meds and water.

Mingi shook his head before coughing into his elbow. “I didn’t realize that Yunho had to go to…I yelled at him this afternoon. He was…it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been an asshole.”

San shrugged with a reassuring smile. “Seems like a lot of that has been going around. I’m sure he understands. You’re sick. Sick people are crabby. He was crabby with me last night.”

Hongjoong soon returned with a bottle of water and a couple of tablets. “I’m serious about this, Mingi. Try to finish as much of this as you can? Okay?”

Mingi nodded as he swallowed his tablets. Hongjoong then turned to San, drawing in a deep breath as he ushered San out of Mingi’s room and closed the door behind them.

“Alright” he said, taking a moment to center himself before speaking again. “Any idea what’s going on with him?” Hongjoong asked but San shook his head.

“Its okay, San. That must have been scary for you. I’m going to talk to him. Can you put Yunho’s blankets in the wash and put new sheets on his bed? I’m not sure if he’ll be staying overnight or if he’ll be coming home…”

San could sense Hongjoong’s voice trailing off and nodded quickly, leaving Wooyoung in Hongjoong’s capable hands.

*~*~*~*~*~

It was times like this where he wished that Hongjoong wished he wasn’t a hyung or the leader, or…but he quickly snapped out of it as he opened Wooyoung’s door to find him curled up in a cocoon of blankets. All of his selfish thoughts of wanting to be free of responsibility melted away and he quickly forgot about the pounding pain behind his own eyes when he heard the sniffles coming from his dongsaeng. Hongjoong took a seat at the edge of his bed before drawing the blankets down just enough to uncover a head of unruly black hair.

“Hey,” he said quietly, stroking Wooyoung’s hair, smoothing it out bit by bit until Wooyoung rolled over to face him. “Can you tell hyung what happened?” He asked softly.

Wooyoung shrugged as he shifted closer to Hongjoong, clearly craving the comfort of his leader.

“I had a nightmare” Wooyoung finally said. “I can’t remember it. But I was so warm. And then I woke up and I was sweating and I couldn’t breathe.”

Hongjoong’s heart dropped at that. He placed the back of his fingers to Wooyoung’s cheek. “Wooyoung, you’re a little warm to the touch. Do you feel like you could be running a fever?”

Wooyoung didn’t respond, simply shrugging again with a sniffle as Hongjoong laid his fingers over his forehead. “You sound like you’re getting a little congested too” Hongjoong added, noticing the flush over Wooyoung’s cheeks.

Wooyoung looked none too happy when Hongjoong stepped out and returned with a thermometer.

“I know, I’m sorry” Hongjoong replied sympathetically and was relieved when Wooyoung extended a hand and placed it under his tongue, holding it in place without further prompting.

Wooyoung quickly pulled it out of his mouth and groaned before handing to Hongjoong.

38.2°.

“Yep, that’s a fever,” Hongjoong said with a sigh. He considered having Wooyoung take a flu test before determining it was futile. With two members already down with the flu and he himself feeling more exhausted and achy get the minute, there was no question as to what Wooyoung had come down with.

“It’s okay, Young-ah, we’ll get you back on your feet in no time” he said as he pulled his phone from his pocket, finding an unopened text from Seonghwa:

“He’s settled in and getting IV fluids. The nausea’s from the dehydration and his nurse said that would subside once he had his fluids replenished. He said that he can go home to rest but they want to get his fever down a little before they discharge him since he was pushing 40° when we got here. So we’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

The message was followed by a picture of Yunho, dead to the world, curled up with his puppy pillow and Spiderman blanket. Hongjoong couldn’t help but smile at that. It was just very Seonghwa to make sure to bring something to keep his dongsaeng comfortable in the hospital.

Hongjoong quickly responded:

“Glad you’re there with him. He looks more comfortable than he was earlier. Some bad news here though - Wooyoung’s sick.”

#kpop sickfic #kpop fluff #sickfic #ateez fluff #ateez sickfic #yunho sick #yunho fluff #yunho sickfic #sick wooyoung #wooyoung fluff #Wooyoung sickfic #Mingi sick #mingi fluff #Mingi sickfic

[fieldsofbats]

waitress au : a hectic shift

woop woop going back to waitress au :) i kind of hit a wall with this one but i love them sm and i wanna keep writing them, mostly for comfort. i've moved this month so i'm missing my old waitressing job a lot. requests and all are open &lt;3

part one, part two, part three

its families weekend, aka the busiest weekend for every customer service worker in the entire town. even more so because the clouds have finally cleared and the sun is out.

suns out guns out.

three plates every time you leave the kitchen, speed walking to tables, trays of seven to eight different drinks, cheeks aching from smiling at every fucking person.

ghost parked his bike and was surprised about the amount of cars in the car park. he hadn't figured out why and just assumed maybe because of the nice weather more people were out and about.

he wasn't wrong. he just didn't realise the added factor of children. everywhere.

screaming and crying and laughing and running around and yelling instead of talking and just generally being germ-y children.

you weren't at the entrance to greet him as usual. you hadn't realised what time it was yet as you were stuck dealing with a child's very specific allergies. each nod and smile was aching your cheeks to maintain.

you didn't miss a chance to go into the kitchen and stand still for a few seconds, organising your thoughts and then going back outside.

thats when you saw a new person in your section, simon's table. a genuine smile was on your face as you walked over to him. a familiar face amongst the horrors of random girlfriends and boyfriends.

"hey." you sighed and handed him a menu. he looked up at you and nodded, "busy." he commented. you chuckled "yeah, tell me about it."

it felt nice to talk to him, someone familiar and friendly. someone who won't pick apart the way you smile or be demanding. "im sorry it's so loud. i can sit you somewhere quieter, it's just not my section."

he wanted to say yes so bad, the kids next to him weren't sitting still and the interrupting boyfriend behind him was insufferable. but he couldn't leave you. go one more day without seeing you? no thanks.

he just shakes his head and orders quickly. "i'm alright here. wouldn't wanna be anywhere else."

instead he just watches you this time. not desperate for conversation as the noise around him is enough to keep him stimulated.

he watched as you go into the kitchen with dirty plates and come out with fresh hot meals. each time you have to stop and step around peoples feet or untucked chairs.

although he would make sure it never happens, he thinks about how smooth you would be on the field. smoothly dodging punches in hand to hand combat, or sneaking around buildings. he would rather die that ever let you near danger.

it took longer than normal for his meal to come out, but you made an effort to ensure you were the one who gave it to him. "i wish i could stay with you longer, but things are hectic today." you looked down at him with wide but tired eyes.

an overwhelming sense of concern overcame him. he wanted to take you back to his home, make sure you are well rested and warm and taken care of. this must be hard on you. you should come back with him. he will take care of you.

"thats okay, love." he reached out and gently ran his thumb over the pulse point on your wrist, "i can come by after your shift and give you a ride home." anything to prolong your time together.

it was then he could feel your pulse rise slightly, even through his gloves, gently he pressed between the two tendons. not letting you escape yet. if he let you go now he wouldn't have you again for some hours.

the shift continued the same. the main motivator being the thought of wrapping your arms around simon while riding his co- BIKE. bike.

fortunately, once the larger families and groups started to leave the pressure eased up. now was just reseting for dinner and handing the shift off to the next round of staff.

he was outside, you head him when he arrived back to pick you up. your shift went thirty mins over so when you got out it was quick apologise.

you nodded with a wide smile and took the helmet off him.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost x reader #headcanon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #waitress au #bitch im back again #fieldsofbats #look it is what it is just bare with me #this is not edited and idk if this even counts as writing at this point

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER SIX • CHAN'S TRUTH (1.4k)

Leaving the café without talking to, or even just seeing, Chan feels weird. Not all there? What was that supposed to mean? Was it because of last night? Is Minho right- he's freaked out by you now? If anyone should be freaked out, it's you, considering he only existed in book form up until a couple of weeks ago. You still had no idea how he came to exist.

The rest of the day went quickly; grocery shopping with Minho, feeding the stray cat with him, making dinner. By the evening, you were exhausted despite the easy day. However, instead of heading to bed, you went into your office. Your laptop sat open, but not on. Sitting down, you power it up, waiting patiently for it to log you in and open the document.

There weren't any words now, just a few dots. All you wanted to do was scream.

"Just tell me something," you whisper desperately, clicking all the buttons you can. "Please."

Stop it, it types.

"Oh my god."

You have until the end of the year to figure this out, it types again. You have one chance.

"One chance..? For what?" You're frustrated again. Why is it always so vague!

Then your phone vibrates; it's Chan.

"Y/n?" His voice comes through shakey.

"Hello? I thought you didn't wanna hear from me." You lean back, chair hitting the wall lightly. "Something about, what was it? Being "not all there"? What's that even supposed to mean?"

"Forgive me for that, I know it was bad timing." You hear him wince and sit up with a new alertness.

"Chan? What's wrong?"

"You're going to think-" he inhales sharply. "Ah- you're not going to believe me. Just wanted to hear your voice in case something happens."

"In case something...? Can you just tell me straight up what's going on?" Your voice picks up at the end, worry seeping through your words. "I'm done with people being so damn cryptic lately."

