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drarrily-we-row-along · 7 months

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"Come on," Draco said, dragging Harry in the door by the lapels on his expensive suit jacket. He looked delectable and Draco wanted to drown in him.

Harry stumbled, collapsing against Draco, pressing him back against the wall in the hallway, "Mmrmph," he managed as Draco grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

His hands went straight to Harry's buttons, tugging them hard enough that the fabric bit into his fingers, stinging as he ripped Harry's shirt.

"Draco," he gasped, pulling back, something in his voice sounding vaguely concerned.

And he very much didn't want that. Draco dove into kissing him again, groping Harry's back, pressing their bodies more tightly together. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it, didn't want anything but Harry-

"Draco," he repeated, pulling back again and catching Draco's hands. He pressed them back against the wall next to his head trapping him again but not in a sexy way. "Wait," he said, voice soft, and Draco's saw red.

"Don't," he growled. "Harry. Fucking don't," he spit, shaking his head and fighting against Harry's grip on his wrists. "Let me go."

"Hey," he said, achingly tender, and Draco would have punched him if he'd had his hands free. "Can we talk about that?"

"No," he said, "I don't fucking want to talk about it. I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight."

Harry tilted his head down, trying to get Draco to meet his eyes.

Draco was absolutely not having it, he didn't want to look at Harry, didn't want to feel like this. "If you're not going to fuck me, let me go and I'll go find someone who will," he threatened.

Harry sucked a breath through his teeth, "you don't mean that," he said.

He glared at him, hoped that his face conveyed all of the anger and vitriol he was feeling, "Don't tell me what I will or won't do," he said. "Don't pretend to control me. You don't."

His hands were released and Harry took a step back, his torn shirt hanging open, leaving the image of his heaving chest incredibly clear. "Fine," he said, stepping away and turning toward the living room. "You're right," he added over his shoulder, "I don't control you. But I do get to control me, and I don't like being used."

"I'm not trying to use you!" he exclaimed, storming after his boyfriend.

Harry made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He took a long drink before he turned to look at Draco, "What were you trying to do then?"

He threw his arms in the air, "trying to get fucked!"

"In order to avoid talking about what happened at your parents'," Harry said.

"What does it even matter?" he exclaimed. "Why does it matter why I want you to fuck me into incoherency? Especially when it's something that you want too!"

"I just want to talk to you first," Harry said. "Is that too much to ask? To just have a little communication?"

He scowled, rage sitting high in his chest, "Yes. It is too much to ask, I don't want to fucking talk. I thought I was dating a man, not some fucking woman who feels the compulsive need to talk everything to death."

Harry flinched, "Too far," he growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he snarled, "Have I hurt your delicate feelings?" And he knew he was being an asshole, knew that he was lashing out, but he was so mad, absolutely raging and he couldn't seem to stop himself. He didn't want to stop; he wanted to fight, wanted to hurt.

"I'm not doing this," Harry said. "I'm not having a fight about this."

He stalked over and shoved Harry, both palms flat against his chest, "Fight with me!" he roared. "Yell at me, tell me I'm wrong," his fists hit Harry's chest. "Come on!"

"No," Harry said. "I'm not going to do that. I don't want to treat you that way."

A glass shattered behind him, Draco's magic swirling through him. "I'm leaving."

"Fine," Harry said, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine," Draco snapped, stalking away from the other man and heading straight for the door. He summoned a bottle of whiskey and paused on their front step. He had half a mind to go to some club, find some random bloke to sleep with, someone who would really pound him. But decided that Pansy's was actually the place he should crash. She was always good for a fight.

-------------

Draco woke up the next morning, in Pansy's guest bed, with an awful hangover and an even worse feeling swirling in the pit of his gut. "Shit," he whispered, rubbing his face and trying not to panic.

"Hey, there," Pansy said from the doorway, tossing a hangover potion at his head.

He caught it and uncapped it, draining it and shuddering at the immediate effects. "I fucked up," he managed once most of the symptoms of the whiskey he'd consumed vanished and left only the guilt and shame behind.

She nodded, "I said that last night," she replied flippantly as she sat down next to him on the bed and handed him a cup of coffee. "And then we had a spectacular row about it."

Draco sipped his coffee, "I wanted to have a fight with him."

"Right, but he didn't."

He groaned as the words he'd said to Harry the night before flitted through his mind, "I was awful to him."

"Go home," she said.

He shook his head, "What if he's mad?"

"Then you'll get that fight you were so desperate for," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

"What if he's not?" he whispered, the thought somehow even more horrifying.

"Go home," she repeated, nudging him out of bed. "I've got company coming for brunch," she added.

He turned to look at her, "Thanks," he whispered, grateful beyond measure that she would fight with him when he needed an outlet without batting an eye.

"That's what best friends are for," she said with a wink. "Now go."

He trudged home, deciding to walk instead of apparate, trying to work out what he was going to say and mostly failing.

When he came in, Harry looked up from where he was sitting at their kitchen table. Unshaven, puffy red eyes, mouth turned down in a frown, his eyes flickered over Draco's body before meeting his gaze.

"I stayed with Pansy," Draco said softly, by way of apology.

Harry nodded, then looked away from Draco to stare out the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"I didn't sleep with someone else," he continued. Draco couldn't bring himself to walk closer, to come in out of the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure it would be welcome.

The other man winced but said nothing, didn't even nod.

"You're not going to even talk to me?"

"What would you like me to say?" Harry asked, turning his face to look at him, exhaustion written across it plain as day. "Do you want me to tell you that I stayed up all night, waiting for you to come home? Should I tell you that I thought about going out to all of our normal clubs to see if I could find you, but was too afraid that you'd come back and think that I'd left you?" he asked, running a hand through his hair, "Would you like me to tell you that my entire body felt like it was burning up with rage and jealousy but I couldn't-" he broke off and shook his head and looked down at the table. "I couldn't tell you, couldn't do anything with how angry I was because that isn't how I want to treat you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

At that Harry looked up at him and Draco took a step closer.

"I'm sorry I said those things, I didn't mean them. I was just angry and I wanted to fight with you." He shook his head, "My parents, they just-" he broke off.

Harry reached for him, took Draco's hands in his and drew him in closer before pressing kisses to his knuckles, "I know," he said softly. "I was mad at them too, love. They had no right to speak to you that way."

Tears prickled the backs of his eyes as hurt and resentment build up in his throat and chest at the remembrance of their criticism.

"And I didn't want to hurt you more," he continued. "I didn't want to add to that burden." He tugged Draco down until he had him sitting cradled in his lap like Draco was a toddler instead of a twenty three year old. "I love you. I want to fight for you," he added and Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, his stubble scratching his temple and cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, the feeling so big, so present that it terrified him.

Harry turned his head to kiss Draco's temple, "I love you too. I want to honor you and be on your side."

He nodded, "I want that too," he confessed. "I just get afraid to let myself believe that you want to be on my side. What if I end up needing you?"

His lover chuckled softly, breath ghosting through Draco's hair, "It's a scary thought that maybe we weren't made to do life alone, isn't it?"

"I don't want to need you."

"Why?" he asked softly, hands brushing over Draco's back soothingly.

He held his breath for a long moment before saying, "if I start to need you and then you leave, what will I do?"

With a soft hum, Harry held him closer, "I hear that," he replied. "I'm scared to need you too, but it doesn't change the fact that I do. I could live without you, Draco," he said, "and you could live without me too. But I'd rather live with you," he continued. "I'd rather put in the work to live with you, to love you. My life is better with you in it."

"Mine too," he agreed.

Harry nodded, "Maybe we just take it one day at a time, maybe we just work on trusting that neither of us is going anywhere. Maybe you let me be on your side, and I let you be on mine."

"And then what?" he murmured, fear and hope warring in his heart.

"Then," Harry said, drawing him impossibly closer, "we just keep doing it for the rest of our lives, one day at a time."

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Read more of my fics

#drarry #love #communication #established relationships #fighting #making up #we're all doing our best to heal.#part of the author's unofficial trauma response collection. just processing a lot of mad right now.#pansy is a good friend

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ilikesillythings · 2 months

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Hiyaaa would be able to do a luciferxreader please?

" Just a bump in the road, I'm sure.. " Lucifer x Reader

Tws; mentions of violence, stalking, yandere Lucifer FLUFF

You and Lucifer had just gotten into a fairly.. bad argument. Usually you refrained from arguing with your lovely boyfriend, but..

He had seriously injured one of you friends for 'giving you lovey eyes'. At first it was just you expressing how you thought he was too overprotective, then he ended up admitting to stalking you. All the time. Yeah, not a good move on his end.

"Baby..?" You heard your boyfriend call from the other side of your shared room, voice laced with sorrow, and concern, "I'm.. really sorry, I was dumb- and.." he trailed off, and for a moment you swore you could hear him quiety weeping. With a sigh, you called out, "Come in."

Not even a minute passed before the door flung open, a desheviled, guilty looking Lucifer rushing in and throwing his arms around you, sobbing words of apology. "Oh, Luci'.." You mumbled, sighing softly

As much as you wished to remain upset with him -- how could you? He obviously felt like shit for beaking your trust, and was willing to make amends, of course you'd have to go through boundries.. but perhaps that could wait until you calmed your boyfriend down.

Gently, you pulled Lucifer into your lap, "Are-" He began, hiccuping, "Are you still mad at me..?" was his next words, spat out almost pathetically. But, it was that stupid charm that made you adore the fallen angel. "..Yes." you replied with a nod, "What you did.. everything, it was wrong, decietful, and creepy. But, I still love you."

Lucifer's eyes lit up at the last part of your words, "Oh, starshine!!" he exclaimed, kissing your cheek repeatedly, "I'll never stalk you again-- I swear, I swear!". You chuckled at his enthustastic reply, and he kissed your cheek a few more times, now grinning broadly

"How about I take you out somewhere nice!?" he suggested, clearly trying to 'redeem' himself, atone for his bad actions. You thought for a moment, "Hmm.. depends, where?"

For a second, Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, as if he already knew a place. "Crap.. I was gonna suggest Ozzie's, but you're a sinner.." he sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, "I don't really care where we go.. how about you cook something for me?" you returned, hopefully.

He gasped and in swift movements stood, eagerly nodding, before dashing off, out of the room.

Lucifer was a creepy, charming, pathetic man. But he was your creepy, charming, pathetic man, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would you.

#Lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin #hazbin Lucifer #lucifer fic #luficer morningstar x reader #yandere lucifer #fluff #fluffshot #one shot #making up #Lucifer<3 #short fiction

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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A continuation of the childhood sweethearts first kiss fic...

Eddie is 10 when he get his first kiss. A lot of people wouldn't consider it a real first, It's a dry press of chapped lips, chaste and sweet, but it remains the best kiss he's ever had, the one that means the most.

It's the summer before he moves to Hawkins--spending the school break with his Uncle Wayne--before he's known to the town as a loser weirdo freak, and he makes a friend. A boy golden bright as the sun, who steals Eddie's heart at first glance and keeps taking it again and again and again--not by force, but by his pure kindness, by his surprisingly wicked sense of humor, by the joyful way he experiences the world.

They run through the woods of Hawkins, ride bikes until the streetlights glow, swim until they fall asleep on a pool lounger, spend their nights in a tent in the wide Harrington backyard. He's not known around town yet, so the parents don't hate him, call him trash, fear for their child's reputation. He's just a boy still, his faded clothes and worn tennis shoes can be blamed on northing more than the consequences of a summer spent outdoors. Though, maybe it's just that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington aren't around enough to notice.

On his last night before he returns home to his parents, they make a fort in Steve's bedroom, find all the blankets and pillows in the house, create a cozy structure just big enough for two. They share all their secrets, their hopes and dreams, and as night becomes morning, Steve whispers, "Eddie...can I kiss you?"

Yes is the only possible answer he can give, and as Steve's mouth touches his, Eddie knows he will never love anyone else, not for as long as he lives, not if they never even see each other again.

He belongs to Steve Harrington, body and soul.

