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oiveyzmir · 9 months

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Living with Eddie is… well, it’s an experience.

It’s not a bad thing, not in the slightest. There’s nothing Steve loves more than the fact he gets to fall asleep next to the love of his life, wake up to his soft little snores, and go about their lives together. There’s a soft kind of domesticity to it Steve wouldn’t give for the world.

He loves their routine so much he’s even willing to move past the little things Eddie does that make him lose his mind, like the way he never washes the sink properly after doing the dishes or how he constantly leaves the cabinet doors open. He can even move past how Eddie will come home from a late night shift at the bar when it’s raining and forget to take his shoes off, leaving a muddy trail of footsteps anywhere he goes. Hell, Steve’s even willing to excuse Eddie’s phases.

Wayne had warned him about those when they first moved in together three years ago. “It’s just that he gets easily excited about things,” he reasoned then. “Which doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

Steve didn’t get what it meant then.

He surely gets what it means now.

He found something- a bout of inspiration- and hyperfixated on it until moving on to the next. There was this one time Eddie got really into gardening and bought 11 different herb seedlings, only for them to wilt and die three weeks later when he got into water coloring, then moved on to filmography, then to operas.

He had that month once where he’d developed a sudden interest in learning to play the violin (It’s for a song, Stevie, did you ever listen to Skyclad?), so he stayed up until 5 AM to play something that resembled music (but was closer to being nothing but) with the instrument he burrowed from Robin’s then girlfriend. That month was so close to being a breaking point for Steve, but he loves Eddie too much to do anything about it. He honestly believes that if he managed to live through Eddie’s Violin Month he can live through anything.

He lived through Eddie’s sewing phase, his novel-writing phase and his (honest-to-god awful) baking phase, and survived to tell the tale.

Nothing had prepared him for Eddie’s current phase, though.

It seemed harmless at first. It was even kind of adorable, really; the way Eddie’s eyes glinted with excitement when he sat Steve down to watch him do a cute little card trick, the way he laughed triumphantly when it was, in fact, Steve’s card.

It got less cute when Eddie got himself cuffed to their bedpost for hours in the most unsexy way Steve could imagine, refused Steve’s offer to let him out and making him feed him since his hands were, well, preoccupied.

It also wasn’t cute when Eddie stabbed himself with a pencil in attempt to make it disappear.

But it’s plain rude now, when Steve’s trying to get a little nap after a terrible day at the school where he’s started teaching. Eddie knows he’s sleeping, Steve made sure to call him on his way home and let him know he had a bad day and that he’ll be spending as much of it as he can sleeping it off. He trusted Eddie enough to keep it down that he didn’t bother to close their bedroom door properly, and he had also kinda hoped Eddie would see it as the invitation it was for him to cuddle up to Steve and make his awful day just a bit better.

Yet here Eddie is, an hour or so after he got back home, seemingly running into every single piece of furniture they own.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles, and Steve has to give him credit for at least trying to be quiet. “Come back here.”

Steve sleepily opens one eye at that. There shouldn’t be anyone out there but Eddie, right? He listens intently to hear someone else speaking, but he can’t hear anything but the quiet thump of someone hitting their kitchen table and Eddie’s frustrated grunting.

“Please, babydoll. Come back to me.”

And now Steve’s interest is really piqued.

Steve opens his other eye and sits up. He debates heading out there and seeing whatever happens out there himself, but decides to let it all play out just a little bit longer. It’s not like he believes Eddie is capable of cheating on him; he knows Eddie loves him too much to make him go through something like that, and he also isn’t dumb enough to do so when he knows Steve is sleeping in the other room.

He listens as Eddie makes some quiet tsk noises with the tip of his tongue. “C’mon, princess,” he whispers, not loud enough to wake Steve up, but definitely loud enough that Steve hears now that he’s really listening. “No, no, don’t go there, Steve’s sleeping, fuck.”

Steve lies back down quickly when he hears the door creak a bit wider to pretend being asleep, covering himself up to his eyes with their blanket. He can hear something’s small feet tapping on their bedroom tiles before hearing Eddie’s steps, and is he tiptoeing?