"It's best you come by the café and see for yourself," his voice is quiet, and the line goes dead.

"Shit," you hold the phone away, dialing his number. No answer. "Minho!"

-

"Want me to come in with you?"

You shake your head, eyes stuck on the Sorry, we're closed! sign. The lights were off in the café, but up above you could see dim lighting through the window. "No. Whatever is going on with him... I think I need to go alone."

Minho gives your hand a light squeeze, letting you know he'll be here if you need to run. "Be careful, Y/n."

Cold air hits you hard as you step out of the car. The café door is locked, so you circle around the back. Like you assumed there was a fire escape, and if you couldn't get in there? Maybe Chan would forgive you if you smashed a window? But luckily for you, the door at the top swings open easily. It leads to an office, and as much as you want to snoop you know this isn't the time.

"Chan?" You call out, walking down the short hallway. Glancing in each door, you see no sign of him, but as you make it to the end you find the source of the light.

His living room is a mess- lamp on, but knocked over. A few books lay on the ground, taken from the shelf as if someone tried to grab onto them for support as they fell. Coffee stains the rug, a broken mug shattered partly on the small table and on the floor. The whole scene unnerves you.

A groan from the kitchen causes you to whip your head around. "Chan? Is that you?"

Tentatively, you round the counter and spot Chan slumped over in the corner. He's semi-conscious, mumbling frantically when you crouch by his side. A hand comes up to grip your arm, hard, and his eyes are suddenly wide awake. Dark circles mark his face, and he's breathing heavily.

"Y/n," his voice is hoarse. "Y/n."

"I'm here," you place a hand over his on your arm. "What... what happened?"

He shakes his head.

"If you don't want to talk about it-"

"No, no I do, I just-" his voice breaks, head back against the cupboard. "I really don't know. One minute everything was fine, was normal. But then-"

"...but then?" You try to encourage him to go on. "Trust me, whatever it is can't be any weirder than what's been happening in my life lately.

"You shouldn't be so sure," he laughs, but it's empty. "I was drinking my coffee- don't give me that look I know it's late and I shouldn't have been-" he tries to stand up, stumbling forward. You catch him and help him up, guiding him to use the counter as support.

"My mug fell. I'm guessing you saw. When I looked down, my hand it... just wasn't there?" Holding out a hand, he shakes his head again. "Up to about halfway up my forearm was gone, faded, kind of. I didn't know what to do so I let Lily be in charge downstairs for now until I could figure it out. Of course, the hand is back now."

What. The. Fuck?

Mind reeling, you can't help but wonder if this has any connection to the latest USB message you've received. If Chan showed up the night of the power outage, the day you started getting the messages, would your time limit affect him too? If you didn't figure out what it is the haunted USB wants you to do, does that mean...

Chan will cease to exist?

A horrified expression paints your face. Although he isn't meant to exist in the first place, is it fair to him to let him fade? But how were you supposed to figure out what to do when no one will give you a straight answer? How can you save Chan?

"Believe it or not, that's not the strangest thing I've heard," you settle with. "I think... I think I need to tell you something. And show you something."

-

Which is how you ended up with Chan inside your home, staring at a new message from the USB.

IT'S TRUE.

"What does this mean?"

"You want to hear my theory?" He swings around in your chair to face you and nods. You're sitting with Minho on the couch, hoping Chan doesn't notice the daggers in Minho's eyes. "Hate to break it to you, but you don't exist, not really. Min already knows, but before that storm, I was writing a novel and the main love interest was described just like you, right down to the café and accent.

"I don't know how it happened, but I think somehow you were transported out of my book that night and now I have to figure out your ending. That's all I had left- the ending." His face is unreadable. "The last message said I had until the end of the year. I think that's why you're fading." Your voice is quiet now, gentle. "And I don't know how to stop it."

A strong silence fills the room. Chan isn't looking at you- his eyes are glued to the words on the screen. On the outside, he looks surprisingly calm, but you know his world is crashing down around him. Nothing you could say now would comfort him. If he wanted to run away from you and never look back, you wouldn't blame him.

"The end of the year?"

Eyes meeting, you give a stiff nod.

"I don't exist."

You nod again.

"My sister?" Leaning forward, clasped hands against his forehead. "Berry- my dog back home? My home? None of it is real?"

"Not here... not in this reality." Minho steps in. "This isn't your world to live in, but you're here now and so are they until the deadline."

"This is too much," Chan rubs his hands through his hair a few times, stopping to look at you. "Wait, this is why you asked where the café was, and why you didn't know about anything we talked about! Because it never happened. Oh my g- I thought you just weren't interested."

Embarrassed, you nod for the hundredth time. "Yes, but we can talk about that later, okay? Right now we need to figure out how to end this-"

A phone ringing interrupts you. Annoyed, you look down at the screen, Unknown Caller.

"Weird, last time it said that it was you Min, but since you're here..." You pick up the phone. "Hello?"

A strangled gasp is let out on the other end followed by a muffled sob. "Y/n? Is it really you?"

"Holy fucking shit," you cover the speaker and look at Minho. "It's Yeji."

●

notes • another friday another chapter !!!!

taglist • @yongbbokkie @chaeryred @tenebrisirae @toplinelix @chansdoll @amaranth-writing @3rachachoo @linosjureumi @thebrownemo @tfshouldidohere @channie-143 @frogieeheart

TAGLIST CLOSED ^^^blue means i can tag you

#.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :- #skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x fem reader #skz fanfic #skz series #bang chan series #stray kids fanfic #stray kids series

[janeblr]

Do you have any thoughts/headcanons on ge//ri//ta??

SO many thoughts. It’s the foundational ship for this fandom ofc.

Firstly, let me establish that I am a Germany-is-HRE truther. Everyone knows that EXCEPT Lutz himself but they all just kind of agree to not mention it. So Feli KNOWS that the boy he love(s/d) is RIGHT. THERE. But he can’t say anything to suggest they’re the same person because to Lutz, that’s a different nation who died, and Feli doesn’t want to confuse or upset him. But Lutz does love him, and not just because of any lingering memories from before!!! He fell in love with Feli completely on his own, and he would fall in love with him over and over again. AUGH. Once they both get their heads out of their asses and express their feelings for each other, FELI is actually the one who takes it slow because he’s afraid of making Lutz feel like he’s just a stand-in for HRE. Feli doesn’t want to jump right to “established relationship” because even though that’s how it kind of feels for him, that’s not how it feels for Lutz. So they take it slow <3 first dates, flowers, first kisses… augh.

Anyways enough with the amnesia agony. THE AGE GAP!!!! Lutz, in his experience, is only about 150 years old. But Feli has been around for over 1300 years. Cradle robber smh. It just cracks me up. And Feli forgets sometimes that Ludwig doesn’t remember anything before the 1870s so he’ll offhandedly mention something that happened hundreds of years ago as if everyone knows it, and Lutz is just like ??? I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. So even though Lutz often thinks that he’s the more “mature” one, Feli will make some joke about Byzantine Empire being bad in bed and Lutz suddenly feels very, very young. Feli often has to explain in-jokes between all the older nations to him or provide an INSANE amount of context for a simple passing comment. Lana del ray wants what they have.

Ok enough background. Let’s get to the headcanons

Their first dates were very simple <3 Museums, restaurants, art galleries, etc. Feli loves taking Lutz to art galleries and explaining the artworks and their historical backgrounds in vivid detail, and Lutz could listen to Feli talk passionately about art and architecture all day <333 Really I think he just likes the sound of his voice, his musical accent and animated speech. Every once in a rare while Feli will sing, maybe just a couple lines to a song, and Lutz fucking MELTS. They stopped going to restaurants after their first few dates after Lutz was like. Actually. Your cooking is way better and I like helping you in the kitchen. So let’s just do that instead. <3 Realistically a lot of their dates are things they were doing before they were a couple, just in a different light.

Feli taught Lutz how to relax <3 lounging in bed all day, curling up on the sofa with a cup of cocoa and a good book, just enjoying life without worrying about deadlines and routines. Although I don’t think Lutz will ever be able to sleep in the same way Feli can, they absolutely spend Saturday mornings in bed until midday, just tangled up in each other with not a care in the world <3

Conversely, Lutz taught Feli the joys of physical activity besides the walk from the sofa to the fridge lol. Hikes, bike rides, anything that gets them outside and moving. Feli has never been super outdoorsy or active, but breathing in crisp Alpine air and being surrounded by trees older than him is incredible. And he’s enjoying it with the man he loves <3

Meals! Entrées are Italian, desserts are German. Feli never acquired a taste for German food but goddamn that man can make a pie like nobody else. Feli is a lot more passionate about cooking (and Lutz can’t be trusted in front of a stove) but Lutz is happy to help chop vegetables or stir a pot of sauce. The one time they switched roles, Feli was stuck eating some sad, burnt to all hell potato and beef thing, and Lutz learned that he really hates tiramisu. This is not a condemnation of German food, they have some bangers, Lutz is just a bad cook lol.