---

Eddie moves to Hawkins a year later. His first day of school, two months into the semester, he sees Steve in the hallway. Eddie's whole face lights up as he sees his friend, but--Steve's eyes slide right past him. He sees Eddie, no doubt about it, but there's no light of recognition, no excitement, no joyful reunion.

After a few years he accepts that Steve will never acknowledge him. He almost succeeds in not letting it bother him, and it's for that reason that it doesn't break his heart when Steve falls for Nancy Wheeler. It doesn't kill him to see Steve's beaten face after his fight with Jonathan Byers. It doesn't keep him up at night, watching Steve lose all his other friends. He doesn't hate jocks and rant on cafeteria tabletops just in the hope that Steve will look his way.

Everything changes after Nancy and Steve break-up and Hargrove beats the shit out of him. Whatever high school social cachet Steve still has disappears overnight, but dethroned King Steve still doesn't notice Eddie. He's made his peace with it. Moved on. He's an adult now, basically. He's going to graduate high school and move to the big city and he'll meet so many guys and never ever think about Steve Harrington ever again.

---

He's smoking a cigarette in the little-used bathroom up by the auditorium. His eyes are half-closed, imagining shapes in the tendrils of smoke.

The door bangs open, shocking him upright, the cigarette falling to the floor.

Steve Harrington stumbles inside, hands covering his face, blood pouring through his fingers.

"Steve!" Eddie yelps, can't help it when there's blood, when Steve is hurt.

Like always, he doesn't even bother to look at Eddie. It shouldn't shred his heart to pieces but Eddie's always been weak for Steve.

"What happened?" He asks, even though he knows he shouldn't care.

"Doesn't matter," Steve answers. He's standing at the sink, blood splattering the white porcelain red.

Acting against each one of his sharply honed instincts, Eddie rushes to the nearest paper towel dispenser, ripping half the roll off.

"Move your hands. Relax your head." He's surprised when Steve does as he says.

Eddie uses the paper towels to staunch the flow, pinches at the bridge of Steve's nose with his thumb and index finger. "How do you not know how to fix a bloody nose?" he mutters.

"I know how," Steve argues. "I just--" he pauses, swallows hard. "Why are you helping me?"

He doesn't know how to answer this question. He shouldn't be helping Steve.

"I don't know."

They don't talk again, not until the bleeding stops, and then Steve says, "It was Hagan, the motherfucker. He shoved me into a locker and I didn't have time to get my hands up."

"He's a dick," Eddie agrees. "It's not broken, though."

Steve shrugs. They fall silent again, neither moving. "Thanks," he says. He doesn't look at Eddie.

"Would have done it for anyone."

Those hazel eyes stay fixed to the linoleum as Steve nods. Eddie doesn't know what to do next. If he should leave or press for more that he shouldn't want.

But then Steve lets out a gulping kind of sob, is falling against Eddie's chest, and Eddie wraps his arms around him, holds him so tight even he can't breathe.

"Oh, Stevie," he whispers, and without really thinking, he pulls them into the nearest stall, shutting the door behind him.

Between his cries Steve repeats, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Eddie can't tell him that it's okay, so he combs his fingers through Steve's hair and holds him, fighting off his own tears.

Eventually the sobs stop and the tears dry up, but Steve doesn't break their embrace.

"I shouldn't have ignored you, Eddie," Steve says into the quiet. "You didn't deserve it."

"Why did you?" Thinks it's his right to an explanation, after everything.

"I wrote to you. After you left. Was gonna visit Wayne and get your address, but then my dad found them. He said, 'boys don't write letters,' and ripped them up. He told me if you ever showed up in Hawkins again we weren't allowed to be friends. The next week he'd signed me up for every available sports league in town.

"I was so excited when I saw you at school, Eds. I couldn't believe you were here. I panicked, though, and decided to pretend like I didn't recognize you. It was easy, not having to decide what to do, so I just...kept doing it. I wanted my dad to be proud of me."

"I'm sorry he did that to you, Stevie. For what it's worth, I would've loved to get those letters. I would've written back."

Steve laughs a little. "I know. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I've regretted it every day, but I had no idea how to make it right."

Eddie shouldn't want more. He knows that he's lucky they've even had this moment, but he always needs to push.

"You could try now," he says.

"Hmm?"

"To make it right. You could try now."

A smile illuminates Steve's perfect face. "You mean it?"

Steve's hand slips against Eddie's cheek, moving up to card through his hair. His thoughts scatter like fractures of light, as Steve touches him in a way he only imagined in the midnight depths of his wildest fantasies.

Their second kiss is just as soft and sweet as the first, their lips coming together in a gentle press.

They separate, and his fingers immediately go to his mouth. "You--did you--" He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a few deep breaths. "You can't kiss me like that unless you mean it, Steve. You can't just--"

"I meant it. I meant every second. I never stopped missing you. I hated that I made it impossible to be your friend. It's been eating me up for years. I want to make it right."

"I need time," he says. His voice trembles. " I want that too, Steve, but after everything, I need to know I can trust you."

Steve nods and gives him a small smile. "I'll do anything, Eds."

---

They hangout almost everyday, and Eddie finds that, underneath all that King Steve bullshit, he's still the boy Eddie fell head over heels for at 10, golden and bright and so lovely. Still mean, still funny, still owns Eddie's heart.

Steve doesn't kiss him again, and that's for the best no matter how much Eddie longs for it.

A little over a month later, Steve invites Eddie to his house again.

He follows Steve up to his bedroom--just as terribly plaid, just as empty of things that made it Steve's--except there's a pillow fort built against the bed.

"What's this?" Eddie raises an eyebrow and stifles a smile.

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know what. C'mon, get in."

They're a little too big for a fort now, but they squish inside, limbs tangling until they end up in a giggling heap.

"A fort, Stevie?" Eddie asks once he can talk again.

Steve's smile is soft. "These last few weeks have been the best of my life. You're my best friend. And I was just wondering--" he falters here for the first time, breath stuttering. "Can I kiss you?"

Sparks erupt in Eddie's chest, his smile so big that it hurts. What a fool he was, to think he would ever stop loving Steve Harrington.

"Please," he answers.

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steviewashere · 2 months

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Misplaced Emotion

Rating: General CW: None Apply To This One! Tags: Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, And Gets One, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Cuddling, Arguing, Making Up, Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being able to say your sorry and mean it."

💕—————💕

Robin’s leaving for college this morning, Eddie knows this. He said his goodbyes yesterday. But Steve is saying his goodbyes today.

What this means, though, is that he needs to be prepared for Steve to come home. He knows already that he’s going to be an emotional mess. Will probably have some things that need to be said. Will probably put his sadness in the wrong place. Eddie’s well aware of how Steve functions in his emotions; it’s not always the prettiest thing to behold. It’s going to be a chilling September afternoon.

Though, when Steve does walk through their apartment, he’s oddly silent. Barely makes a noise with taking his jacket off or stacking his shoes on the rack. Doesn’t puff or groan or growl, like Eddie thought he would. No, he just slides into the living room with a completely glazed-over sheen to his face, limbs tense and awkward as he moves around the coffee table, completely silent when he sits down.

Eddie hesitates, “How’d it go, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t look over at him. His eyes set on his hands. Fingers picking at one another. He chews on his lips and shrugs. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he states. His voice is far away and quiet. Almost lost in the air between them. He collapses back into the couch, moving to tuck himself into a little ball on his side, head pillowed on the arm of the sofa.

“Hm,” Eddie hums. “Y’know, you got back earlier than I thought you would. Thought that she didn’t have to leave until four?” He looks at his watch very briefly. “It’s only two,” he points out.

“Eds,” Steve sighs. “I just said I don’t want to talk about it. Need…Silence, I think.” His eyes are so far away, Eddie nearly fears the distance they’ve travelled to. What happened, he wants to ask, but knows better than to attempt it.

Though, “Are you sure, Stevie? I can turn on a movie or something or maybe make—“

“Eddie!” Steve snaps. Eddie startles in his cushion, face immediately souring at Steve’s tone. He crosses his arms over his chest, broadening his shoulders in the face of Steve’s sharp glare. There’s some clearance in his eyes now. Eddie’s not very pleased with how they’re on him, though. “I don’t want to talk! Just—I just need some time to think!”

“What—Steve,” Eddie growls. If Steve’s going to be pissy, then Eddie can shoot it right back. “Why are you getting angry at me? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay! This isn’t how you are normally and—“

Instead of listening anymore, Steve abruptly shifts on the couch. Sitting up ramrod straight. Face away from Eddie. Huffing as he stands up. And then he leaves the room entirely, shuffling down the hallway. He slams their bedroom door hard enough that it ricochets the wall behind Eddie.

On any other day, Eddie would dignify Steve’s anger by letting him have his space. But this isn’t a normal day. And this isn’t how Steve even voices his anger, usually. Typically, he’s the type to immediately go sit in their room, contemplating what happened, only reappearing some time later to explain what’s going on in his head. This isn’t him. And something is wrong. And Eddie knows it.

He goes to the farthest door in the hallway. Shuffling absently in front of it, raising a hand to land on the doorknob. And that’s when he hears Steve…crying. Nothing soft or sniffling or quiet, which is typical Steve behavior. No, this is almost wailing. It’s clawing out of him, nails raised at his tender skin, breaking through with blood and bones. The kind that sounds like it hurts to even travel through his throat.

Eddie opens the door. Gently, softly as to not bring attention to himself. He sidelines the bed completely, instead crossing into their attached bathroom. It’s odd to pretend that he’s using the bathroom, just to make sure he doesn’t upset Steve anymore.

But also, if he’s honest with himself, he’s sort of feeling like a massive piece of shit. On one hand, for pushing and prodding at information that Steve doesn’t have or won’t give. And on the other, for not taking care of Steve when he needed it. Why couldn’t I just shut up, he begs to wonder. Because that’s part of it, right? He pissed Steve off by not silencing his yapping. Always one to aggravate the dragon.

When he goes back into their room, he settles tensely on the edge of their mattress. Strips out of his pants, turns on the bedside lamp, sets his alarm for a few hours later, and settles on top as if going to sleep. Steve’s next to him still. Whimpering into his palm. Laying on his side, curled into himself, hands tucked under his chin. He jostles the bed with every small sob that escapes him, but he attempts to bite it back. As if he doesn’t want Eddie to hear. Which, that’s pretty usual for him, but it still makes Eddie ache in a terribly painful way.

He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, feigning to pretend. Just imagine the room silent and dark. That he’s actually tired and wants to take a nap. Miraculously, it works. He drifts off, still aching and yearning to soothe Steve, still listening in on the cries and the sniffles and the gross wet coughs. But he falls asleep.

The next time Eddie wakes, it’s to his alarm blaring on the table. He clumsily reaches out a hand and silences it. Groaning, running a hand down his face, grimacing at the drool on his fingertips. He’s rolled onto his side at one point and shifts onto his back once more. But as soon as his bleary eyes focus on the space around him, he yelps, freaked out.

Above him, staring at him with the saddest eyes in the world, is Steve. His face is swollen and his eyes are wet, bloodshot, absolutely devastating. Steve’s breath is stuttering hot and cold over Eddie’s face. There are tear tracks sizzled into his skin. A shiny spot of snot at the edge of his nostril. Like he just finished crying.

“Christ,” Eddie breathes. “Hi, baby. Scared me.” He wrestles one of his hands from under the comforter, running it up the length of Steve’s spine, resting his fingers at the nape of his neck, and toys with his hair. “Give a guy a warn—“

“I’m sorry,” Steve cries out. He hiccups a sigh and coughs on the sob at the end of his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. He carefully sits up, hand still in place, Steve moves with him. His other palm goes to Steve’s left bicep, squeezing with subtle soothe. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“But I was so mean and awful and I didn’t—“ Steve coughs again, gagging with it. His breath shudders in his chest. Face going splotchy red all over again. “—I didn’t—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

Eddie tentatively wraps his arms around Steve, tugging him into his chest, cushioning his head under his chin. Steve turns into his shirt, sobbing loud and jagged right where his heart is. It hurts, hurts, hurts. He shushes the best he can, fingers splayed over his warm back, running in soothing stripes up and down his spine. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” he assures. Because that’s true. Steve acted on impulse, matching where his emotion was already high strung and set. “I’m sorry, too,” Eddie whispers, “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Steve only cries harder at that.