Even when he’s almost panicked about whatever it is Eddie had brought home, Steve can’t help but have a fond smile spread across his face. There is love in this, so immense and great, and Steve can be nothing but grateful and madly in love as well.

The tiny feet keep running around and Steve can vaguely imagine what it is- a kitten, or maybe a puppy, but relatively tiny ones at that. The tapping sound comes to a short stop then starts off again.

Eddie sighs, relieved, and it sounds like he crouches down. “Come on, come on,” he whispers. “There you go, good girl.”

The sound of tapping feet stops and Eddie gives the thing a kiss. “Don’t ever make me go through this again, babylove.” He mutters accusingly. “How can I trust you in battle if you pull this kind of shit on me?”

Eddie turns to go. Steve can imagine the kitten cuddling itself in Eddie’s arms. Knowing Eddie, the kitten’s probably black, maybe missing an eye or an ear, whichever makes it harder to adopt for regular people. Eddie’s not a regular person, though. The mental image he created is so endearing to him that he can’t help but loudly yawn. “Baby?” He says, trying to make his voice sound as sleepy as he can, even though he’s been wide awake for a while now. Eddie stops and turns around.

The room is dark, but even in the darkness Steve can see that whatever it is Eddie’s holding is both white and obviously not a cat.

“Hey, Stevie, did I wake you up?” He whispers, his tone apologetic, like a kid found out with his hand in the near-empty cookie jar.

“What’s that?” Steve asks back instead of answering.

Steve turns his bedside light on, and after the initial shock of light momentarily blinding him he can clearly see it; a white bunny being cradled in Eddie’s arms.

“She’s my assistant,” Eddie explains, as if it explains anything, “her name is Jessica. Get it? Jessica Rabbit?”

“Your assistant.”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly.

“For the…”

“Magic tricks?”

“Oh.”

“I’ll take care of her, though,” Eddie sits down on the edge of the bed, Jessica sitting in his lap, “take her out on walks and feed her and everything. You wouldn’t even notice she’s here.”

Steve sits up and motions for Eddie to hand him the bunny, which he dutifully does. Her fur is so soft, probably the softest thing Steve had ever felt. “That’s not how you take care of a bunny,” Steve says as he rubs his hands gently through her fur, “she isn’t a dog.”

“How do you take care of a bunny then? ‘Cause I bought, like, a bunch of carrots.”

Steve laughs. “Oh god, I love you.”

“That means we’re keeping her, right?” Eddie takes his shoes off- Steve pointedly does not think about how their living room might look like- and cuddles up in bed next to Steve. He looks up at him so hopefully Steve is flooded with warmth and love, so flooded he can’t even remember what annoyed him so much at work today.

Steve kisses his forehead, then his nose, then softly his lips. “Sure. One condition, though.”

“What is it?”

“Can you teach me the pulling her out of a hat trick?”

Eddie grins wide. “Of-fucking-course.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #the kind of shit I write to avoid my bb fic #speaking of thank you bb author chat for indulging my bullshit #tal writes

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chanshoesunite · 7 months

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Chan on the Beach

Content Info: Chan and Y/N meet on a beach in Australia at Christmas and have some fun. This is an edit of Hare's bday fic for Tortoise. No beta we die like Y/N's resistance against lifeguard Chan.

Word count: around 6K

Warnings: semi-public sex, dirty talk

„Aaaah, this is the life!”

You reach over to grab your Virgin Lavender Mojito off the little table next to your lounger. Taking a sip through your plastic-free straw, you let your gaze, well-protected behind your heart-shaped shades, wander across the bay. From your position high up next to the rooftop pool of the renowned “Park Hyatt Sydney”, you can see the world-famous opera house.

“I know, right?” Your best friend Hare is next to you, holding a flashy pink cocktail. “Bless this job!”

As a pilot, Hare is allowed to bring someone along whenever she needs to fly over one of the major holidays, and since it’s Christmas in Austria right now and you’ll only fly back on the 28th, she chose her best friend to keep her company in her five-star hotel. There really are worse fates.

You stand to let your gaze properly explore the vicinity. “Do you fancy going to the beach?” you ask, spying the almost glisteningly white sand in the distance.

Hare raises an eyebrow at you, which you only realise because now it appears behind her sunglasses. “And getting eaten by a shark? Is this your idea of a good time?”