They do indeed fight and argue like every other couple. Feli tends to be messy, leaving laundry all over the place and not cleaning up his dishes, whereas Lutz is neurotic about cleanliness and goes INSANE trying to convince Feli to just. Put his laundry in the fucking basket. Feli gets mad because sometimes Lutz will treat him like he’s incompetent or just outright stupid. Like there’s a reason he’s still alive and thriving after all this time. Get fucked mate. Ultimately their fights often come down to Feli being inconsiderate and Lutz being condescending.

They’re both fucking obsessed with how the other looks. Lutz is all strength and muscle and Feli wants to bite down on his forearms like a chew toy, and Lutz will never get enough of how Feli’s little waist feels in his hands or having those long legs wrapped around his hips. Also Ludwig is often like:

lol anyways. That’s all I’ve got right now, I have to do my timesheets or I won’t get paid for this week.

#mypost #japh

[peejsocks]

any chance of bam smut? like real filthy

(you’re good <3)

a/n: hopefully this is to your liking. i'm not sure what it is tho lol i'm still trying to get the hang of smut. sorry it's so long.

disclaimers/tags: nsfw. nsfk. i did not proofread this i'm so sorry if it sucks

heavily inspired by this:

Suffice to say dating Bam was not a walk in the park. Nothing about your relationship is bad, per say, it's just that you happen to be very prone to stressing out. Often referred to by friends as the personification of the aforementioned emotion

Being a straight A student throughout your whole life and refusing to let that one personality trait go is probably the root of your issue. Getting close to someone who is your opposite in that regard seemed like a terrific solution, another half to ease your worries and prevent your forehead from getting wrinkled too early. The only problem is you chose the most chaotic other half in the entire town. Worse, even, is that you fell in love hopelessly. So you are stuck in this mess now.

You're home from college for the weekend to house sit for your parents as they travel for their anniversary. Picking you up at the bus station, your boyfriend noticed the chewed cuticles and reddened skin, a manifestation of your anxiety for finals. If he didn't catch onto that, there was no way he could've missed the notes and calculations scribbled on a loose notebook page your eyes continued darting over during the drive. 

"If you don't look at me right now I’m eating that piece of paper, I am not fucking joking." 

One hand on the wheel, his other one hangs beside his temple, elbow leaning on the open window. Blue irises are side-eyeing you hard, curls kept away from them by a black snapback he knew you hated. 

Taking advantage of the red light, you grab his face and peck his lips. "Sorry. Hi."

"Much better. Now, my mom went a little overboard because she misses you, so I hope you're hungry enough to eat for a whole generation of Margeras."

You should have seen an ambush coming. 

Back in your house after lunch, instead of finding your parents packing the car, you're met with Rake, Dico, Raab and Ryan setting up the place for a party. Bam promises it's for your own good. 

Having daily phone calls as evidence of how much time you had already put into studying, it's hard to argue against his suggestion of a break. He wins you over after clarifying you have a few hours to revise and get ready before people start arriving, and the guys will take care of everything. 

It's half past six when the first group of guests barge through the door. Who the fuck goes to a party this early?

Before you know it, the inside of your bedroom feels like the bathroom of a nightclub, barely keeping out all the noise of voices and loud music. And instead of having fun, you're hunched over your laptop crying because you can't make sense of this one exercise you're sure you know how to solve because you've done it a million times before. 

"Why aren't you dressed yet?"

Wiping your tears before he could see them, Bam offers you the unopened beer in his hand. "Sorry, lost track of time, I'll get in the shower right now." 

"Alright, see you downstairs." 

He leaves and you hope the hot water will break you out of the stress.

Getting dressed, you noticed Bam left the beer next to your laptop, so you chug it. It's still cold, refreshing against the condensation wafting through your room. The papers on top of the closed notebook beg you to be picked up, but your eyes are trained on the mirror. Deep breath in. Nothing to worry about.

Your own shoes feel weird, you're not sure whether your makeup is too much or not enough and the people leaning on the rail of the stairs are unrecognizable. To be fair, it's not like you were having that much fun in your room either.

Trying to relax, some familiar faces keep you company in the kitchen, pulling you into their game of truth or dare. Dico is the happy evil trickster to hand you a mix of pineapple schnapps with redbull and half a bottle of sriracha. Claiming you're gonna be sick is your escape route.

Quickly disappearing into the crowd, the small amount of alcohol hasn't freed you from worrying, checking every surface for stains and every fragile piece of memorabilia for cracks. A knot forms in your chest every time you try to forget about your exams, that second long flash of cue cards prompting a wince similar to a wounded animal.

Bam would know what to do. 

The backyard is about the last place to look for him. Stepping into the chilly night, the wind makes your dress cling to your body. Raab and Dunn spot you first, lifting their cups to you and smiling big, a gesture you reciprocate and begin striding towards them. 

Feeling lighter doesn't last long, because on the other side of the pool, your boyfriend is sitting on one of the stretchers with his ex-girlfriend glued to his ear.

It could be innocent. If it wasn't her, or the hand on his leg, or how casual it looked. Any hope of a carefree night is ripped away from your grasp, and rolling your eyes, you finish the walk to your friends just to steal whatever they were drinking and downing it.

"Oh, that's not good."

Ignoring Raab's obvious statement and returning inside, you should have predicted having to take on the role of bitter host. Your infallible idea is to turn off the power and climb on top of a couch to announce the party is over because your parents forgot to pay the electricity bill, and anyone who remained would have to chime in with their own money. Oh, and the beer would get warm out of the fridge, of course. 

Your performance as the empathetic life of the party who is sorely disappointed that the night is ending is not at all convincing. 

Finding Dico in the dark, you kiss him on the cheek. "You got this, right?"

A thumbs up is shoved in your face, laughing at the spark in his eyes when given a task. "Sure thing, M'lady!"

The boy enthusiastically shoos the crowd outside, promising to arrange a second location, while you climb up the stairs without so much as glancing to see if anybody's following you. 

Back in your room, it feels relieving to pull your hair up and clean your face, the first instance of self-care all day.

Bam finds you sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror, spreading moisturizer over your skin. 

"What happened?" He sounds less drunk than you would have expected. Carelessly explaining you didn’t feel good is not sufficient. "You didn't even tell me anything."

"You seemed busy." Shrugging, the real words choke on your throat. Still, you don't look at him, focused on untying your shoes. "I'm gonna jump in bed, but you can follow the guys if you want to. Just call me tomorrow."

"No, c'mon, what's wrong?" He pushes your hair onto your back, but you brush the movement off, annoyed. "Everyone left, I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sure your ex is waiting in the bushes outside, you can still catch up." He scoffs and you sigh. "I need to sleep, that's all I want to do. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

Even irritated, you take his offered hand to stand up. Before you can fully turn your back to him and walk into the bathroom, you're being pushed against the closet doors. 

"Don't tell me you shut down a party over jealousy. Did you?"

"Are you seriously trying to be sexy right now? While I'm mad? How many concussions have you had, dude." 

Bam's hands put more pressure on your hips and his face inches closer to yours. This is not the time to let hormones overtake you. 

"Well, you could have pushed her hand away, you didn't. You could have gotten up, you didn't. You could have not invited her, you did. So, yes, fuck you for that."

"If you looked for more than thirty seconds, which you clearly didn't, you would know I did. The only part I didn't do was invite her, I'm not that dumb. She just showed up with some other friends." 

Having the roles reversed and being in the wrong is the hardest part for you. How was Bam more level-headed than you right now? 

"Well, get a restraining order next time, I don't know." God, you are losing it. Every thought feels scrambled and way too hard to conclude, so you're saying whatever comes to mind. 

Tired, you shake your head and try to move out of his grasp, but Bam's lips catch yours delicately. 

His hands are bunching up the skirt of your dress discreetly when he speaks. "I think what you need is to take it easy." 

"I doubt you can help me with that. In case you haven't caught up, you have been stressing me out all day."

There's a more serious look in his face now, apologetic. You almost feel bad. "Let me make up for it, then. Please."

"Bam, really, I don't-" His mouth crashes into yours again, harsher now. Tongue desperate to meet yours, he succeeds in turning your legs wobbly. Some could call that “taking it easy”..

Breaking off but noses grazing, you can feel his shaky breaths before ring-clad fingers start running up your leg under your clothes.

“Tell me to stop.” It’s a challenge. He knows you won’t. Especially when his hands are forcefully gripping the extra bit of skin on the inside of your thighs. 

The painful pressure takes your mind off of your troubles. Maybe your boyfriend knows how to help after all. You won’t give him the satisfaction, however. 

“Is this your apology?” Digging manicured nails into his shoulders is your way to warn him you’re putting up a fight. A little one. 

“Are you gonna tell me it isn’t working?” His palms slide dangerously close to your underwear and his nose is breathing heat into your neck. It’s heaven and hell. 

“You can’t win a fight with sex.” He could. You’d let that happen. 

“That’s not-“ Bam lets out a frustrated groan, biting your ear in the process. “I’m just trying to make my girlfriend feel better.” 

There’s no petty comeback, you know he means it. For a second, your heart skips a couple beats. 