They sway lightly from side to side. Eddie’s torso is cramping from his twisted position and knows with how cramped up Steve is, he isn’t faring any better. But still, they rock and sway. He hums and takes deep breaths, just so that Steve has something to follow, to come back to from however far away he is.

And when Steve only hiccups, his little breaths short and forced from his nose, does Eddie stop moving them. “You with me again, sweetheart?” He asks.

A nod against his chest. The silence stretching between them, sans Steve’s breathing. Eddie briefly wonders if this is it. If this is the only thing he’s going to get out of Steve. And knows, that though it’s not the best thing in the world, he’ll take barely anything over nothing.

But then, “She left already,” Steve mutters.

Eddie hums in question.

In tentative, slow movements, Steve pulls away from him. His head is tilted down. Hair hanging limp in his face. Eddie brings a palm to his hairline, guiding it back to the crest of his skull, holding his hand there. It’s weight hot and grounding against Steve’s scalp. With the hair out of the way, Eddie can see the sad, yet contemplative look on Steve’s face.

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, “she left for college already. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“What?” Eddie squeaks. Because that can’t be true.

Steve nods solemnly. “Yeah,” he whispers, “hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t she say she was leaving early? That’s—“ Eddie huffs, now is not the time for him to angry. “I’m sorry, love bug.”

“Drove all the way out there at the ass crack of dawn. Got to her house just in time, or so I thought. But when I knocked on her door?” He asks rhetorically. Eddie nods, though he doesn’t think Steve actually sees him. Steve huffs. “Her mom answered. Saying that Robin already left. Said that she had to leave early to make it to her flight.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

Eddie brings his other palm up and rests it on the side of Steve’s face, cupping his jaw, thumb sweeping over his soft cheek. Steve nuzzles into the hold, eyes closing, sighing from his nose. A stray tear drips down onto the tip of Eddie’s thumb. He wants to crumble at the sight.

“She’ll call,” he tells Steve. “She’ll apologize and find a way to make it up to you.”

“What if—“ Steve chews on his lip. His voice is raspy with emotion when he speaks again. “—What if she just got tired of me?”

Eddie squishes Steve’s cheek, holding him steadfast. “No way,” he rushes to say. Heated with it. “No, Steve, she didn’t. Baby, she was a sobbing mess yesterday about how much she’s going to miss you. All it was was poor planning, that’s all.” He pets Steve’s hair again, smoothing it flatter to his head, tickling his ear with the dry skin of his palm. “That’s all it was, baby. She loves you so much. She’ll call, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, small.

“Yes, Steve,” he assures. “She has our phone number. Robin will call.”

Steve nods in Eddie’s hold. He’s practically boneless, exhausted. He swallows hard. “I really am sorry about how I acted,” he murmurs, “that wasn’t fair of me to put the target on you.”

“Forgiven,” Eddie whispers. He pulls Steve back in, tucking him safely and securely into his body heat. Melding them together. “I love you too much to be angry about something like that. You’re okay.”

With that, Steve shakes again in his embrace. Wetting the skin on Eddie’s neck. He swallows and tilts his eyes to the ceiling. He’ll cry later, now is not the time. He holds to Steve tighter. Doesn’t want to let him go again.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfiction #steddielovemonth #day 23 #hurt/comfort #arguing #making up

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the0racl30fd3lphi · 1 year

Text

More than friends, definitely more than lovers x.t. (pt3)

a/n: here is the third and (maybe) final part. y'all ate this up and really loved the first two, and for that i am so thankful for you all! so please, enjoy.

pairing: xavier thorpe x gn!reader

summary: nevermore's favorite tortured couple seems to be back on the mends, the only question, will it work out? are they going to make it through or are they only going to make it worse?

warnings: fluff, angst, love triangle (kinda) light swearing? not much tho, suggestive themes

word count: 2,365

part 1 part 2

——————————————————————————

"Hey," he smiled. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter. It was if he couldn't believe you were really there. Like he dreamed of this moment, and now that he has it, he truly couldn't comprehend if it was actually real or not. But it was. And his heart soared at that thought.

Standing there, you made no move to speak. You were waiting for him to say anything first. You wouldn't let yourself fall on your knees for him like your mind told you too. So you looked up right into his eyes, using every method you knew to make him bend to your will.

"Don't give me that look," For the one time in almost a month he looked way from you first.

"What look?" You played dumb.

"That one!" he threw one of his hands up and shook his head. "The one that makes me want to crawl at your feet and start.. begging." He still looked down as he ran his hands through his hear and went to grab for a hair tie. At his point he needed to get all the hair out of his face before he went to rip it all out.

"That sounds pretty nice actually, you should beg." You crossed your arms trying to keep in your anger, whatever was keeping him from apologizing was running your patience thin.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Xavier kept his head down but kept fiddling with the rings that adorned his slender fingers. "I was an asshole. You deserved much more than what I gave you. The last thing I should've done was.. what I did."

He was hesitant to actually acknowledge that he ignored you, his best friend of years, for a girl who genuinely gave him little to zero attention, got him arrested and imprisoned, and who wasn't actually into him after she led him on for so long.

"Oh yes and please, remind what it was that you did?" Now your anger was quite literally smoke blowing out of your ears. You missed this guy? He's wanted this little meeting for so long and he can't even commit to it.

"Well I-" He stuttered.

"Oh my god you can't even admit to it! You make me so frustrated!" You were yelling straight in his face now.

"Like, sexually?" This skinny little twink had the audacity to make a joke about your rage and start laughing at his own jokes.

"Why did I even entertain this stupid idea.." You pushed your headphones back onto your head and started for the stairs.

"Okay wait, wait hold up!" Xavier grabbed onto your arm and pulled you back towards him. With one slick movement he pulled them down to rest around your neck, and slid his hands down your arms to grab your hands. He stroked the back of your hands with thumbs smoothly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you like that. I ignored you, abandoned you, treated you so horribly for how much more you actually deserve. So please, if you find me deserving," Xavier got down on one knee, hand still in yours, and looked up at you with those big green eyes. "Forgive me, lets go back to what we were, and I will be forever at your mercy."

"Wow. Poetic. You write now?" You tilted your head at him and raised your brows so far, they almost disappeared into your hair. But the corners of your mouth can't help but lift.

"I dabble," his smile grew four times as large and made your stomach flip, in the good way.

"How about you dabble in being a better friend?" You laughed and pulled him up by the hand he was still holding. You weren't sure if he still realized but neither of you had let go yet.

Playfully, and to diffuse some of the lingering tension, you lightly shoved him and walked back up the stairs to leave this spooky little library. He laughed and followed after quickly, skipping two steps as he jumped up the stairs.

"Aye aye, captain."

——————————————————————————

It'd been a week since you and Xavier started talking again, he was attached at your hip. He worshiped the ground you walked on and to an extent it was hilarious. Beyond that you ate it up. This was as close to the attention you have craved from him for years as you were gonna get.

"See, now at this point I don't know if he's whipped or if you are," Val rolled from her desk, all the way to you at yours. One look at the polaroid's littered all over your desk, extra drawings, some pinned while some hidden, and soon she gagged.

"Shut up," You pushed her head off your shoulder but you couldn't push the smile off your face. Your eyes couldn't leave the most recent polaroid pinned on your mirror, written underneath "idiots in love" because Val thought she was the funniest bitch in the world. The photo itself was from a movie night you had with the whole group. Xavier and you had fallen asleep on the couch, not that close to each other, but close enough to have reached for each other subconsciously. Ajax snapped the photo and after your best friend wrote all over it he gave it to you later when people weren't paying attention and everything had died down.

"Why don't you just tell him you love him?" Val grabbed a pen from your desk and start drawing all over your hand and your forearm.

"I just got him back, I can't lose him again." You sighed and pushed up your sleeve and gave her more access room. Val stopped short for a minuet to look up into your eyes. She could read you like a poorly written magazine. It was in your eyes, everything she needed to know.

The desperation, the longing, the aching, she had to take a softer approach with you otherwise you'd break. Not that you were fragile, but you were.

"Sometimes you have to take risks, you'll never know if you don't try babe." Her hand came up to hold and stroke your cheek, "You should try. Isn't the risk of a love so great it'd go down in history, worth it?"

And it was if your love was a force so large, bound by gravity's thick lasso, you were pulled towards him. Unable and unwilling to stop yourself.

"Yeah, it is."

——————————————————————————

You realized some new things after talking to Val that night. Love made you poetic, you were up all night thinking about how your words were not your own, but merely fragments of the words he had given your soul to sing.

Oh god you were pathetic. So you did the only levelheaded thing you could do, tell Xavier everything and be rational later.

He was in his art shed late at night, music quietly pushing through the walls and finding their way thought every crevice. You pounded on the door and waited for him to open the door. You fiddled with the scarf that rested around your neck while you waited. After not hearing anything for a while you knocked again, louder this time.

Soon enough he opened the door and turned down the music when he saw you, "Hey, what's up?" He grabbed your hand and pulled you through the doorway and close it behind you.

"Xavier, look-" You cut yourself off after taking a glace around the shed. There was a painting, or a charcoal sketch, or a character study of you. Everywhere. Every 3 square feet, to be exact. "It's me?"

He laughed nervously, "Uh yeah." A hand came up to scratch and then readjust his still wet hair. "The distance kinda drove me mad, and you were some good inspiration." One new thing and your relationship with Xavier, he told you everything now. Full, and total, transparency. The music kept playing in the background and the low lighting provided the most insane ambiance for the possibly stupid decision you were about to make.

"Xavier I need to tell you something," You shed your scarf and sweater and placed it on the nearest chair. "It's really important." You looked into his eyes and all the words seemed to have magically left your mind, as well as all logical thought.

The way he was looking at you, sat on the edge of a nearby desk, arm propped up behind him to keep him steady. "Mhm?" He asked so innocently it drove you mad.

"I love you." You bit the bullet and spouted all the words that had been building up for quite literal ages. He flushed such a bright red it almost matched the color of his shirt.

"Y-You're my best friend," You cut him off by shaking your head vigorously.

"No. No no, Xavier, I love you." You'd never seen him so quiet. Blinking, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as if it was like swallowing was all he could do.

You rushed up to him and grabbed the side of his face, gently but eagerly attaching his lips to yours. You gave him time to respond, to push you off, to pull you closer, to do anything, and when nothing came you pulled away. Faces inches from each other all you did was stare in his eyes. So disheartened, you started to move backwards.

Xavier stood to his full height now and pulled you closer to him, both of his hands now up and resting on your face. His hands were so big they traced your jawline and caressed the side of your neck. Both of your mouths now moving slowly and sensually against each others. You brought up your hands to rest your palms against the back of his, a soft grip warming your hands and hearts.

Eventually oxygen was needed so you had to pull away. His hands stayed in place and yours only gripped his harder. Eye contact kept between you two mixed with the sound of your lungs greedily pulling air in and out. Smile crept up your faces and you started laughing. Both of you could barely grasp what was happening, all you knew was that you genuinely were never happier.

Following his arms your hands moved to the back of his neck, and his fell down to your waist. Years of pent up pining had come to this. Naturally you two became greedy. Panting and grabbing at each other for more. Your arm went pull around his neck and your other hand grabbed a fistful of his hair pulling and tugging. When you pulled a little too hard and a low groan escaped his mouth into yours, and the grip on your waist tightened, and you could feel his fingers digging into your skin, you only wanted more.

Things got desperate and hot fast. Xavier lowered his hands ever so slightly to creep up underneath your shirt and his cold palms set something afire in you. The simple touch of his skin on yours made you gasp, and he took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

Almost as soon as it had started, he started pulling away. "Wait, love wait," he pulled away from you and pushed the hair out of your face while studying it with his eyes.