You giggle. “Oh, come on, there are safety nets. And anyway, I was thinking we could do one of those fun videos where you throw sand and I twirl in it? You know, for the Gram?”

Hare looks like she has half a mind to protest, might find this not worth the hassle, but then her smile softens. “Sure,” she says. “Let me check with the hotel staff to find the best beach access for us.”

…

An hour later, you are in your gloriously colourful bikini, twirling barefoot in the sand even though it’s too hot for comfort – not that you would give that away and ruin your Instagram reel, though. Hare is holding your phone, trying to get the perfect angle to have the sun glistening in a golden hour-way on the water.

“And now the sand,” you prompt. “You kinda just let it fly in the breeze, so it looks nice behind me.”

Hare looks dubious for a second. “What if I mess up and hit someone else?” You wave it off. “There’s nobody around!”

It’s true enough – it’s around dinner time, and your stretch of the beach is, possibly due to the holiday, rather empty. Hare nods. “Okay, sure.” She bends down to grab some of the white sand and repositions herself to throw it into the air. You twirl, and from the way Hare’s lips widen into a grin, you can tell it’s a great shot. You can already imagine how amazing you’ll look and how many likes you’ll get, maybe you should cross-post it on TikTok and-

“Oi!”

Both of you turn to see someone standing there. And what a someone. Well, two someones, actually, but your eyes are glued to Someone Number One. He isn’t exactly tall, but well built, his black swimming shorts showing off his narrow hips and creating a marvellous contrast to his thoroughly-trained upper body. He has a sharp jawline that you would like him to use to cut you into chips, a big nose, well-formed cheek bones and beautiful eyes that are, admittedly, currently glaring at you. “What’s that all about?”

One glance at his wet upper body, which is now covered in sand, tells the entirety of what happened – that he is the unwilling participator in an Instagram challenge gone just a little wrong.

Hare gets her bearings faster, but from the way she eyes the taller, lithe man next to the buff grumpy guy, you assume that in order to get into her head, you would have to pass an 18+ ID check. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there and meant absolutely no harm!” She extends one of their towels to the taller guy who looks a little like a Korean forest fairy. “Here, please.”

The guy accepts the towel from her, cleaning his (for his build) substantial abs. You tear your gaze away and meet the buff dude’s eyes, who sarcastically pulls up one eyebrow. For a second, you don’t know what to do.

“Oh!” You realise he’s expecting you to also offer him a towel, so you do. At the way you briefly flounder around, your nemesis’ face softens, and a little smile plays on his face. It’s a good look on him, you decide. “Cheers”, he thanks you, cleaning himself up. “What were you even doing there, throwing sand?” he asks, somewhat curious and content now that the sand isn’t on his pecs but your expensive hotel towel. His voice is still a little gruff, a little dark, a little deep, his Australian accent making it all the more delicious.

Hare, the ever-trusting girl that she is, extends her phone to him. “I was filming a slow-mo reel. It looks absolutely gorgeous if you ask me. Sorry again, but it was kind of worth hitting you with sand for it.”

The two men watch the reel and you can feel your face heating up. You haven’t even seen it yourself yet, and now those two handsome dudes get to do so before you?! You should be mad at Hare, but from the way buff guy’s face softens watching it, you really, really can’t.

Handing her phone back to Hare, the guy looks at you. “You’re beautiful in this,” he says, a little sparkle in his dark eyes. “If I can follow you on Instagram, you’re forgiven.”

Ummmmmm. That’s a statement you haven’t anticipated. You gulp a bit. “Okay,” you agree, and accept the phone back from Hare to open the app for him. Your hand brushes his as you hand it over, and the back of your neck prickles. At the touch, his eyes find yours, and he smirks just the tiniest bit before focusing on the device to type in his Instagram handle. You feel a little lost for words, so you look over at Hare, who confidently winks at you. “Maybe we can buy you two a drink in order to make up for the, er, Sand Incident?”

The other boy chuckles. You take a moment to look at him more carefully and appreciate his fine features, his longer hair tied back in a ponytail. He is beautiful, no doubt about it, but you prefer his shorter friend. “That’s a lovely offer, but we’re actually headed to a party later.” Ponytail glances at the Short King. “But actually…?”