It’s incredible how after all this time, his teenager antics still get you hot and bothered. 

Gentler, buttery cold lips soak the skin of your chest, nibbling around the straps of the black dress. 

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

That simple. You melt into him, weeping on the inside over how good it feels to give in. 

Big, surprisingly soft, hands lift up your dress to reveal your underwear. Bam rubs you over the thick fabric, sincere smile teasing his lips as soon as your legs adjust to his touch.

“See? Why make things so hard on yourself?”

Careful fingers pull your clothes all the way up, leaving you in nothing but your panties. 

Before you can feel cold, your boyfriend closes the distance between your bodies. Holding your hair in his hand, kisses trail up your neck as he whispers. 

“So beautiful, so smart, so dedicated.” He guides you towards the spacious bed. “You think no one sees it. I do.” 

Layed on your back, Bam’s words are hypnotic, taming the fire inside but not putting it out just yet. 

Getting on his knees, he makes a point to toss his snapback far away, allowing the dark locks to bounce freely. He knows you so well. 

“Just…” Tongue sucking on your hip bone after attacking it with his teeth. Voice shuddering through you. “Relax.”

For someone aiming to project calmness, Bam’s hunger to get to your cunt is dizzying, wasting no time with removing any piece of cloth. Just pushing it to the side while tongue-fucking you. 

He actually pulls it down to allow his fingers access, the noise of metal clinking on the floor when he takes off his rings. 

“Hey, babe.” Curls jiggle when his head shoots up, tip of the tongue still stuck on you. “It’s working.”

That sharp smile, wicked, matches yours. 

Passion is what comes through when his mouth returns to its full job, absurd noises filling your once innocent childhood bedroom.

It’s a source of pride, how good he is at eating pussy, since you were the one giving him instructions for the first year of your relationship. Of course he doesn’t appreciate being told what to do and wanted to get it right so he could start adventuring on his own. The rewards are extremely gratifying. 

Bam’s fingers curl, hitting the most important spot. That along with the commitment to sucking on your clit is driving you crazy. You try to moan, but your mouth is so dry and the muscles in your abdomen are tightening too hard for anything to come out.

That’s when he stops.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”

His tongue pops out to lick the juices covering the surroundings of his lips. Fuck, he looks so pretty.

“That’s the plan.”

Standing up to unbuckle his pants, you volunteer to rip his shirt off, stealing a kiss on the way. 

All the stressed energy consuming you is transferring to your hands scratching his back and pulling his hair until he grunts. He makes fun of you.

“Let it all out, tiger. I am your vessel.”

It dawns on you, this is your boyfriend giving himself to you, to your frustration. To be used and abused as you wished.

In the flurry of thoughts, you bite his lip, but he seems to enjoy it. 

Needy, you squeeze his ass to lock his crotch with yours, begging silently for more. 

“Relax.”

Bam kisses you slower, tricking you into a false sense of tranquility before slipping his hard dick in you. This time, you moan, loud. 

“Fuck, Bammy, I-” His hand covers your mouth, as to say, not right now. 

Tongue sticking out between gritted teeth, your boyfriend slides further just to test his range before slowly pulling out again, swollen head teasing your entrance. You can see the slick juices leaking down to your sheets.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you see double tonight, baby.” 

When he slides back in, another leisurely stroke, it’s beyond your control. Biting on the fingers still closed around your lips does nothing but encourage a faster rhythm. 

Bam angles your legs farther, pressing under your thighs to position them flush to his hips. Wide open. 

At this point, he’s giving it to you so hard your body is nearly hanging upside down off the end of your bed, the bedframe hitting against the chipped baby blue wall. 

Your whimpers are embarrassingly high pitched, his sweat mixing with yours where your chests are bumping. 

Looking up, the vision is magnificent. Bam’s jaw is hung, mouth open for a moan that won’t come out. His hair is all over the place. The tattoos across his body change shape under the erratic movements. 

Moving his hips, he breaches your limit, stroking an area so sensitive you can feel the veins in his cock pulsing. 

Everything feels small and too big at the same time, unbearable heat pressing down on your body, buzzing in your ears. For all you know, the walls in the room could be shrinking. 

Your eyes catch the heartagram pounding against your trimmed hairs before rolling to the back of your head, overwhelmed. 

Crumbling on top of you, the rings still on Bam’s left hand dent the skin barely protecting your bones when he hugs your hips. Bracelets pinching your leg hair. 

His incomprehensible moan echoes through the walls like he had waited years for such a satisfying release. Muffled by the hand still obstructing your mouth, basking in the sound of Bam cumming so unashamed is enough to untie the knot in your stomach and ignite your own climax, arching your back and forcing your stomach onto his, which is still moving in and out as he pants.

You can feel his jaw is still dislocated, chin punching into your shoulder as the two of you attempt to catch your breath. Wet curls stick to his forehead, and you smile in bliss. 

“Much better, huh?” In two quick steps, Bam is up and pulling you with him, easily throwing you across his shoulder and walking into the bathroom for a shower. “You should just admit I’m always right.”

#bam margera x reader #bam margera #jackass #jackass fanfic

[nellie-elizabeth]

Writing Patterns

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to see if there are any patterns!

I was tagged by @ajna-eye-cogitations, thank you!!

[A note that when I picked the last 10 published, I skipped over all my short one-shot collection fics that I've been posting for years now, since those are cases where each chapter is its own individual story. So I just stuck to stuff outside of that!]

where the real road lies

Grief doesn’t feel like anything. Or— well, it feels like a lot of things, but nothing you can pin down. Maybe it’s one of those human experiences that can only be talked about in metaphor. Like, it feels as if my heart’s being ripped out of my chest, or it feels as if someone’s scooped me out, left me hollow, plunged my very soul into darkness. It feels as if, as if, as if.

(can't) get back again

It’s not a decision either of them is actually making. That’s what Michael tells himself when it happens for the first time, that he didn’t decide and Alex didn’t decide and in fact fighting the inevitability of it would only be adding more pain into a world already saturated with suffering.

small town halloween night

Maria gets home before Rosa, on Halloween night. They’d both picked up shifts for their parents, Maria at the bar and Rosa at the diner. It’s not the worst shift Maria’s ever worked, but she can’t help but feel a little melancholy on her drive home. A whole night of watching people her age, people she went to school with, cluster together with their friends, doing cheap shots... A year ago, that had been her. A year ago, dressed up with her skin out, doing shots in her friends’ kitchen, laughing at the movies and getting rice in her hair.

tell me that we belong together

September 2011 Michael always gets a little nostalgic about Roswell right before leaving it behind for a while. School’s starting in just a couple days, and that means saying a temporary goodbye to mornings like this one, lounging in their favorite booth at the Crashdown, the sounds of Arturo making their breakfasts carrying through from the kitchen, jukebox playing some song Michael only recognizes because he’s heard it playing in this very diner countless times over the years. They have their local haunts in Albuquerque by now, but he’ll always be a hometown boy at heart, and for better or worse, this is his hometown.

a work of fine art

Quentin Coldwater has fuzzy arms. It’s one of the first things Eliot notices about him as his volunteer life model settles down on the couch, crossing said arms across his chest in a nervous, nearly defensive move. It’s like he’s trying to fold his body into an origami box so all the outside parts will be on the inside, safe from Eliot’s eyes. But looking at the man in front of him is rather the point, so Eliot looks his fill, careful to catalogue every detail, despite how he can practically feel the waves of energy coming off of Quentin’s body, the frozen full-body cringe as he attempts to deflect the attention. Eliot indulges in it, keeping his face carefully neutral instead of giving in to the smile building up inside of him at the rather lovely display. Squirmy, awkward, cute naked boy, and Eliot gets to stare at him for a full uninterrupted evening. It must be his birthday.

tales from a bookshop

The bookshop has always been something of a sacred space for Crowley. Scratch that— not sacred, certainly not sacred, who the hell said sacred, honestly. And no more is it Hell’s cosmic opposite, profane, it’s only that— well, blast it, it’s only that A.Z. Fell & Co. booksellers has always been an important place for Crowley. Significant. Precious, maybe, though even the taste of such a word makes him want to scream profanities at someone who doesn’t deserve it, just to get the tickle out the back of his throat.