"Did I do something?" Insecurity started to fill you as now you had a chance to think, though your mind was foggy.

"Do something? No, my girl you could never," He stroked the side of your face and pressed his forehead against yours. "Do you really mean this?"

"Sure would be real stupid if I didn't, huh?" You laughed and ran a hand through his hair. You two just took a minute to look in each others eyes, to take it all in.

"I love you." Xavier repeated back to you.

"I mean I'd hope so, that would suck if you didn't," Very quickly you returned to humor as your coping mechanism. He shook his head and pressed one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Ask me the stupid question already," You smiled and grabbed his hands.

"Y'know, patience is a virtue," He started tracing the veins on your hands. You looked at him and tugged on his arms gently. "Will you be my partner?" He tilted his head at the end of the question, what a bottom.

"No."

"What?"

"I'm joking, shut up and kiss me," You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yes ma'am," He leaned back in and captured your lips with his.

——————————————————————————

When you got back to your dorm that night, lips swollen with a few hickeys poorly hidden by your poorly applied scarf, Val raised her eyebrows and immediately sat you down to talk. You spent hours that night going over it, every detail you could recall. Which was every single detail.

Into the late hours of the night, Val eventually fell sleep right next to you, face smashed into your pillow and a light snore escaping her lips every few minutes. Your blanket was pulled over her and you stared at the ceiling, too giddy to fall asleep just yet. Xavier had already texted you "i love you" and "goodnight my love <3" Of course you responded and you stared at your new home and lock screen, a photo of you and Xavier on a weekend trip to Jericho.

Then, at the genuine ass crack of dawn as the sun started rising, you remembered a promise you had made him years ago, when you were still young.

"I promise, I'll prove to them your heart beats the same way as theirs."

And you couldn't help but think you'd done it. He was so very capable of love and you only helped bring that out in him. Whatever the future had in store for you, you could handle it now. At least now with Xavier at your side you can.

Who could've ever imagined that you would've fallen so deeply in love with this boy? Against all odds, it seems, you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. Infatuated like a poor man, and completely at his mercy.

——————————————————————————

@animesimp3456 @iovaki @navs-bhat @hellllloooosstuff @555stargirl555 @quinn165 @raeboo @heehooyeslol @leyseyb @aunicornmademedoit @regulus-black-223048 @o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o @pagesfalling @fanfictioniseverything @trickylittlewitch @baziutawrites @mxltifxnd0m @l-3rk @gumballsglassofmilk @bloodyziggy @ur-mom-is-h0t

#xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday #imagine #fluff #making up #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe angst #xavier thorpe wednesday #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe x gn!reader #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday series

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kjack89 · 1 month

Text

Timeless

Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.

The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.

“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.

“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”

Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”

Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.

“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.

“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.

He was already familiar with it.

“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”

“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”

Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”

Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”

“I just pointed out that statistically—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously.

Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”

“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.

Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”

Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.

“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”

Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”

Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.

“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.

Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.

He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.

PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.

Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.

It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’

He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.

“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.

“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I’m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”

Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”

Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”

“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.

Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.

“Ma, not tonight—”

“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”

Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.

Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”

“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.

“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”

If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.

This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’

Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.

At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.

“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”

Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.

Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.

It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?

A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf.

Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.

Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.

But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”

Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”

“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”

He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”

Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”

“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.

Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”

“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”

“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.

Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.

Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back.

In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’

Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.

He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.

Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.

It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.

He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.

— — — — —

“I bought these.”

Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.

He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”

Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”

Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”

But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”

“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”

“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”

He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.

Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”

Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”

He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”

Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras’s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”

Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.

They had all the time in the world.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #flashbacks #kind of sort of #idk what to call them #arguments #making up #fluff #idiots in love

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kasagia · 7 months

Text

The last time

Pairing: William "Billy" Russo x fem! reader Summary: You're done being the less important one. The one who always had to conform to the big asshole and playboy Mr. Billy Goddamn Russo. And this time you really promised yourself that it's over... but is it? Wairning(s): Billy is toxic, but he loves the reader; the reader loves Billy, but everyone is fucked up; fight; swearing; blood; the reader is a doctor; the reader and Billy argue, but both cannot live without each other; violence; weapon; Inspired by: Taylor Swift - The Last Time (Feat. Gary Lightbody) Nonsense from me: I'm so happy I was able to write this in this week. I hope you like it. 💙🖤 P.S. The next oneshot will be with Darkling (Would've, Could've, Should've), but I don't know when I'll be able to write it. 😅 Word count: 6,5k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

Find myself at your door Just like all those times before I'm not sure how I got there All roads, they lead me here

When you opened the door, you didn't expect that instead of finding the pizza delivery guy, you would find Billy Russo... or rather, what was left of him.

The hood over his head and his slightly lowered head were unable to hide the scars on his face. You notice that over time they have become... less visible... at least not as angry red as they were in the media after they published the fugitive's photo.

Yeah. You saw the news. (And talked to Maria.) You know what happened.

Maybe you didn't want to deal with a man who had broken your heart many times over the years, but you couldn't just pretend he didn't exist.

His face, his name, even that stupid nickname, Jigsaw, were everywhere. In the newspapers, on TV, on the internet, in your old photo albums and even in your fucking dreams. And now he was standing in front of you. The shell that remains of a one and only Billy Russo.

"May I... may I come in?" he whispered, staring at you uncertainly. You promised yourself that you would slam the door on that scarred face when he came to you... but in your toughts he was more... arrogant... just like he used to be.

"I... I'm not sure." the words come out of you as you look at him, trying to recover from the shock. You thought seeing him in person wouldn't do anything to you. How stupid you were...

"Please... I just want to talk to you. Give me five minutes and then you can sand me back to hell."

You bite your lip. You saw on the news that the Punisher and Jigsaw had teamed up... if Frank could forgive him enough to work with him and let him near Maria and the kids, you could give him that five damn minutes, before you try to kick his ass.

"Only five minutes, Russo." you say as you let him in.

Closing the door behind him, you wonder how far you've fallen by letting him back into your home… but from the way he looks around your place hesitantly, avoiding looking at you, you wonder who's really lost their dignity here.

I imagine you are home In your room, all alone And you open your eyes into mine And everything feels better

"You... you look beautiful." he says as he finally looks at you for the first time since your… rather tumultuous breakup.

"You wanted to talk." you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the dresser and stare intently at the man sitting on your couch.

"I… wanted to come to you after… all this shit. I… I could have lost my fucking memories somehow, but I think you've embedded yourself in my brain more than anything else. I went to your apartment, but you moved away." he admits, avoiding your heavy gaze to stare at the coffee table. You see a sad smile on his face as he stares at the pile of books and papers that were almost always present in any available space in your apartment. Some things don't change.

"I did." you say, closing some of your patient files from him so he can't analyse where exactly you work after you quit your job at Anvil as their private doctor. You collect papers and put them on your desk, turning your back to him. "Some people would get the hint. Did Frank throw out what was left of your brain by smashing your head against a mirror?"

You know it's a low move on your part, but you can't resist making him suffer. And by the way you suddenly feel his warm body behind you, you know that turning your back on your former marine and murderous ex wasn't such a smart idea. You swallow and turn around, crossing your arms to stare defiantly at him.

He is angry. You see it in his eyes. For some strange reason, instead of throwing you against the wall, he decides to close his eyes and take a few calming breaths.

And the part of you that still cares about him reminds you that he never laid a finger on you. Screaming, shouting, verbal threats were options. However, he never lost his temper enough to actually try to hurt you... but maybe you should stop testing your luck after all?

"Well... I... I think he finally put something into my empty head." you shift your puzzled gaze to him. You thought Frankie and Billy would go back to fighting like vicious dogs, trying to kill each other. Apparently, things have changed more than you originally expected.

"And here I thought that no one would be able to get through your thick skull."

"I'm going to therapy." he blurts out. You frown. Well, this wasn't at all what you expected when you saw Billy again. "To… sort it all out." he says, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Well… good for you. But I assume you didn't come here just to brag about it."

Billy shakes his head and takes a step towards you, watching your reaction. You tense up, but then relax as your body subconsciously takes in the scent of his perfume, which after all reminds you of (ironically) safety.

"No. I don't. I... I'm here to ask you if..."

"Stop it. Whatever you are about to ask me, my answer is no. I don't want to have anything to do with you." you interrupt him before he makes any suggestions for you to consider. "Not after what you did to me, to Frankie, to Castles. I'm glad you're on the mend, but I don't want to know you, Russo."

"Y/N, please..." he sighs pleadingly and reaches up to cup your cheek. You grab his hand before you can feel his fingers on you in a tender gesture that so often melted your heart for him.

"DON'T... just leave. Do one damn thing for someone else's sake and just leave. Let me be as I was." you say, glaring at him and internally cursing yourself for the tremble in your voice.

Somehow you win this battle of hurt glances because the next thing you hear in the room after his heavy breathing is the door slamming as he leaves. You are left alone. You're shaking with the emotions that are flowing through you now. You put your hand to your mouth and cried quietly.

Billy fucking Russo always had to come and mess up your life like a damn master.

And right before your eyes I'm breaking, no past No reasons why Just you and me

You come back from your shift at the hospital to find Frankie sitting outside your apartment door.

"One more such trip to the past, and I swear I will take a dog from the shelter and threaten you with it. What do you want, Frank?" you ask, crossing your arms and glaring at the Punisher.

"Nice to see you too, Doc. Have you finally learned how to sew people up, or are you still torturing them?" he asks with a mischievous smile, standing up and walking over to you.

"It was only once in Afghanistan, and in my defence, you were squirming like a dog in a nettle. Besides, it's not my fault you fell on knives because you stumbled like an idiot after the action was over."

The man laughs and pulls you into a hug. "It's been too long. Too bad you fucking ran away from Russo all the way here, I hate coming back to this town. By the way, Maria and kids missed you too."

"I spoke to them just yesterday on Skype. Besides, somehow this distance doesn't stop you from harassing me. And not only you. Billy was here two weeks ago." you say, leading him into your apartment. You give him a stern look as he walk inside. He rolls his eyes at me but bends down and takes off his shoes before walking further in.

"I thought so. He's been looking like shit for two weeks. I'm sure he now consists of 70 percent alcohol. Lisa wondered if his corpse on the couch was starting to decompose enough for Maria to let her perform an autopsy on him." you smile at the mention of your goddaughter. That's your little girl.

"If you tell me you're here to stand up for him, I'll kick you out of my apartment. The idea of letting him be part of your family again after all this shit he has done is sick. You're a fucked-up man, Frankie."

"Y/N, it's not what it looks like."

"Frank damn it, he almost helped kill your family! If I hadn't let Maria talk me into going with you that damn morning to the Central Park and forgave him after seeing those fucking eyes of a broken puppy, he probably wouldn't have lifted a finger to save Maria, kids and you!"

"I thought so too, so I shattered up his face, and we did a lot of shitty, sick things to each other, but believe me, it's not that simple. This fucking mess around us... is partly his fault, but not in the way we first assumed. He's still my brother… he's still our Bill."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You were fed up with it all. All this drama that's going on around Russo. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been better if they'd never called you in to stitch up that damn Marine and you'd never met him...

"I don't care, Frank. He hurt you. For money. He can go and keep selling himself like a whore." you say bitterly and walk past the man standing in the middle of your living room. You go to the bar and pour yourself a glass of something stronger.

"You can't be serious."

"I fucking am, Castle." you reply dispassionately, drinking the alcohol in a gulp. You pour yourself another glass and sit on the couch, watching the conflicted man in front of you.

"Come on. It's you and Billy. You always came back to each other. After every shit, big fight and breakup. Like a damn Ross and Rachel."

"For the last time I'm telling you, stop fucking watching Friends with Lisa and Maria, it's our show. Besides, this isn't damn Friends or any soap opera, Frankie. Billy fucked up. Ultimately. Nothing will change that, so just fuck off or accept it. God! You're taking our breakup worse than that cold bastard." you laugh bitterly and finish your glass. You set it down on the coffee table with a bang and run a hand through your hair. No. You won't get drunk again because of that damn asshole.