The Short King has finished typing his name. “Yeah, how about you come along?” he finishes the sentence. “I’m Chan,” he adds as he hands back the phone, “but lots of people call me Chris.” Chan nods at the phone and you glance at the handle. “Chanstopher97”. Oh, he’s younger, too. Hot. You accept his following request.

“And I’m Hyunjin.” The other boy smiles at Hare in a way that shows you he seems just as taken with your friend as her body language suggests she is with him. Nice.

“I’m Y/N,” you take charge of the conversation now, and there is a laugh dancing in Chan’s eyes. “And that’s Hare. And about our evening plans…” You look over at Hare, hoping to telepathically communicate that you’re not ready to make this impromptu decision without talking it through with her first.

Hare smiles. “We have dinner plans, but why don’t you text Y/N the address and we’ll see if we can meet you there?” You two share a look and you feel seen and comforted. Hare is keeping your options open but not consenting or refusing in your name.

There is slight disappointment in the two men’s faces, but that’s their issue. “All right,” Chan agrees, running a hand through his darkly wet hair and you are mesmerised by the way the muscles flex on his arms. “I’ll text you in a bit.” He smiles at you. “I really hope to see you there. It’s at the beach, but it does get cool at night, so make sure to bring a hoodie.” He pauses strategically. “Or you can always wear mine.”

You bite your lip to suppress a giddy grin, and his eyes follow the movement. There is an almost hungry quality in his gaze before it flickers back up to again. “See you later.” The confidence he lays into these three words is astounding but very attractive.

Hyunjin smiles sweetly at Hare, which she reciprocates, and then the two men make their way up the beach, in such a manner that the two of you can appreciate their backsides. When they turn around, you feel caught, and the slight blush on Hare’s face betrays the fact that she is experiencing the same emotion. As if in unspoken agreement, you both turn around and sink down in the sand, onto your respective towels that are already dirty anyway.

You are quiet for a moment. Then- “Well, damn,” Hare says.

“Damn,” you agree.

“He’s really hot.”

“I know. Mine too.”

“There’s one for each of us.”

��Yeah.”

Hare glances over at you. “How do you feel about a beach party on Christmas Day in Australia?”

You watch the setting sun glittering on the waves. How do you feel about this? On the one hand, many strangers in one place, mixed with alcohol, are never on top of your list when it comes to a desired evening programme. On the other hand, the party doesn’t have to be where they stay, does it? And Chan, Chris… He is really something. If he were lavender lemonade, you’d sip him. Hehe. Also, as a pilot, Hare has to stay sober, so there will be at least one reasonable person around – or, knowing your besty, at least a sober one.

“I think,” you say slowly. “Theoretically, if we didn’t like it, we could go home at any time. And we can share our location in case we lose each other.”

A slow smile spreads across Hare’s face, reminding you of a cartoon cat who has spotted an especially delicious baby bird. “All right,” your besty agrees. “Let’s party tonight.”

…

Chan texts the details within ten minutes of meeting you and you try not to let it get to your head. Hare and you enjoy an outstanding dinner on the hotel’s rooftop terrace, a Christmas present from the airline, and don’t let the prospect of two hot Korean men on a beach force you to hurry through the five delicious courses. Afterwards, you throw on bikinis, shorts, cute tops and pack long-sleeved items as well, just to be on the safe side. With on-fleek eyeliner and beautiful lipstick, you must surely be the hottest besty duo that has ever walked the hallways of this grand hotel, or so you think on their way downstairs to catch your Uber.

The party location seems to be a dive bar, and as you approach the hut, you are relieved to see that while there is a crowd gathered, it is not overwhelming. The last rays of sunlight are winking over the horizon as the two of you enter the bar.

The interior design is a little bit clichéd in its maritime theme, but since this is your first authentic dive bar experience, you don’t mind. You glance at the nets, the taxidermied swordfish, the life belts, take in the Jack Johnson song playing, and decide you like it. The bar is situated in the middle of the wooden building, an “o” marking the centre of the spot. And right there, behind the counter, drawing a beer, is-

“Is that Chan?” Hare asks the exact moment you realise that your crush is actually working here. Your gaze falls onto Hyunjin next to him, wiping glasses, and the women waiting to catch their attention in front of the bar. “Well,” you conclude. “It seems we’re here for the most popular boys. Damn.”