Shelter

The first thing Quentin did most mornings was locate the most excitable, energy-filled dog he could find in the kennels, and take the little terror out for a brisk, damp jog. Damp, because the Seattle air always seemed to be damp no matter the temperature. Brisk, because Quentin was not a jogger and a solid twenty minutes was usually as much as the lucky canine in question was likely to get out of him. He did this because he was usually the first person to arrive at work and he didn’t feel like making awkward chit chat with the night shift people, and also because it seemed a kindness: by the time his bosses Margo and Fen had shown up after their leisurely morning coffee routine, the most excitable of their furry residents had already had some of their energy burned away by Quentin’s efforts.

under the desert sky

Beyond basic necessities, the items Alex brings with him on their trek to the Grand Canyon are a fully stocked iPod, car charger, and a stitch-bound notebook slipped into the front pocket of his backpack. Michael brings his restored Nikon FM 35mm and six rolls of film.

the lengths that i would go to

Summer 2010 It’s early, so early that the sun isn’t up, the air around him still and quiet. Alex is awake, and for a second he doesn’t quite know why. His body is conditioned to wake early each morning, but this is something different. There’s a strange awareness, where paranoia meets familiarity. Alex knows, as consciousness filters into his brain, that there’s someone else in the room with him. He also knows, without having to open his eyes, that there is no threat, because it’s Michael. The bed shifts, and Alex blinks into the dim light, looking down to see Michael crawling up the bed towards him.

it might change my memory

June 2022 It’s Bonnie, of all people, who calms everybody down. Not Isobel with her power to mentally soothe, or Dallas with his preacher training and inviting sensibility. Not Liz with her practical, scientific mindset, or Michael, the one person in this room who theoretically has all the pieces of the puzzle and actually has a chance of knowing what the fuck is going on. It’s Bonnie who cuts through the excited, confused, unintelligible babble and says, quite loudly for such a small woman: “Okay! Seems like we have a situation! Everyone should sit down. I’ll make tea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wow, okay, this was really interesting to see! It looks like a very common approach for me is "short, catchy sentence" followed by longer paragraph expounding on it. Like -- "Grief doesn’t feel like anything." or "The bookshop has always been something of a sacred space for Crowley." or "Quentin Coldwater has fuzzy arms." This is true across all the fandoms I write in!

It's crazy that only one of these ten examples has any dialogue in it at all, because I tend to think my dialogue skills are really sharp! I should start more stories off with it lol.

Tagging whoever writes and wants to participate! @portraitofemmy, @prettyboysdontlookatexplosions, @awildwickedslip, @spiders-hth-is-an-outlier, @r-dtoblack

#my posts #writing #my fic #roswell new mexico #the magicians #good omens

[heecase]

Midnight Rain Chapter 6: Confrontations

Synopsis: You've always been a planner. You had your whole life planned out, but Heeseung breaking up with you for a chance to become an idol wasn't apart of your plan. So now you're stuck with supporting him from afar. Until a college boy sweeps you off your feet. Everything was supposed to be perfect. Then why were you still yearning for your first love? Pairing: Idol! Heeseung x Fem! Reader; Nonidol! Yeonjun x Fem! Reader Word Count: 3.6k Genre: Angst, Fluff Warnings: Toxic Relationships; Physical Violence; Degrading of Women stated by Yeonjun; Bruises mentioned; Gaslighting; Panic Attacks;

A/N: The story is all fiction, please don't take any depictions of the boys to heart. New chapters will be uploaded once a week. Any feedback is welcomed! Please enjoy~

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“Hyung, you gotta get up.” Jungwon shook the older boy’s shoulder for the third time.

“5 more minutes.” Heeseung groaned, pulling the blanket back over his body.

“Hyung, Noona is gone.” Jungwon said frustratingly. 

Heeseung’s eyes shot open as he looked around the room to find you not beside him. His brows furrowed in confusion, surely you wouldn’t just leave without letting him know right? You’re probably just somewhere in the dorm, right? 

He jumped out of bed and ran to the living room. The mess you both had left in front of the couch was gone. The pillow and blanket he had haphazardly thrown on the couch were now neatly folded and tucked to the side. Panic started to set in as he rushed to the bathroom, seeing that the door was closed, he started banging on it.

“I’m almost done!” Niki’s voice was heard through the door making him panic even more.

He ran to the last place left, the kitchen, only to see you nowhere to be found. Instead various plates of side dishes were set up on the table along with a little note. Thank you guys for everything you’ve done for me. I’ll always be rooting for you. As he stared at the note, Jungwon walked up behind him.

“Hyung, she was gone when I got back. The others didn’t see her leave either.” Jungwon commented while looking at the note in his hand.

No, this wasn’t happening. He just got you back. You can’t leave him again. He ran back to his room and grabbed his phone from the charger. He scrolled through the device until his finger landed on your name. Pressing call, he chewed on his bottom lip and waited as the line rang.

“Heeseung…” Your soft voice was heard on the other side, making his heart beat calm slightly.

“Y/n, where are you? Why did you leave like that?” He ran a hand frustratingly through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I had an emergency at the office and I had to go take care of it.” You explained, but Heeseung could tell there was something off about your voice.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I could’ve driven you.” He frowned, but knowing you were safe was enough to calm his nerves.

“You didn’t get much sleep so I didn’t want to wake you. Besides, I’m fully capable of getting around by myself.” You replied, trying to lighten the mood.

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I was just worried.” He paused, sighing. “When are you getting off? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Uh.. You don’t have to. I’m meeting up with Chaewon after work.”

“Y/n, I don’t like it that you’re alone right now.” He argued.

“But I’m not! I’m at the office with all of my coworkers and there are plenty of lovely security guards in the lobby if I need them. I’m fine, I promise!” You tried to reassure him.

“Okay, let me know when you’re done with Chaewon and I’ll come get you.” He insisted, getting antsy about you not being by his side.

“Um… I’m gonna stay at her place tonight.” You paused. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. It means a lot, but I don’t think it would be best if I stayed at your dorm any longer. People will start to wonder if they see me going in and out of a place they know only boys live at. Besides, I’m gonna have to go back to work so it would be better to stay with Chaewon since she lives closer to my company and all.”

“Y/n, please. Don’t do this.” He sighed, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say to change your mind.

“Tell the boys I said hey and I’m sorry, Hee.” Before he could argue any further, the line went dead and he let out a stressed sigh.

“Hyung, where did she go?” Niki asked from the doorway.

“She went to work. Said there was an emergency and they needed her to come in.” He responded, rubbing his tired eyes.

“When is she coming back?” Jungwon questioned carefully, trying his best to assess the situation. Heeseung gave him a sad smile as he made his way out of the room, leaving Niki and Jungwon to stare at each other with no clear indication of what’s going on.

A few days have passed since you’ve last seen Heeseung and you can feel your heart yearning for him. You knew what you did was for the best but that didn’t make the decision any easier. Your nightmares haven’t gone away and you don’t know what to do about it. Chaewon was getting more worried as the days passed and you hated the burden you were putting on her but you were out of options. Yeonjun has successfully backed you up into a corner and now you don’t know how to get out. However, you were optimistic things would sort themselves out eventually. You don’t know how but it will. The universe just needs some more time.

Have a good day today. I miss you. Heeseung’s text lights up your screen as you type away on your computer. Glancing at it, you sigh before the screen goes dark. You’ve been ignoring his messages, in hopes that he’ll give up and you won’t have to think about him anymore but it’s not going well. Heeseung was very persistent when he wanted to be and it seemed like he was being true to his word about not leaving your life again. You just wished the situation would’ve happened differently. Maybe in another timeline you two would’ve met up naturally and become close friends again, but that’s not this one sadly. Heeseung and the rest of Enhypen can’t afford a scandal and you still aren’t sure what’s going on with Yeonjun either.

A sudden ringing pulls you back to reality, you pick up your phone to see Yeonjun’s name on the screen. Speak of the devil. Pressing the red button, you ignore his call once again. You really should just block the number but you’re afraid he’ll just get a different phone to call you and you’ll end up picking up that time. You place your phone down as you continue your assignment.

“Y/n, I don’t mean to disturb you but Lily from the front desk is asking for you. She said someone is waiting for you in the lobby.” Your coworker said as she sat down at her desk next to yours.

“Do you know who it is?” You questioned, thinking it was odd that someone would be looking for you in the middle of the day. Until it dawned on you that it could be Yeonjun. Surely he wouldn’t come here to look for you right?

“She didn’t say but you can message her to see if you want.” You didn’t respond and immediately pulled up your kakaotalk on the desktop to message said girl.

Hey Lily, Sakura said you were looking for me? You sent as you bit the inside of your cheek.

Yes! Your fiance is downstairs looking for you. I was going to message you but I saw Sakura first so I had her relay the message instead, I hope that’s okay. Your throat went dry as you read her reply. What are you going to do? You knew something like this was bound to happen eventually but that still didn’t prepare you for it actually happening.

Of course that’s fine. Can you let him know I have an important meeting coming up and I’ll just see him at home. As the read notification went off, you waited anxiously to hear what she had to say back. After a few minutes your heart started racing. Yeonjun wouldn’t cause a scene and potentially get you fired right? He’s not that psychotic right?

Your phone starts ringing again as Yeonjun’s name flashes on the screen. You have to pick up. He’s not giving you a choice now.

“H-hello?” You whispered, standing up and walking away from your desk just in case this gets vocal. You don’t want to disturb your coworkers.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you for so long, my love.” His sweet voice traveled through the phone. Making your skin crawl.

“Yeonjun, you need to stop. There’s nothing more for us to talk about. Please just leave me alone.” You said, trying your best to not sound scared.

“Baby, don’t say things you don’t mean. Come downstairs. Your lunch break should be soon, right? I just want to talk things out.” He responded without skipping a beat. He clearly wasn’t listening to anything you were saying.

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you.” You huffed in annoyance.

“Damn, it would be a shame if I were to do something stupid like push past security and come upstairs to get you, right? You don’t want to be put in that situation would you?” He threatened, making your throat run dry. 