"Bullshit. He's a mess… I've never seen him like this."

"Do I look like I care?" you ask him, raising an eyebrow defiantly.

"You fucking liar, you couldn't stop loving him overnights."

You don't answer right away. He was right. You couldn't stop loving someone who was so deeply embedded in your soul, who saw all of you and became a part of your heart so easily... but loving Billy hurt you more than staying away from him. And for once in your life, you just want to feel at peace and be somewhat happy. Even without Bill by your side.

"If you want something, you better fucking say it or get the hell out." you say, not looking at him as your attention is drawn to your hands instead of the man standing in front of you.

He sighs, tightening his grip on the chair. You see his white knuckles, and for a moment, you think he's going to break the back of the chair. He sighs suddenly and relaxes his muscles, staring at you with a less angry look.

"I need your help."

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye (Eye, eye)

You imagined your reunion with everyone a little worse. Maria and the kids were in a safe house outside the city, but it was nice to meet the rest of your old friends (in the case of the murder of the last of Rawllins' men, but hey, people talk about different things, right?) And it was really nice... until Billy returned to the apartment.

As soon as his dark-brown irises met yours, an unpleasant, awkward silence fell in the living room. You felt not only his gaze but also the curious gazes of the others as they glanced between the two of you.

"What the hell is she doing here?" he asks, shooting an angry, betrayed look at Frankie.

"Don't worry. I'll be gone as soon as I make sure the Castles are out of any danger. I don't really feel like seeing your face too." you say, giving him a defiant look. You turn your head away from him and towards Micro as quickly as you can.

Billy had dark circles under his eyes, a paler face than usual, and obvious signs of sleep deprivation. You'd care if he was more than just a piece of trash who betrayed people close to him. Yet you still cared.

However, the man does not give up easily. He walks over to you, stands in front of you, and takes your chin in his hand to make you look at him. If you didn't know better, you'd think you saw pain in that son of a bitch's eyes.

"You don't have to look at me from the hiding place where we put Maria and the kids, so get your pretty ass out of here and don't cause us any more troubles than we already have."

"How dare you talk about them after what you did?!" you growl at him in anger, pushing his hand away and standing up to face him. "All the trouble we're having is because you're a selling-out motherfucker who betrayed the only people in this world who fucking cared about you!"

Billy clenches his fists and takes a step towards you, leaning towards you. You both breathe quickly, shooting each other hostile glances, waiting to see who will break away and attack first. The tension in the room is so great that you can almost feel sparks flying between you. Frank quickly steps between the two of you, gives Billy a stern look and turns to face you.

"Save the lovers' quarrel and make-up sex for later, okay? Billy, Y/N is coming with us. Y/N, you're not trying to kill Billy until we do what we have to do, and it's best not to argue with him at all. Same with you, Bill. Can you do it, or are you resentful young brats who will be at each other's throats after a breakup?" he says, looking between you two. You huff, crossing your arms and staring at Castle.

"And since when did you become such a responsible asshole, Frankie?" you ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Since we've been planning a glorious murder at those, who tried to kill my family." you sigh and nod. He is right. Killing these bastards is your priority. You can't let your feelings for that asshole who still manages to get under your skin somehow complicate your already difficult mission.

"Fine. Just keep him away from me." you growl in anger and walk past Billy, elbowing him as you go to get ready for your 'mission' with the boys.

And if you looked over your shoulder, you would see a dark brown irises staring longingly at your retreat towards the armoury silhouette.

You find yourself at my door And just like all those times before You wear your best apology But I was there to watch you leave And all the times I let you in Just for you to go again Disappear when you come back Everything is better

A ring at your door at 2 a.m. should make you suspicious.

You should pretend to sleep and finish studying for the last exam that separates you from your desired diploma. You promised yourself that after completing your specialisation, you would leave the army and move to a state hospital. You were fed up with gunshots all around you. For now, you were well on your way to shedding your soldier's uniform and permanently donning a doctor's coat.

You were one exam away from your dreams... and one Billy goddamn Russo who was standing outside your door.

Before you could close it in his face, the man stuck his shoe between the door and the frame. You curse under your breath and open them again to meet this hot damn asshole on your doorstep.

"You shouldn't open the door at this hour without checking who's behind it." he starts, resting his hand on the door as if to make sure you won't shut it in his face again. Only now do you notice his bag slung over his shoulder. He must have come here straight from the airport as soon as he landed.

"A lesson for the future. What do you want?" you ask dryly, crossing your arms. He looks at you tiredly and sighs. The hand that isn't holding the door is combing through his hair. Dog tags hang from his neck as he bows his head slightly before looking back into your eyes.

"Please... I just want to talk." he pleads, wearing his best apologetic, kicked puppy look.

"We have nothing to talk about. Can you let go of my door now? I have an important exam tomorrow; I need to get some sleep." he smiles slightly. Reluctantly, you feel your chest warm up at that damn cute smile.

"Knowing you, honey, you probably weren't even going to go to sleep, just keep revising the material."

"What are you doing here? There were no more sheets of paper in Afghanistan? The poor postman used to come here with a bag full of letters from you. I felt bad sending them back just because of him."

"So… you haven't read any?" he asks, swallowing and staring at you with those damn eyes you would kill for someday.

"Why? I broke up with you before I left the unit. I was just your sexy doctor, right? Or maybe I'm distorting your words? I'm almost sure that's what you called me while bragging to your colleagues in the unit that you fucked the coldest and most unapproachable bitch from the base."

"These same colleagues saw me rage and fall apart as I was getting my letters back from you. I was the one of us, who was there to watch you leave." he responds to your accusations, and the pain in his eyes almost convinces you to throw yourself into his arms. But luckily, you remember the nights you spent crying because of the asshole in front of you.

"And I was the one who overheard that everything between us was some kind of fucking adventure for the time being until you get to another woman." you growl angrily, trying to slam the door on him, but his hand on it prevents you from doing so. He pushes himself inside your apartment and pins you to the wall, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. Loud enough to have your neighbours hear that.

"It's not true… what was between us… it was the only real thing I ever had in my damn life." he says with a shaky voice and you see tears forming in his eyes. "Neither of us expected what was between us to turn into something more than a few-month fling, but here I am, flitting around without you like a moth searching for the fucking light after spending years in the darkness, which was my life without you. I care about you. More than anything. More than I want to admit, more than I would like. That damn much that I would travel halfway around the world for you, I will grovel at your feet just to be fucking close to you."

You let your tears flow freely as you listened to his confession. You know what the man in front of you has been through—what demons of his past pursued him at every turn. And maybe it's his words; maybe it's those damn, tearful eyes that allowed you to see his vulnerability, hidden for so many years; or maybe you just can't live without him either...

Anyway, you grab his dog tags and pull him towards you for a passionate, tearful kiss as both of you realise one terryfing truth... You need each other.

"This is the last time, Russo." you whisper against his lips as he guides you towards your bedroom, stripping you of your clothes.

And right before your eyes I'm aching, run fast Nowhere to hide Just you and me

"What the fuck are you thinking you are doing?" you ask him angrily as he drags you by your elbow away from the shooting.

Things have gone a bit south. Frank didn't anticipate how much support the group we were supposed to kill would get, and now they cut off your group, and now you were forced to work with Billy to get out of here and kill the people you had to. A very mad Billy Russo in his stupid mask.

"I'm saving your ass. Stay here. I'll take care of the rest." he says, letting go of your elbow as he looks around the room.

"There's no fucking option. You won't play my hero, Russo." you say, and reload your gun.

"You won't distract me. You're staying here. End of discussion." he walks up to you and tries to grab the gun out of your hand. You struggle with him and use the grip he taught you to push him away. After a while, you aim your gun at him. You see a hint of fear in his eyes. You shoot, killing the guy standing in the doorway behind him.

"I'm not you. I don't kill my people." you growl at him in anger and move past him to drag the dead man inside and close the door. Billy is grateful for his mask... at least you can't see his shocked, pained expression.

He pulls up a chair and starts rummaging through the flap of the ventilation duct. During this time, you take the gun and bullets from the corpse.

"I would never kill the Castles." he says, not looking at you as he continues to open the vent. "They are my family... just like you."

"You haven't been my family for a long time." you snort at his seemingly tender words. You shiver when he suddenly jumps from the chair and pins you to the wall. Even from behind his mask, you can see how hurt and furious he is.

He holds your arms tightly, almost in a bruising embrace, as he whispers from under his mask so quietly that you can barely hear his words and his voice shaking with emotion.

"Everything... I've ever done... I've done for you. For us."

"There are no us, Russo." You growl in anger and push his arms off of you. You go to the air vent, but he grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him. You fight him, even going so far as to rip off his mask, but he still holds you in a tight hug, staring into your eyes.

"I fucking love you; do you understand?! With my entire pathetic existence. I know that now you only see me as a monster and that my face is disgusting, but I can't... I can't lose you. Not you. I can endure everything—insults, your hatred... just... please... please don't leave me." he whispers desperately, cupping your cheek in one hand and resting his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, feeling tears welling up in them. You can't count how many times you cried because of that bastard in front of you.

"You think I care about your scars? I don't give a damn about them. What's keeping me away from you is your ugly inside, Russo. You don't care about anyone suffering as long as you profit from it. I'm disgusted by your personality and by the fact that you were willing to sell out your best friend's family and all the people who cared about you for goddamn money and fame. And I hate you, because somehow, even after all you've done, I still care about your damn ass."

His thumb strokes your cheek tenderly as you let him kiss the tears off your face as you almost fell apart in his hands, which you've missed for so long.

“Y/N, my heart, I swear I would never, ever hurt them. You have to believe me. I wouldn't risk what we have… I wouldn't risk losing you after having no one to care about for my whole messed-up life.”

And you're inclined to believe him. You are willing to forget everything and just accept him back. But then you hear a faint beeping sound. You both freeze, staring at each other.

Billy works fast. Too fast for you. He pushes you into the vent and closes the hatch behind you before you can do anything. After a moment, a quiet explosion echoes from the room below you, masking your frantic scream of his name.

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye (Eye, eye)

Billy was not a good man. He knew it. He had no reason. Life never spoiled him, and everything he worked for he had to tear out with his nails. He had no reason to be good. But what he was about to allow now would seal who he was forever. There would be no turning back. And he knew it the moment he joined Castles in the Central Park.

He actually had nothing to lose. Y/N left him, and it would only be a matter of time before Frank would turn on him. He would be alone again. At least he would have guaranteed his future... however empty it might be. But he always believed that it was better to be depressed in an expensive sports car than anywhere else.

At least that's what he thought until he saw Y/N again, for the first time since their next big (this time final, which he deeply believed) breakup. And God, she was beautiful. More beautiful than ever.

She was wearing that little black floral dress that he loved, and she was joking about something with little Lisa as she dragged her through Central Park and the stands. Little Castle led her towards him.

Quiet: "Don't fuck it up, Uncle Bill." came from Frank Jr.'s mouth, before the kid disappeared, likely going to his father, who was probably already watching him. A young boy had to stop using such words. Maria would have his and Frank's heads for it.

Billy's eyes met yours. He gulped, watching as you walked up to him, and Lisa disappeared, probably going to the hideout where her parents were, watching him and Y/N. He clears his throat as you stand in front of him and gives you one of his practiced smirks... though he doubts he's acting as confident as he should be.

"Hi." he says quietly, staring at your face. His stupid heart beats like crazy as he completely forgot everything that wasn't you.

"Hi." you reply, playing with one of the rings on your finger—a nervous habit that he has despised since he felt the need to put HIS ring on you that you can play with and twirl on your finger when you feel insecure. "It was a long time."

"Indeed." he agrees and puts his hands in his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant. "You look beautiful, how are you?" he asks, as if he didn't have people positioned around you, to keep you safe and out of his troubles... the daily update about your life was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind after... losing you.

"All right. I got this job at the hospital." he knows. He himself made a transfer to the account of the hospital's head so that he would employ you there. Still, a smile appears on his face at the excitement in your eyes.

"I told you it was only a matter of time. You are the best surgeon in the USA."

"Well, I doubt Frank would agree with that." you laugh, and he can't help but join you. Frank was your test subject. A very grumpy test subject. Billy could never complain about being a little too strict or stitching it up too quickly at your beginnings. You were just perfect in his eyes.

"Don't listen to him, he is just a brat." he says, nudging your shoulder gently with his. And suddenly, you both stare at each other. You both linger on the other's lips for a moment longer.

"I missed you, Bill." you admit and his heart starts beating wildly.

He swallowed. No. He can't drag you into his shit. You would be better off without him... but as you stood in front of him, looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours that he would do anything for, he knew he had lost. And much sooner than he realised it.

He pulls you into his embrace. And when you wrap your arms around him, when you snuggle into his chest, and he inhales your scent, burying his nose in your hair, he knows he's home. He knows that he wants to feel this way forever and that life without you simply makes no sense to him anymore. And if he were anyone else, if he hadn't gone through all this shit in his life, he would have cried right there.

Instead, he pulls you closer to his chest, almost digging his fingers into your back, and whispers softly, his eyes closed tightly:

"This is the last time, I won't hurt you anymore." he kisses your head, sealing his promise. He will burn the world for you. And nothing will stop him.

And as you sit next to him on the bench, across from the Castles, who are teasing you about how you two can't live without each other, he just smiles and texts his people to call off the action. Unbeknownst to you all, he declares war on Rollins, writing to him: "No one hurts my family. That's the end of the deal."

This is the last time you tell me I've got it wrong This is the last time I say it's been you all along This is the last time I let you in my door This is the last time, I won't hurt you anymore Oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho Oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho

You've been holding his hand since you returned to the Castles' house after his doctors examined him and patched him up. They didn't let you get to him. Something about an emotional attachment would cloud your judgement as a doctor. Stupid bullshit, but there was nothing you could do against Frank's strong grip as he held you in the hallway until you were allowed to carry him home. You're sure Castle had scratches from your nails when you tried to get away to go to Billy.

You shiver when Frank suddenly enters the room and hands you cup of tea. You take it from him without a word with one hand, and with the other, you still hold Billy, waiting for him to wake up. Frank snorts and sits down in the chair next to you, watching you closely.

"He'll get through this. Fortunately, he didn't set himself on fire, he just crashed into the opposite wall." you shiver, ignoring his words as you sip your tea. "Although I doubt he'll have any luck next time if you dump him again. Who knows what he'll do next time just for you to hold his hand."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you ask angrily, shifting your outraged gaze to him. He just shrugs.

"Do you think he let me give him those scars just like that? This is some form of his twisted compensation or punishment. The fact that he was hoping you would magically come get him and patch him up only encouraged him more to stay still as I smashed his face."

"You're fucked up. Both of you. No normal people would come back to being friends after something like that."

"We're all fucked up. Me, because I still see him as a brother. He, because he still wants to be part of my family. And you, who love him despite everything, but leave him at every possible opportunity." you turn your gaze away from him to Billy. He is right. And that hurts the most.

"Every time I promise myself it will be the last time. That I will never go back to him. That this is the last time he breaks my heart without even blinking. One last time I let him back into my life, but I… I just can't, Frankie… I can't leave him, no matter how much he destroys me."

"He thinks he's not worthy of you. That you deserve better." you huff bitterly, shaking your head, trying to fight away the tears.

"There is nothing for me apart from him." you whisper, staring blankly at your linked hands with Billy's. "Not after everything I've been through with him."

"Then stick with it. It's better to be fucked up together." you are laughing. It's not that simple, it never was… or maybe it was you who didn't want to make it such a simple thing.

"You should go to Maria and the kids." you say, wanting to get rid of him. You don't know what you feel. All you know is that you won't leave this room until those dark brown irises look back at you again.

"Will you stay with him?" he asks, and from the heavy atmosphere in the room, you feel like this question means more. He asks if you will stay forever. You lift your hand and gently run through Billy's short hair, observing what happened to him after the two of you were apart... and in fact, you weren't holding up any better than he was.

"Yes... yes I will." you whisper, never taking your eyes off his face. And you feel like something heavy has fallen off your chest. Months of crying, anxiety and apathy passed with the snap of a finger.

"I want to be godfather to your first. And for him to have Frankie as his second name if it's a boy."

"Fuck you, Castle." you say and throw a spare pillow at him. The man laughs as he leaves. He closes the door behind him and you look at the unconscious Billy.

"This is the last time, Russo. I mean that. Don't fuck it up." you whisper and kiss your joined hands.

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye This is the last time I'm asking you this (This is the last time I'm asking you this) Put my name at the top of your list (Put my name at the top of your list) This is the last time I'm asking you why (This is the last time I'm asking you why) You break my heart in the blink of an eye (You break my heart) This is the last time I'm asking you, last time I'm asking you Last time I'm asking you this This is the last time I'm asking you, last time I'm asking you Last time I'm asking you this

The gentle brushing of your hair is the first thing you feel when you wake up. Another is his tight grip on your hands, as if he's afraid you're just a product of his head high on painkillers. You raise your head slowly. His hand slips from your hair and rests hesitantly on your cheek.

"Hello." he whispers, staring at you. And for a moment, you just stay like that, each drinking in the sight of the other.

And your heart breaks when you see him waiting for the moment when you start screaming at him, when you take away the closeness he missed so much.

So against your better judgement and what you should do, you lean in and kiss him sweetly, cupping his cheek in your hand. You caress one of his worst scars with the pad of your thumb as he responds to your kiss. His hands stay stiffly in place as he's afraid to move, lest he disturb this moment between you, to feel your lips as long as possible.

You pull away from him and rest your forehead against his. You close your eyes, catching your breath. You feel his burning, confused gaze on you, but you don't move. You don't say anything. You just sit there, enjoying his touch and his closeness, not thinking about the conversation you need to have.

"I missed… I missed this." he whispers shakily. You feel him burning with the desire to taste your lips one more time, but he maintains some semblance of control and settles for just moving the hand that isn't cupping your cheek to your waist.

"Me too."

"I know I screwed up. But… I will never… never again…" you kiss him again, interrupting him. You brush away the tears that fall down his cheek with your thumbs and gently brush your nose against his as you end your kiss.

"Shhh... I know." you whisper, straddling him, needing to feel him as close to you as possible after everything that happened. You were both shattered, but maybe you could put each other back together?

"Are you sure?" he asks, swallowing. You nod and bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He strokes your back slowly, drawing patterns with his fingertips under your blouse. You shiver at the feeling of his touch on your skin.

"This is the last time, Russo. Either we succeed or... it's over. And I mean it. There will be no great quarrels and returns, no appearances on the doorstep of the other at midnight. We'll either be honest with each other... and make it work... or we won't be together at all. You understand? We're at the top of each other's lists, or not at all. I don't want anything less, any toxic love, any blaming each other, and all that bullshit. We take each other and try to do something with us, or we end it."

He nods and pulls you closer to him, digging his fingers into your back, anchoring you to his chest.

"Deal. I hope you know, you just stuck with me forever, because I'm not leaving you." you lift yourself gently from his chest to look at him. Your eyes water as your eyes meet and for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to fully express your feelings to him.

"Just... don't make me ask you this again... don't hurt me. Please."

Billy pulls you into a tender kiss, showing you all the love and devotion he has for you. Trying with your actions to ensure that this time will be different, that you will never suffer because of him again, that you will never run away from each other again, that you will never watch the other one leave again.

"I'm nothing without you. Trust me. I tried to live without you and look how it ended." he jokes, and in any other situation you wouldn't find it funny, but now, fueled by the high of being with him again, you giggle stupidly into his neck. Billy smiles fondly and strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Break my heart again, and it will end worse for you. I have connections in the mortuary, Russo." he huffs, undeterred, and pulls you closer.

"Please. As if you didn't fly across two states just to stitch my face together because you didn't believe in the competence of the doctors at the hospital." you blush as you realizes that he knew about your moment of weakness after you found out what happened to him after his fight with Frank.

"How did you know?"

"I'd know your stitches anywhere." he says with a shrug and pulls you in for a kiss.

Maybe this really was the last time after all… and this time you will stitch the scattered pieces of both of you together for good.

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cletusthurstonbeauregard · 4 months

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"One inch of duct tape at a time"

#wenclair #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #making up

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frankthesnek · 2 months

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✨️ New Story ✨️

Split Down the Grain (rated E)

Stony (Tony Stark/Steve Rogers)

Missing scene, not realizing you're in a relationship, make up sex, Tony needs a hug

6.2k words

Suddenly, everything seemed to shift. This didn't feel like a disagreement with a teammate. It felt like a fight with a lover—deeper, more intimate, with far more meaning behind it—but that was wrong. They weren't like that. All the arguments, all the verbal barbs they traded—that wasn’t a relationship. So their spats ended in sex nine out of ten times, fine, that was just blowing off steam for the good of the team. None of it mattered. None of it was meaningful. They were casual. They were liars.

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kissablelips-desireslure-vol1 · 8 months

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STAY BY MY SIDE (2023)

YANG I HSUAN (as Jiang Chi)

HONG WEI ZHE (as Bu Xia)

#THE KISSING CHRONICLES #BL¹ (BOYS' LOVE)#KISSING #MAKING OUT #MAKING UP #EXPRESSIONS OF FEELINGS #TAIWANESE BL SERIES #My GIFS #MYGIFSET #MY-GIF-EDIT #STAY BY MY SIDE

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sitp-recs · 4 months

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Hi! Do you know of any fics where Draco emotionally hurts Harry and then tries to make it up? Kinda like that one fic where Draco is visited by the three spirits of Christmas (i forgot the name lol)

I appreciate all the work you do!!

Hi anon! I think you might enjoy these:

Be Still by @writcraft (E, 5k)

Harry’s back in England and Draco tries to fix things before he disappears again.

Packing the Flat by marguerite_26 (E, 6k)

Months after their explosive break-up, Draco insists Harry return to their flat to remove his belongings.

Don't Stop It Before It Begins by mischieviolet (M, 19k)

“I don’t understand how this is of any concern to you, Malfoy,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. Draco blinked at the use of his last name, something that Harry only used with him in jest these days. “I’m merely spending time with my Auror partner, who is from another country, and has no one here. I would do the same if it were you.” “It’s not me though, is it?” Draco all but shouted, unable to stop himself.

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (E, 31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #hurt Harry #making up

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inlovewithrain · 1 year

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do you think we'll be in love forever?

tw: mentioned sex

steve and eddie are famous actors and played a couple in a TV show when they were teens. (think jackie and michael from that 70s show)

of course everybody loved them due to their chemistry on screen, and when the show ended, everyone still continued to ship their actors together, despite them never meeting up out of set.

this all leads up to steve's 20th birthday, which marks the 5th year anniversary of the pilot of their show. eddie is, as always, invited to a dinner and small party. (but, he never shows up, even when the show was still rolling.)

so, steve gets the shock of his life when eddie shows up to his party/dinner. eddie recognizes a lot of people, including a lot of people from the show. nancy, robin, hopper, joyce, jonathan, vickie, even the kids, who eddie hadn't seen in two years.

immediately, he starts feeling guilty. this is a family. his family. the people he'd seen everyday for four years of his life. the best four years of his life. and what did eddie do? he just left them, ignored them and moved on with his life.

however, they still welcome him despite his nervousness, and after a while, eddie can feel the awkwardness wear off as he became more comfortable around them again, and desperately tried to ignore the way steve was staring at him the entire time.

at the end, as everyone was leaving, steve stopped eddie.

"hey, could i talk to you?" steve asked, clutching eddie's wrist.

"oh, sure." eddie said, stepping aside as mike rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

"i- i missed you. you kind of just ignored me." steve said finally, staring up into eddie's eyes.

"fuck, i'm so sorry. i- i just, i didn't know you guys still hung out, and i didn't know it was a small dinner, i don't like parties-" eddie began, stumbling on his words as steve shook his head.