“Fine! Fine… I’ll come down. We’re only going to talk and nothing more. I don’t want to get back together with you and I want you to leave me alone after this.”

“You have 5 minutes, my love.” He said as the line went dead. You ran a hand through your hair as you made your way back to your desk to grab your purse. You look at the computer screen to see Lily’s reply of I told him but he doesn’t look happy. I don’t think he’s going to leave anytime soon. Unlocking your phone with shaky hands, you send a text to Chaewon, telling her where you’ll be and who you’re with. Asking her to come help. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly excuse yourself and make your way downstairs.

Your eyes widen as they land on Yeonjun. He looks rough. Like he hasn’t slept in a few days and hasn’t had a proper meal in months. He gives you a wide smile as he sees you come closer.

“Come on. Let’s go to the cafe next door.” You said in passing as you brushed past him. Without looking back, you knew he was following close behind.

You opened the door and let it fall for him to catch as you say, “I’ll have an iced matcha latte, less sugar.” 

Yeonjun smiles at you before going to place the order at the counter. Once the buzzer was given to him, he made his way over to the booth you currently were at. He slid into the opposite side and smiled at you again when you looked up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He said, trying not to break eye contact but you looked away first.

“Get to the point. Why are you here?” You scoffed. You have to keep the upper hand. You can’t let him intimidate you.

“I want you back. I want us back.” He frowned slightly at your standoffish behavior.

“I don’t want you back. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Irritation lacing your figure as you repeat the same words for the umpteenth time.

“But, baby-” Yeonjun sighed as the buzzer went off. He stared at the device for a second before standing up to go get the drinks. You take the opportunity to pull out your phone again to send your location to Chaewon. Please come save me. You quickly try to look nonchalant as Yeonjun returns and places the drink in front of you. You take a sip before he continues. “Baby, I can change. Everything can change. Just tell me what you want and I can do it. I promise this time will be different.”

“Yeonjun, there are no more chances. You lost that right when you put your hands on me.”

“I’ll never do that again. I promise.” He pleaded.

“It’s too late.” You sighed as you tried to sympathize with him.

“It’s funny how you get to dictate how this relationship will end when you’ve been whoring around.” He chuckles slightly.

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Where have you been the past few weeks?” He took a sip of his iced coffee without breaking eye contact with you. He can tell you’re nervous and he knows why too.

“I’ve been at Chaewon’s place.” You lied.

“No you haven’t. I sat outside her place for days and you never left from that building. I would see her come and go but you were never with her.” He smirked, thinking he finally won. “So tell me y/n, who were you staying with? Which unlucky bastard did you hook up with to avoid me?”

“You stalked my best friend just to find me? You’re actually insane. I don’t have to tell you anything.” You scoffed as you grabbed your things and left the cafe. Yeonjun was quick to follow you this time. He harshly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards his chest as you tried to run away.

“Let me go.” You jerked but his grip didn’t loosen. He wrapped an arm around your body as he tried to drag you in the direction of his car.“Yeonjun, let me go!” You started screaming as you resisted. 

From across the street, Heeseung could see your battle from his car. His heart rate skyrocketed as he opened his car door to come help you. His phone ringing pulled him away for a second as he answered the phone.

“What?” He answered harshly as he exited the vehicle.

“Hyung, manager hyung is looking for you. We have a schedule in a few. Where are you?” Jungwon questioned, with concern lacing his voice.

“Y/n needs my help right now.”

“Send me your location.” As Heeseung quickly pinged his location, he was finally able to make it across the street. He ran over and pulled Yeonjun off of you before he was able to do anything else. You were quickly pushed behind him as he squared up the other male.

“Heeseung?! What are you doing here?” You questioned staring at him in shock.

“You sent me your location and asked for help so I came.” He responded without breaking eye contact with an angry looking Yeonjun.

“So this is the bastard you’ve been fucking huh?” He laughed, sounding close to manic. “Poor boy doesn’t even know who he’s dealing with.” Yeonjun staggered backwards as Heeseung’s fist collided with his jaw. He spit the leaking blood on the ground as he wiped the rest on the back of his hand. “Is that the best you’ve got, pretty boy?”

“Heeseung, don’t!” You yelled, grabbing his arm to pull him backwards. You looked around in a panic as the commotion was starting to make passersby look your way.

“He fucking deserves this for everything he’s done to you.” Heeseung’s voice was laced with venom but his eyes softened as his gaze landed on your crying figure. He gently reached a hand up to wipe your tears as he tried to sooth you. Your tears were endless as you clung onto his arm, begging him not to start a fight.

“She’s not who you think she is. She’s nothing but a whore. Did she tell you we’re engaged before she started fucking you?” Yeonjun’s menacing voice rang loudly as you closed your eyes to gather yourself.

“You don’t fucking own her. She doesn’t want you anymore. Take a fucking hint and leaver her alone.” Heeseung spat, turning back to face Yeonjun.

“Heeseung please. Not here.” You begged as you wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him back.

“And you think she wants you? Don’t be stupid. She’s just using you too. Once she gets what she wants, you’ll get thrown away too. Just like I did.” Yeonjun’s glare was deathly and if looks could kill, you wouldn’t be alive anymore. You winced at Yeonjun’s words, making your grip on Heeseung loosen just enough for the taller boy to break free from your grasp.

“Shut the fuck up!” Heeseung yelled as his fist collided with Yeonjun’s jaw once more.

“Hyung!” Sunoo’s voice was heard yelling as you tried to pull Heeseung off the other boy but you weren’t strong enough. Jay arrived quicker than the others and pulled his hyung off with ease as the other members gathered. Heeseung brushed off the younger boy as he examined you to make sure you didn’t get hurt. Yeonjun took the opportunity to return the punches he’s been getting. He jumped on top of Heeseung as he swung at the boy’s face. Thrashing wildly while screaming profanities at him. Jay and Niki were quick to pull the boy off of their friend as Jake and Sunghoon helped Heeseung up. Sunoo was currently embracing you as you cried harder, screaming for Yeonjun to stop. Jungwon didn’t know what to do. This was bad because people were starting to gather and he couldn't let the media catch them like this. 

“Hyungs, we have to go. Now.” Jungwon stressed as Jay and Niki let go of Yeonjun. Pushing him away from your group in the process.

“This isn’t over.” Yeonjun spat as he retreated in the opposite direction once he realized the crowd was starting to multiply.

“Come on.” Jake ushered everyone away from the prying eyes of the public and into an empty alleyway. Sighing in relief when he saw that people were starting to leave like nothing happened and he could only hope they wouldn't be on the front page of Naver tomorrow.

“Heeseung, I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. Look at your face! What are we going to do?” You sobbed as you clung to him. 

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal. I’m okay. I promise.” He reassured you as he hugged you back.

“No, it’s not okay. People saw what happened. What if it hits the news? What if you get in trouble? What if-” You were starting to hyperventilate from crying so hard. Your quick staggering breaths were making you feel lightheaded and your chest started to burn from the lack of oxygen.

“Y/n, look at me!” Heeseung placed both hands on either side of your face, making you stare into his worried eyes. “Breathe with me.” You started to mimic his breathing and eventually, you started to calm down. “Good job. Now, I don’t want you to worry about the news or me or anything like that okay? Jungwon will take care of it.”

“Me?” Jungwon questioned as his hyungs glared at him. Clearing his throat he continued, “Oh yeah, don’t worry about it. I got it covered.”

“I’m so sorry. This all happened because of me. I’m so stupid for listening to him.” You avoided their eyes as you mentally kicked yourself.

“Noona, you couldn’t have known something like that was going to happen.” Sunoo said, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Yeah, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.” Sunghoon said, anger still evident in his eyes as he tried to reassure you. You were shocked because Sunghoon never talked to you directly before. You always thought the younger boy hated you.

“Noona, you should go to the hospital to get your wounds checked out.” Niki said, as his eyes scanned your bruised arms.

“What about you?” You asked, eyes meeting Heeseung again.

“I’m fine. I’m sure the makeup artist will be able to do something about it for now.” He smiled, pulling you into his embrace again. “I’m just so happy you’re okay.”

“Me too.” You hugged him back as the other boys looked around feeling awkward to be a part of such an intimate moment between the two of you.

“Guys, do you hear that?” Jay questioned, as everyone strained their ears to hear what he was talking about. You slowed your breathing to focus and you could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching your direction.

“Y/n! Are you okay?!” Chaewon’s shaky voice was heard as her running figure came into view from behind Heeseung. She didn’t wait for the boy to release you before pushing said boy out of the way to engulf you in a hug. “I came as soon as I saw your message! I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“Chae…” Was all you were able to get out before you started sobbing again. Clinging onto the small girl’s frame, your tears soaking into her shoulder.

“Shhh… It’s okay.” She rubbed your back as she tightened the hug.

“I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but we really have somewhere we need to be like right now.” Jungwon said, looking at his phone to see another worried message from their manager urging them to hurry up whatever they were doing.