"no, before that." steve whispered, breaking eye contact to look at his socked feet as eddie let out a noise of confusion.

"what-"

"when we slept together." steve said, a tad bit loud as eddie practically reeled back like he'd been shot.

"you remember that?!" eddie screeched as steve sent him a glare.

"of course i remember that." steve snapped. "and i didn't expect to wake up alone with just a note."

"hey, i had to go get ready for the award ceremony! aftercare doesn't extend in the morning if it's a one night stand!"

"it's called ettiquette, eddie! when you take someone's virginity, it's just a code to maybe check in on them in the morning! and then.. and then you just stopped talking to us! you were all nice to us at the ceremony and then boom, we never heard from you again."

that sends eddie reeling because there's no way that the most mind-blowing sex of his life was also when he took steve harrington's virginity. the same man that he still dreams about, both having him in his life and having him riding his dick, depending on the day.

instantly, eddie bursts to explain, apologizing rapidly as steve hangs his head low, and eddie's fingers brush against his chin and pull his head up gently, to reveal steve crying.

"why are you crying, baby?" eddie whispers as steve cries harder, clinging onto eddie like a koala, as eddie grabs steve's thighs and carries him towards the couch, when steve murmurs something about going upstairs.

eddie wills himself not to get hard at the duality of that sentence, carrying steve and setting down on his bed, before wrapping him in the blankets.

"stay." steve mumbled, gripping eddie's hand tightly. "please, eds."

eddie grumbles before getting in the bed, and steve immediately launches himself on eddie, nuzzling his head on eddie's shirt, and eddie goes silent, threading steve's hair with his fingers as steve falls asleep.

when eddie wakes up, steve is practically straddling him and his entire body goes stiff as steve lets out a soft yawn, eyes fluttering open.

"hi, eds." he said, rubbing his eyes. "shit- sorry."

"no!" eddie says quickly, gripping steve's hips to keep him in place, causing them to both freeze up. "oh god."

"eddie?" steve asks innocently, warm hands slipping under his shirt and resting on eddie's sides. "you want me on your lap?"

"shit, i'm so sorry-" eddie raced, hyperaware of steve rubbing his thighs together, throwing his head back as he bit his lip and crossed his legs on eddie's thighs, slowly rocking on it.

"eddie, mm, p-please." steve begged, hands slipping out of under eddie's shirt and slowly moving towards eddie's crotch.

the day ended with steve's throat raspy from screaming eddie's name, and eddie ended up with a backache from thrusting and slamming into steve.

luckily, in the end, eddie finally felt loved back in his pseudo-family that he'd refound, and the entire world practically screamed when steve and eddie revealed their relationship.

#eddie x steve #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #actor!au #actor!steve #actor!eddie #this is kinda spicy #making up #....and the cradle will rock!!

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steviewashere · 2 months

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Terrifyingly Intense

Rating: General CW: Minor References to Sex, Steve Harrington's Self Worth Issues Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Arguing, Apologizing, Making Up, Steve Harrington has Self Esteem Issues, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Lover, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Happy Ending

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is terrifying."

💕—————💕

Steve doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He’s pretty incapable of being normal about how he loves Eddie. From week two of their relationship, Steve was ready to get down on one knee and propose. Which is insane of him. They’ve been close friends since Eddie woke up in early April. And somewhere in there, Steve said the words all over again with true intent and intense feeling. Now it’s December and they’ve been together for less than a month. And Steve is driving himself up a wall.

But it makes him sick to his stomach.

Yeah, he said “I love you”, to Eddie. He’s said it out of fear in the hospital. Said it with hysteria in that field some weeks ago. But that doesn’t change the way Steve wants to say it again. In a sobering moment. When they’re doing something mundane. And he hasn’t disappointed anybody around him or nearly lost anybody to some third world grave danger.

He should know how to do this.

Yet, here he is in their little relationship—which, truly, feels too intense and big for human language—pulling himself away whenever Eddie wants to see him or talk to him or be with him.

Logically, he shouldn’t be doing something so stupid.

But—God—he’s so afraid. Afraid that Eddie will wake up one day, realize just how intense and lonely and nuts Steve is, and he’ll break off what they have. And then…Well, then Eddie won’t wanna be friends, he’ll stop hanging around, he’ll make up excuses to not have Hellfire in Steve’s dining room, he’ll do something crazy like unfriend all of them, he’ll get the fuck out of Hawkins, he’ll leave everything he’s ever known behind.

Yeah, Steve can’t be the cause of that.

So, he hides away. Keeps himself busy. Occupied, whatever. Hands never idle. Brain never quiet. Eyes never rested. And he stays away from Eddie.

——— By the second week of Steve’s little shenanigan, Eddie has caught on.

It’s obvious by the hurt that simmers in his eyes. His soft scowl. The lingering touches that used to make Steve’s skin light up with arousal, now fleeting. Just as fleeting as every other love anything Steve’s ever involved himself in. But he’s too afraid of whatever realization Eddie will make of him.

To be vulnerable, well that’s like death to Steve. He remembers one of the last times he did so. Sans Robin’s confession, because Steve doesn’t think he had an actual thing for her—he’s easily convinced, okay, and he’s also an extremely lonely person. But Nancy definitely left her mark on his self worth, that’s for certain. Bullshit bounces around his—what he thinks—empty skull. If he allows himself to love strongly, he’ll be bullshit eventually. If he forces himself to pull away, he’ll probably still be bullshit.

He won’t win either way.

And that’s apparent by the next time Eddie comes pounding on his front door. Very literally. His fist making the whole door shake.

Steve rips it open, ready to spit fire at whoever is there, but all words die on his tongue in the face of Eddie’s open anger. Eddie’s face is furrowed everywhere possible, his eyes are like lasers, skin red and redder as he looks at Steve.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve tries to coo.

“Cut the shit, Harrington,” Eddie growls back. He shoves his way past Steve. Stumbling into the foyer. It’s been raining and Eddie’s soaked, dripping water from his leather jacket onto the floor, but Steve is too stunned to do anything about it.

In fact, Steve’s stomach is lurching. His mouth filling with saliva. Ready to puke. He shuts the door behind himself, turning around to fully face Eddie. “What—uh—What’s wrong, babe?”

Eddie looks around the space. As if hunting for something. His eyes are sharp when he glares back. “You aren’t busy,” he spits, “you didn’t have a shift at work, I already asked Robin. And you very much so aren’t sick.” He crosses his arms over his chest. The squeak of his jacket loud between them. “When you’re sick, you’re miserable. Like a wet fucking cat. You make a whole ordeal of it. And I come to your rescue every time. Yet, you’re lying to me.” He steps closer into Steve’s space. Steve steps away, back slamming into the door. “Why are you lying to me?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not, Eds. I wouldn’t—“ He bunches his palms at his sides. They’re sweating. His stomach still heavy and twisting. Chest pulsing. “—I wouldn’t lie to you. I don’t know—“

“Then why are you pulling away?” Eddie is practically pleading for an answer. His voice goes pitchy. “I hardly see you anymore. You claim your busy or sick or whatever—But you never are!” He exclaims, his words echoing.

Finally, Steve finds his strength to move. Stepping around Eddie, speeding into the kitchen. Eddie is following him, his footfalls heavy and clumsy, chasing. He won’t give Eddie an answer because he’s not sure which words to even say.

“Sorry I’m pulling away, I love you too much.” That doesn’t even make any fucking sense. Steve never makes sense. This whole thing is starting to make him dumb.

He pulls open the fridge, sticking his head inside, acting as if he’s about to make food. His hands rummaging, digging through his things, knocking containers over, nearly breaking some glass condiment bottles. If he can just get Eddie to grow disinterested in this conversation, maybe he’ll leave and Steve can stew in his feelings, up until he actually knows what to say.

God, what is wrong with him?

“Talk to me, Steve,” Eddie is demanding. “Please just talk to me. Is it something I did? Did I hurt you the last time we had sex or something? Were you dissatisfied with the last date I took you on? Because I can think of a million other things to do, to take you to experience, if you would only talk to me!” He begins to shout. Steve flinches where his head is still buried. He’s always hated arguing, reminds him of his parents, if he’s being honest. But Eddie doesn’t know that. And he hasn’t taken notice. So he continues on, “Maybe you didn’t like the Christmas gift I got you? Is that it? What did I do? Please, Steve, please just—“

“I can’t!” Steve finally yells back, standing up ramrod straight, the fridge door quietly and gently closing behind him. He shifts on his feet, hands bunching at his sides once more. He shakes his head, the tears already prickling in his eyes. “You don’t want to know, okay? You’ll think it’s stupid or something and then I’ll feel worse and I—You can’t know.”

His eyes dart up to Eddie, When was I looking at the floor? And Eddie looks…Well, he looks damn unhappy about that answer. But also severely concerned. He chews at his lip, crossing his arms once more, popping his hip so that his body is leaning away from Steve. He sharply exhales. “If you cheated on me or something, you can just say that. And I’ll get out of your hair.”

“What?” Steve squeaks. “Why would you think that? I wouldn’t do that to somebody.”

“Then what’s wrong? That’s all I can possibly think of as to why you’re putting distance between us.”

He stiffens, swallowing. Sniffling. God, why is he about to cry? His breath stutters in his chest. Stomach churning and churning and flipping. “It’s because I—“ He hiccups a sigh. “It’s because I love you too much, okay?” He whispers. Steve can’t make his voice any louder than that. The shame at the admission coiling tight in his throat and chest. He crosses his own arms, fingers wrapping around his elbows, fingernails digging into his soft flesh. “Like so much, you’ll think I’m insane. And then you’ll get weirded out by me. And you’ll think I’m fucking with you or something and then you’ll just leave. Like everybody else has.”

Eddie softens. Arms dangling loose at his sides. He hesitantly gets closer to Steve. “Baby,” he’s softly cooing, “why would that make me not love you? All I want is to be loved by you.”

“I’m scared,” Steve confesses. “I’m scared you’ll hear me and you’ll see how much I love you and you’ll leave. Or you’ll…You’ll realize something that a lot of other people tend to realize—“ He takes a gasping breath, something salty landing on his tongue. Of course he’s crying. “You’ll just realize that I’m a bullshit person. That I’m too much and too intense and too enamored, or whatever. You’ll realize that I’m bullshit in the sense that I don’t know what to do in a crisis or when I need to make somebody happy. You’ll think I’m bullshitting you about every fucking thing. Because I—“ A sob leaves his chest. It’s got claws, it hurts on the exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie slowly raises his left palm and cups Steve’s right cheek. His other hand lands on Steve’s opposite bicep. He runs his hand up and down the arm in tender swipes. “Steve,” Eddie starts, his voice low and trapping—his words are almost congested. “Sweetheart, your feelings aren’t bullshit. You aren’t bullshit because you feel something. Especially something like love. You deserve to have that. And you deserve the possibility of reciprocating.”

“I love you so bad, Eddie,” Steve cries out. “It fucking terrifies me how much I do. And I—“ The sobs come easier now, rattling his whole body, crumpling him bit by bit. Eddie shuffles in and drags Steve to his chest. And over Eddie’s heart, Steve mutters, “I don’t know how to be normal.”

Eddie’s hand on his bicep moves to the back of Steve’s head. His other hand falling away to Steve’s shoulder. “I love you, too,” he murmurs. “It physically hurt to not have you near me. I thought that I fucked everything up, Stevie. I love you so much, it threatens to destroy me sometimes.”

Steve nuzzles in closer. Tentatively wrapping his arms around his middle. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Eddie whispers, “You don’t need to apologize. I understand, it’s alright.” He presses a chaste kiss to Steve’s head. His lips lingering. “Besides, I’m the most abnormal person fucking ever, sweetheart. Your love won’t chase me away. Never ever. You never have to be scared about loving me too much. I welcome it.”

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “I’m still sorry.”

Eddie sighs. “I know, love bug,” he whispers. “I know you are.” He moves his arm to wrap around Steve’s own torso, swiping his hand in one long, soothing stripe over his spine. Another kiss, this time to Steve’s temple. “Let’s order some pizza or something, alright? We’ll cuddle on the couch and calm down. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sorry for assuming the worst. I just love you so much and I know you love me, too—I couldn’t come up with a single reason why you’d stop.”

“I don’t think I can stop, which is also scary. But—Like a good fear? It gives me adrenaline.”

Eddie’s chest vibrates with his laughter. Bright in the otherwise gloomy and dark place Steve’s found himself in. “Don’t you ever stop,” he demands. “I want your love all the time. I’ll tell you if something bugs me, alright? Don’t go assuming. Because I love you, Stevie. I love you so much.”

Steve pulls back, face pointed up at Eddie’s. He matches his soft smile. “I love you, too. Let’s get some pepperoni pizza, though. Because I am fucking hungry.” He squeezes his arms around Eddie. “Hungry for you, too.” And he saunters away.

In return, he hears Eddie shout after him, “You better make do on that! I missed you too much for you to tease me!”

Maybe he should learn to just trust his gut. To just admit what he’s feeling. Because it seems, if he’s honest about it the first time, good things happen in return.

💕—————💕 Gotta be honest, this isn't my best work. I've been feeling pretty mucky recently and nearly didn't have the energy to write. But I think this suffices.

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #hurt/comfort #arguing #apologzing #making up #steddielovemonth #day 18

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trashyswitch · 1 year

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Simon Says...Tickle Attack!

Sun is told to prove he's not a drama queen. So, Sun starts up a game of Simon Says!...With a twist~ But things don't go as smoothly as he planned...

This fanfic was suggested by two anonymous people! I hope you enjoy!

Sun was playing around in the ballpit, play fighting with Moon. “What’s your favorite color of ball in the ball pit?” Sun asked.

“Hmmm…” Moon started digging around in the ball pit, looking at the different colors. He looked at the pink ball, before looking at the blue ball, and the green ball, then looking at the red ball. “I think…blue is my favorite.” Moon replied, dropping the pink ball so he could show him the blue ball.

“My favorite color is the red ball.” Sun replied, holding up a red ball.

“Of course you do, look at you.” Moon reacted.

Sun rolled his eyes and threw the red ball at Moon. Moon let the ball hit his face, and let out an “Ow.”

This caused Sun to burst out laughing and point at him. “Yohour FAHAHACE!” He reacted, closing his eyes as he laughed.

Suddenly, something hard and light hit his face. Sun opened his eyes and widened them the moment he saw a large spot of blue. A millisecond later, Sun felt that same spot of blue hit the area between his eyes. Sun yelped and felt his face. “What was that for?!” Sun asked as he looked down at the blue ball that was sitting a bit too high on the pile of balls.

“Can’t a brother throw a ball back?” Moon asked.

“No! That’s unfair!” Sun reacted.

“You’re such a drama queen.” Moon complained.

Sun gasped and placed his yellow hand on his own chest. “I am NOT a drama queen!” Sun reacted in a rather dramatic way.

Moon chuckled and crossed his arms. “Oh really?”

“Really! I am as far from a drama queen as you can get!” Sun declared, still not seeing the irony in his own statement.

“Reeeally now?” Moon reacted. “Then prove it.”

Sun was taken aback. “...Prove it?” He clarified.

“Yeah, prove it. Right now.” Moon replied with a smirk.

Sun softened his expression and thought for a moment. “Well…”

Moon raised an eyebrow at him, simply waiting for him to say something or make a move.

Suddenly, Sun started to look up at Moon again. He started to smile. He then started to slowly look down, and smirk evilly at Moon. “I know exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Moon raised an eyebrow, looking at him with curiosity and slight worry. “...Oh?”

Sun skipped up to Moon in an innocent and casual manner. Then, he placed his hands on his hips. “Alright. Time for a game of Simon Says.” Sun declared.

Moon raised his eyebrows, taken aback. He chuckled and looked at Sun. “Okay.”

Sun smiled and readied himself. “Simon says…touch your nose!” Sun touched his own nose.

Moon nodded and touched his own nose as well.

“Simon says…touch your knees!” Sun declared.

Moon nodded and knelt down to touch his knees.

“Touch your belly!” Sun declared.

Moon smirked and kept his hands on his knees. “Simon didn’t say.” He reacted.

“Exactly! You’re a natural at this!” Sun reacted.

Moon giggled and smirked at him. He felt like he was already gonna beat Sun at his own game.

“Simon says…reach your arms up high!” Sun declared, raising his own arms up.

Moon nodded and raised his arms up into the air.

“Simon says…freeze with your arms in the air!” Sun declared next.

Moon raised an eyebrow, but kept smirking as he kept his arms up.

“And Simon says…let me inspect you…” Sun told him as he walked around towards the back.

Instinctively, Moon moved his head to the side. “What are you-”

“Simon said don’t move.” Sun reminded him.

Moon moved his head to the front right away, as if trying to cover up the fact that he was moving.

Sun gently placed his fingers on Moon’s thin sides.

Moon widened his eyes and let out a squeak in response, but didn’t move very much for fear of getting in trouble. He just stayed in place.

Then, Sun slowly traced his finger uuuup and dooooown his side. Veeeeery sloooowlyyyy.

Moon leaned his head back as he tried to contain his need to laugh or giggle. He could feel his lungs filling up with laughter right away, and found it almost impossible not to move. He could feel his body jumping and shaking slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Uh oh…Simon didn’t say you could move yet.” Sun teased, moving his left fingers up to Moon’s right armpit.

Up until now, Moon was determined to win this game. But tickling him while Simon had told him to not move?! SO uncool!

“Simon also said to keep your arms up! So let’s see how long you can keep your arms up, shall we?” Sun asked with an evil smile.

Moon visibly, but silently gulped at the idea of being turned into a mess of brain-melting embarrassment. He couldn’t imagine how long he was gonna be forced to take the tickling with no room to move or even speak.

“But Simon also says…Speak all you want!” Sun declared next.

…Okay, scratch off ‘speak’. Now it’s just moving that’s prohibited. But even that feels like a large chore in and of itself.

Moon felt as Sun’s nimble fingers moved slowly up his spine. “Kiiitchy kitchy kitchy kitchy koooo!” Sun teased, drawing zig zags back and forth from one side of the spine to the other. Moon feels an intense need to arch his back to get Sun’s fingers away from his back. But he’s not allowed to move without getting in trouble. So he tries his damndest to keep still.

Sun smirks. “Not bad…not bad at all, Moon. But can you handle this?” Sun lifted up Moon by his wrists, and held him up high. Moon let out a sigh of relief as he got a break from holding his arms up on his own. This was gonna be easy! So easy! He could guarantee it already!

Or so he thought…

Suddenly, Sun had started tickling the right armpit with his left hand. And then moved to tickling his left armpit with the same hand. Tickling the right armpit for a few seconds, then tickling the left armpit for a few seconds. Right, left. Right, left. Right, and left again.

Moon wheezed and tittered rather loudly. “ohoHOHOHO NOHOHO! HAHAHAhahahaha!” Moon laughed.

“Now which armpit is more ticklish?” Sun asked next.

“WAHAHAIT NOHOHOHOHO!” Moon yelled, tugging on his arms helplessly.

“Iiis it this one?” Sun started tickling the right armpit super rapidly.

Moon’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he cackled almost like a mad man! “NAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” Moon yelled at him.

Sun couldn’t help but laugh with him! “Gosh, I’m only tickling one of your armpits! Did I manage to start off tickling the more sensitive armpit?!�� Sun asked.

It was almost a miracle to see Moon laughing and being so genuinely happy! Usually his happy side had a tinge of creepy to it. But this was far from creepy. This was genuine, adorable, happy laughter. And Sun was here for it.

Moon continued to cackle and laugh his head off as Sun danced his evil fingers in his vulnerable right armpit. It was driving him almost to the point of insanity! And…it was starting to become a bit too much to handle…

Sun stopped his fingers and moved them back as he started to speak. “So we know how ticklish your dominant armpit is. But how ticklish is your left armpit?” Sun asked next, before slowly wiggling his fingers mere inches from his left armpit.

Moon whined and laughed almost in a crying voice. “Nooohohohooo.” Moon mumbled.

“Iii’m gonna getcha! I’m gonna getcha!” Sun teased, now bringing his fingers just millimeters away from the open armpit.

“Noooohohohohoooo!” Moon whined, squeezing his eyes shut as he tensed up in preparation for the tickles. “Behehehe gehehehentle plehehehease.” Moon begged.

Sun either ignored this order, or didn’t hear him right. “Iiiii’m gonna geeeetchaaaa…” he kept teasing. Finally, he breathed in and let out a loud “NOW!”. Sun touched down right on his left armpit and skittered his fingers super quickly all over the armpit.

Moon SCREAMED and cackled, leaning his head back as he slowly lost his mind from the tickles alone. “YOHOHOHOU’RE SOHOHO BRUHUHUTAHAHAL!” Moon shouted at him.

“I know~” Sun replied with a shit-eating grin.

“WHAHAHAT HAHAHAPPENED TO SIHIHIMON SAHAHAHAYS?!” Moon asked.

“I won! And I proved that I’m not a drama queen.” Sun replied with a smirk.

“THEHEHEN STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOHOP!” Moon shouted and begged.

“But why would I stop when I’m having so much fun?” Sun asked.

Moon whined and kept on laughing. The tickling was really getting to be too much to handle now. His mind was swirling with ways to get out. All he knew was ‘LAUGH! GET OUT! HELP! “PLEHEHEHEHEASE! STAHAHAP- STOP!” Moon slammed his foot onto Sun’s foot.

Sun yelped and quickly stopped. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll stop.” Sun reacted, letting go of his brother. “Geez…so dramatic…” Sun muttered, confused and slightly annoyed.

Moon fell to his feet and looked at Sun with shock and…growing anger. “You could’ve made me overload, you inconsiderate brute!” He reacted.

Sun widened his eyes and backed up slightly, putting his arms up in arrest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I thought you were fine!” Sun reacted.

“I was, thankfully. But it could’ve taken a turn for the worst at any moment, if you kept going.” Moon argued.

“If you want to get me back, just say it.” Sun told him.

“I…” Moon softened his expression slightly. “No. I don’t want to get you back. Not yet.” He replied.

Sun tilted his head. “Then what do you want?” Sun asked.

“M…More tickles…” Moon mumbled.

Sun widened his eyes and clapped his hands together. “Why I’d love to!! Armpits, here I come!” Sun declared, reading his hands.

“Now NOW HOLD ON.” Moon yelled, pushing him away. “I have ground rules.” Moon warned. “Make it less unbearable. That means no armpit tickles.” Moon ordered.

Sun groaned. “But I love tickling your armpits!” He whined.

“It’s either no armpits, or no tickling me at all.” Moon ordered. “I want to be able to enjoy it too. And I can’t enjoy it as much when you’re destroying me.” Moon explained.

Sun raised his eyebrows. It was unusual that Moon would have such strict guidelines for something as simple as tickling. And yet…he could somewhat understand the need for such rules. He understood that he had failed to notice Moon’s hints of dislike earlier. So now, he knew he needed to pay extra attention to his body language.

He let out a breath. “Okay. How about…back tickles?” Sun asked.

Moon smiled and let out a breath of relief. He turned himself around so his back was facing Sun. Then, he gave Sun a look of appreciation. “Go for it.” Were his last words before dissolving into giggly laughter all over again. While tickling his back, Sun made sure to keep an eye on his body language, as well as his words while he tickled. When Moon told him to stop, he stopped. When Moon told him to go ahead, he nodded and went ahead with his fingers.

After their tickle session, Sun wrapped Moon in his nighttime blanket, and cuddled Moon for a little while after. By the time Moon had fallen asleep, Sun could safely say that they understood each other a little bit more now than ever. And he hoped they would continue to learn about each other as the years go on.

#simon says #sun being a drama queen #ticklefic #ler!sun #lee!moon #light angst #lack of communication #making up

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