“You guys can go. I’ve got her now.” Chaewon said, looking at Heeseung specifically.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” You tried to give them a convincing smile but you don’t know how it came across.

“We’re sorry, Y/n.” Jake sighed as he motioned for the others to follow Jungwon back to the car.

“Y/n, keep in touch okay? I’ll lose sleep if I don’t know you’re safe at all times.” Heeseung said, caressing your cheek. You nodded as he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before begrudgingly letting go to follow the rest of the boys. Chaewon remained quiet as she eyed the interaction. Now wasn’t the time to tease you, but she will get to the bottom of whatever is going on between the two of you eventually.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s get you home.” Chaewon smiled as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders before leading you to her car.

Taglist: @nobodyshallenter @sunsunl0ver @huening-ly @qeen123 @carmendanny2

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x y/n #heeseung x yn #enhypen heeseung #enhypen angst #heeseung angst #enha fanfic #enha x reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fanfic #heeseung fanfic #kpop fanfiction #lee heesung x reader #heecase #midnight rain #txt yeonjun #yeonjun x reader

[storiesbyjes2g]

Time has come! Use the OC list you made earlier and answer the following:

1 and 3 are in charge of arranging a general house party. How does it go? 2 appears in the news broadcast. What has happened? 4 and 5 need to buy a birthday gift for 6. What do they get? 3 asks 6 to teach her/him/them something. What is it and how does it go? 1 finds a seemingly lost cat. What does she/he/they do? 5 has to buy a quick snack for her-/him-/themself, what is it? 6 uses a search engine (Google or similar) and searches their own name. What are the top results? 4 has to take one of the other numbers to a date. Who's the lucky(?) guy/gal/other? 2 invites all the other numbers to a party - except one. Who's left out? 3 learns a dirty secret about 5. What is it and does she/he/they keep it? 4 has lost a bet and must get a tattoo. What will she/he/they get? 1 and 3 are stuck in an elevator. What happens?

You can answer with simple text, or take a picture or write a short story if you feel more inspired.

I swear you ask the best questions! I was excited even before I read the scenarios LOL. Okay let's go!!

Luca & Sophia's House Party

First of all, Luca would be stoked to plan a party period because he's neither hosted nor been to a house party, but to throw one with Sophia? Ohhhhh BOY! Secondly, he'd also be terrified on top of being excited because most of his friends are ladies he's attracted to and/or have gone on dates with. The party would be at Luca and Ali's house because Sophia's house is tiny. They would do all the party planning in person because they're both really into each other and don't see each other enough. I'm pretty sure by the end of the party they'd be a couple lol. Whenever they are together, she is constantly cracking jokes and making Luca laugh, so I'm not sure how much would actually get done. The party will probably turn out to be just okay because of their distractions but also neither of them are big party people. But whether or not the party is lame, those two will surely have a good time.

Emmy on the News

Emmy would be on a segment of the news highlighting small businesses. Or, maybe she got some women in business award and they aired her acceptance speech on TV.

Nadia & Anissa's Birthday Gift for Rodney

Ooooh this one is hard! Okay, so Kameron is the one who started this. He's an investor in Rodney's restaurants, and they have a casual relationship. He mentioned in passing Rodney's birthday was coming up but never followed up. Nadia of course is the administrator of the home, and when she found out Kameron still hadn't sent him a gift, she took on the project lol. Instead of doing something generic, she called Anissa because she knew she was acquainted with Rodney through Loren who is married to Rodney's best friend. They met at her wedding. But Anissa doesn't know Rodney like that so she texts Loren for an idea. They all settle on sending him a very expensive bottle of whisky. And because Nadia was feeling particularly salty and petty that day, the card was signed "From The Piersons and Friends." LOL see what I did there? 🤣

(this got long so the rest under the cut)

Sophia's Cooking Lesson

Sophia is not a good cook. Her kitchen looks exactly like it did when she first moved in. She likes Luca a lot and wants to do something nice for him, especially since he's always so caring and taking care of everyone else. And she always heard the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, so she decided to learn to cook something well. But she could only get so far from SimTube tutorials. They either went too fast or spoke like she was supposed to know what they were talking about. No, she needed someone to show her live. One of her favorite restaurants is Taqueria Alchone, and the owner--Rodney Eason--was always so nice and personable with his customers. Surely he would help her. So she went there one day after work. She worked 7-3, so it was pretty dead when she arrived. She ordered and waited for Rodney to come around and greet her.

"Okay, so, this is gonna be a really weird question, but I'm gonna go for it," she said.

He flashed his signature smile. "Go for it! That's what I always do."

"So like...I have this friend... I wanna do something nice for him but-"

Rodney gasped. "You tryna snag your man? I'm in! What I gotta do? You want me to call him? Gimme his number!"

Little did she know Rodney was a romantic...and a very gregarious goofball.

"I want to make him dinner, but I'm terrible at it. Can you show me how to make something simple?"

A huge grin came across his face. "You came to the right place. I'll show you a lil sum sum. BUT...you'll also need a recipe for breakfast." He winked at her. "You know what I'm saying? Come on in the kitchen. I'll get you right! You'll have that dude screaming your name in no time!"

Oh, Rodney LOL.

Luca Finds a Lost Cat

Given his experience watching his mother take in stray pets, he'd probably try to feed it, putting a bowl of food near them. Cats aren't like dogs and are way less trusting, so he probably won't be able to befriend it, not that he'd want to; he's not much of a cat guy. Since Tofu just died, he'd probably call Emmy and see if she's interested in taking care of it.

Anissa's Quick Snack

When Anissa has back-to-back surgeries and zero time for lunch, her go to snack in the vending machine is a Payday candy bar. It's sweet, it's salty, and she gets a nice amount of protein to keep her going. It's an older brand, and not very popular, but her Pop Pop used to love them and that's how she got introduced to it.

Rodney's Smoogle Search

As a restaurateur, Rodney is very much concerned about what people say and think about his restaurants. So when he searches for his own name, more than likely the top results will be Yelp Reviews and food critic blogs. I also wouldn't be surprised if a gossip blog was there too lol. He's a good boy now, but he was a bit reckless in the beginning.

Nadia's Date

Nadia had one engagement left to attend from her tenure in the mayor's office before she was completely rid of them, but Kameron had agreed to take Noemi to come aspiring lawyers camp thingy, so she had to find someone else to accompany her. Her first thought was to call Bryce, but things are weird between him and Kameron. Nick is all the way on the other side of the country now, but even if he weren't that would be weird too. She thought very hard and methodically about it and decided to call Rodney. She had recently sent him a birthday gift, and they were mildly acquainted. Plus it would be a good networking event for him, so she called him, and he accepted.

Emmy's Party

Emmy invites everyone to the party except Luca because it's a surprise party for him lol. (cop out? maybe! lol)

Sophia Learns a Dirty Secret About Anissa

And this is the part where I realized I should have picked names all from the same story LOL. Let's say it's Nadia and Anissa. Nadia is nosy, so she'd definitely try to find out more lol. Depending on what it is, she might ask Melany about it. If it's really dirty she might even ask Anissa herself.

Nadia Loses a Bet

The consequence of losing this bet is she has to get a tattoo. She would get some word or phrase about love written in Mt. Komorebian since that is where she and Kameron reaffirmed their love for each other in a very impromptu and non-traditional vow renewal. It would be located somewhere only Kameron can see when she's naked.

Luca and Sophia Stuck in an Elevator

What happens? What doesn't happen! 🤣 This is exactly what Luca needs lol. They're gonna talk first. But then Sophia will ask a very poignant question about his feelings toward her. He'll try to skirt around it, but she does not have time for him to continue being scared and draws it out of him. They kiss! And if the elevator isn't fixed yet, they might start something they can't finish lol.

#someone-elsa #oc asks #this was so fun thank you!

[ridiasfangirlings]

So, what if postROK Sarumi are cuddling in their apartment, maybe half asleep on the couch after a long day and Saruhiko sees Mikoto's ghost? Or maybe even vice versa and Misaki sees Munakata's ghost?

Well that’s one way to kill the mood XD Poor Fushimi, stuck as the only one who can see Mikoto’s ghost when he just wants to snuggle with Misaki. Imagine this post-ROK, they’ve made up and are officially dating and everything is going well. Fushimi’s almost finding himself able to relax around Yata, almost able to believe that maybe nothing will be destroyed this time and he can really be with Misaki for good now. One day they’ve both been busy at work and end up just cuddling together on the couch, with Fushimi on the outside. Yata falls asleep and Fushimi’s just drifting off when he thinks he can smell cigarettes. He opens his eyes sleepily and then focuses them on Mikoto, standing right there in the middle of the apartment, and promptly falls off the couch.

This wakes Yata, who blearily asks what’s wrong. Fushimi points wordlessly and Yata looks right at Mikoto as he says he doesn’t see anything. Fushimi pauses and then clicks his tongue, muttering ‘bad dream’ and tells Yata to go back to sleep, he’s going to run to the bathroom and wash his face. Even after splashing his face with water a few times Fushimi still sees Mikoto there and imagine after the shock wears off he’s just so irritated about this, like why the fuck am I being haunted by you. Mikoto shrugs and says he has no idea either, he just ended up here. Fushimi finds himself feeling suddenly protective as he reaches out to touch the sleeping Misaki, like we’re together and we don’t need you so go away. Mikoto blows smoke and says that’s good, Yata’s been waiting for him to figure it out for a while. Fushimi grumbles that don’t act like you know him better than me and Mikoto shrugs, wondering if Fushimi’s so confident why’s he clinging to Yata like his life depends on it.

Fushimi gets this sullen look and mumbles that it’s all Mikoto’s fault — nothing would have changed if it wasn’t for him. Mikoto looks at Fushimi plainly and wonders if Fushimi really believes that, seems to Mikoto that Fushimi just needs someone to blame. Fushimi’s fists clench and he says that’s why he hates Mikoto, Mikoto shrugs again and says that’s fine, Fushimi can hate him if he wants. Fushimi grumbles that Mikoto is always like that, like he doesn’t care who’s in his clan at all, and Mikoto says if that’s what Fushimi thinks he won’t argue — but he wonders what Fushimi’s clinging so hard for, if that’s what he believes. Fushimi sinks into silence and finally he softly says it was easier, to hate Mikoto instead of himself. Mikoto gives him an unexpectedly gentle smile and puts a ghostly hand on his head, he said it before didn’t he: Fushimi’s fine the way he is. Stop trying so hard to be other people, and he’ll be fine. Fushimi looks up and without meaning to he’s like ‘Mikoto-san,’ Mikoto waves to him and tells him to take care of Yata as his ghost fades away to nothing.

Reverse situation, imagine AU where Munakata died at the end of ROK and a bunch of stuff has happened in the aftermath but Fushimi’s doing better now and he and Yata are together. They’re cuddling sleepily on the couch when Yata sees Munakata’s ghost and he’s immediately yelling in surprise. Fushimi wakes up all annoyed and fussy, grumbling at Yata to stop making so much noise. Yata’s stammering out ‘S-Saruhiko — over there — that’s—”. Fushimi irritably looks up, straight at Munakata (who smiles fondly) and then says there’s nothing, telling Yata to be quiet and go back to sleep. Yata stammers out that he’s gonna get a drink he’ll be right back and makes a run for the kitchen.

Munakata’s ghost serenely follows and imagine Yata trying to yell at Ghost!Munakata without Fushimi waking up. Munakata has no idea why he’s a ghost or why only Yata can see him, however he is pleased to see Fushimi doing well. Yata says darkly that Munakata doesn’t get to talk about that — does he know what he put Saruhiko through, dying like that while Fushimi was down risking his life in jungle. Munakata says it was a regrettable outcome but he accomplished his own duty and ensured that Fushimi survived, so he cannot be too displeased. Yata tells him to shut up, like did you even think about Saruhiko and your other people when you died, and Munakata gives him a frank look as he wonders if Yata would say such a thing to Suoh Mikoto as well.

Yata’s mouth snaps shut and he’s like y-yeah, well, that was different this is Saruhiko — but he can’t really argue, and he knows it. Munakata regards him curiously and then tells Yata that he has Munakata’s thanks, for rescuing Fushimi and for helping him recover in Munakata’s absence. Yata awkwardly says he only knew where Fushimi was because Munakata told him, and that this Saruhiko is different from when they were in middle school but it’s not bad, it’s getting better…and as much as Yata hates it, and while Yata won’t forgive Munakata for leaving Saruhiko behind like this, for helping Fushimi get to this point Yata has to thank Munakata. Munakata laughs quietly at that, saying his part is over but he will entrust the rest to Yata as he slowly fades away. 

#sarumi #Talking K #I imagine this like they each have unfinished business with the other's King #well Fushimi has unfinished business with Mikoto in general #imagine if the King ghost didn't disappear right away #Fushimi trying to avoid ghost Mikoto everywhere #yata quietly freaking out bc ghost and also Saruhiko's King is now even creepier

[francis-writes]

OMG i seen you wanted requests for grabber smut. I was wondering if you could do one where the reader and him both started bonding and the reader was there for months. Eventually leading to him being attached to them. The grabber eventually trusting the reader enough to let them up stairs. But they try and escape while he’s asleep, causing him to wake up and catch them. But maybe his punishment is a bit different this time 👀

A/N: sorry it took so long but i got sick recently and i didn't have energy to write. i decided that reader in this doesn't hear the phone so she doesn't know how to open the kitchen door. Oh, and the reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: the Grabber is warning himself, mentions of kidnapping, dub-con, oral sex

Honestly, you liked him. He was quite handsome and even if you didn't want to admit it, sight of him made your heart (and other parts of you too) flutter. You enjoyed talking with him and the months spent together made you grew attached to each other.

But the sensible part of you knew that the Grabber was your kidnapper and however you felt about him, it wasn't a good relationship. It could never be one. Moreover you yearned for freedom - with sweet or angry kidnapper, basement was still your prison. Maybe he began allowing you to leave your cell and spend time upstairs but the doors were always locked and he was always observing you carefully. This freedom was only an illusion so you decided to take advantage of the fact that Al fell asleep and escape. Your heart was aching, both from sadness that you would never see him again and from fear that you will soon do.

Of course, all the doors were locked and you were searching through the drawers and Al's clothes, looking for the keys. When you finally found bunch of keys, you took them, trying not to make the slightest noise and you started to try to open the door with each one. After another failed attempt, you swore under your breath and tried to pull out the key which got stuck in the lock. Finally it get out and fell on the floor with a loud clink. You freezed, listening if you hear the footsteps in the house. And for your misfortune, you heard it.

Heavy footsteps seemed to be louder than before - almost as loud as your fast-beating heart. Finally, the Grabber stood in the living room's door and looked at you. He was wearing his frowning mask. You knew, you had no excuses this time. Evidence was clear: you standing next to main door, keys on the floor. What could you do at midnight? Go to the shop for ice cream?

He came to you in seconds, grabbing your throat and squeezing it so hard that for a moment you could see stars. The Grabber loosened his grip so you didn't lose your consciousness.

"So you are just as naughty as the others"

He threw you over his shoulder and went to the basement. You knew that no defence would help you now, writhing and kicking the air could only make the Grabber more angry. So instead of putting on a fight you chose the more embarrassing option (but what else could you do?) and started begging him.

"I'm so sorry" you sobbed as he was walking downstairs "I promise it will never happen again... I beg you, forgive me..."

The Grabber closed the door and throw you on the floor. Fortunately, you didn't hit your head because you would probably quickly die (too quickly even for your kidnapper) but your back and ass were in pain. And you suspected it's only gonna be worse.

"Of course it will never happen again , I will take care of this" He leaned over you and grabbed fistful of your hair, then pulled you up, making you groan out of pain and kneel in front of him. "And maybe I will forgive you but you need to get punished first "

The Grabber unbuckled his belt and you were convinced that he's gonna beat you to unconsciousness. But instead of taking it off, he unzipped his pants and pulled off his cock. You were staring at it surprised. And a bit aroused. It wasn't very long, rather average, but very thick. And you could see your kidnapper was as excited as you.

"So be good now and show me how sorry you are"

You took his member in your hands, still a bit uncertain, and licked it, leaving a trail of saliva. Then you took the tip in your mouth, licking it and caressing it with your tongue, while your hand was working on his shaft.

"Come on, take it all" the Grabber muttered. You noticed he liked your work when he tilted his head back but he was too impatient. He wanted to come and you weren't able to deny him that pleasure.

You took it whole in your mouth and began to bob up and down his dick, your hand wrapped around it and following moves of your mouth to give the man additional stimulation. Every once in a while you took a short break to take a break and lick it again. Saliva was dripping down his cock and you know it would help you slide on it much easier.

But after some time the Grabber got bored with your slow, careful movements. He grabbed your hair again and pushed you on his dick, making you practically gag. You tried to fight, as you felt you were close to vomit. But you managed to catch only a bit of air before he started to fuck your mouth mercilessly. You could only hold his thighs, trying to calm down his pace. It didn't help much; his crotch repeatedly hit your face when he was pushing his cock down your throat. You tried to keep your teeth away from his shaft but once you scratched it slightly, the Grabber pulled out and slapped your face so hard you lost your vision for a moment.

"Be careful" he said "You don't want to hurt me, do you?"

You shook your head. He came back to fucking your face. You closed your eyes and hoped you wouldn't do anything wrong again.

Finally he came with a moan of awaited relief. He pulled out his dick but he immediately grabbed your shoulder when you wanted to get up.

"No spitting out" he commanded "You have to swallow it"

Cum wasn't the tastiest but you obeyed him in fear of worse punishment. Your throat was sore but you had admit that you enjoyed the whole thing.

The Grabber sighed.

"I think it's enough. But you can forget about leaving the basement for a long time".

He left the room and locked the door. You crawled to the mattress and quickly fell asleep, wondering if you should try to escape more often.

hey, if you enjoy my work, maybe you would like to support me on ko-fi? Only if you can afford this. It would mean a lot to me<3 link is in the pinned post

#the grabber x reader #the grabber imagine #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw imagine