Hare grabs your hand. “That won’t stop us,” she disagrees. “After all, we are the hottest here.”

She pulls you towards the bar, and it is almost eerie how fast Chan’s head snaps up to meet your eyes. His slowly crinkle as he begins to smile. “You came!” he calls over the music and the waiting people, and some of them actually make space for Hare and you. “We came,” you confirm, propping your elbows up on the bar. “And you came to work, by the looks of it?”

Chan seems sheepish for a moment, but quickly shakes it off. “We are only doing the first shift,” he explains, “and then we’ll be all yours.” He gestures around the room. “You can check out the place or the beach if you’d like. Or hang out with us back here?” He has one hand on the door that swings inward and allows for entrance into the centre of the bar.

Hare glances at Hyunjin. “If we hang out back here, will you make us a kickass alcohol-free cocktail?”

Hyunjin smiles – he really looks good in his loose Celine racerback; you have to admit that. “My pleasure,” he says in a voice that is deeper than you remember.

Hare turns to you. “Beach or bar?” she asks.

You barely hesitate. “Bar.”

…

If someone had asked you a few months ago if spending Christmas day behind a bar sounded like fun, you probably would have refused to even consider the possibility. But this – sitting on chairs with Hare, sipping the amazingly lavender-flavoured cocktail Hyunjin created for you, watching the men work, throwing dish towels or napkins at them in jest – this is a perfectly lovely evening. There isn’t much time to chat, but just by looking at them interact with each other, their customers and their work, you get a better idea of their characters.

Chan seems to be caring, friendly, supportive, flirty, Hyunjin appears to be sweet, sassy and a little on the dramatic side. Both of them react well to the sarcastic comments Hare sometimes throws their way, teasing her back and each other. It is obvious that they are firm friends and likely have been for a long time.

“Hey, Hyunjin, your mojito game is actually pretty weak,” Hare exclaims, hopping off her barstool and joining the taller Korean man at the bar, elbowing him gently. “Why don’t I help you with that?”

Hyunjin’s gaze at her is challenging, but he hands her the bottle. “I am ready to be impressed.”

Someone snorts next to you, and you glance up to find Chan very close to you, also watching the two of them. “Hyunjin’s flirting technique need work,” he says, chuckling softly but not unkindly.

You arch an eyebrow at him. “And yours doesn’t?”

Chan turns to you, and with you propped up on your high bar chair, the two of you are eye to eye. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice suddenly just a tiny bit rough, his eyes intense. You feel yourself blushing but don’t look away. “I am,” you agree.

He shrugs. “Then I don’t think it does.” Chan winks at you and returns to the considerable queue in front of the bar, slapping Hyunjin on the shoulder in the process. “Stop flirting!” he barks, and from the way his friend blushes and Hare starts giggling, you can tell that you are not the only one behind this bar who is experiencing chemistry between herself and a man she met at the beach mere hours ago.

The first shift passes quickly, and as the bar fills up, you love seeing Chan get just a little bit hot, his dark t-shirt, tight to begin with, sticking to him in all the right places.

Finally, when a few of their friends come to take over, Chan throws the dish towel he has been holding down onto the bar and turns to you. “Finished!”, he exclaims happily, an almost childlike joy at having completed his task on his face. He extends his hand to you, offering you help in jumping off the chair. You take his hand, and it’s just a little rough. Does he surf? Play the guitar? You intend to find out. Relishing the moment, you wait just a tiny bit before jumping off, and Chan doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re firmly on your feet, either. You look up at him and there is something in his eyes. A dare to let go? Dream on, pretty boy, you think. I dare if you dare.

Hyunjin hands Hare two glasses – two more of the delicious mocktails, you are happy to see – and grabs two bottles of beer. “Shall we?”

The four of you leave the bar area and then the building behind, and you are thankful to be holding Chan’s hand so as to not lose him in the throng of people that seems to have been growing steadily throughout the past hour. Soon, your sandals hit the sand. There are beanbags on the beach, and miraculously, not all of them are occupied yet, possibly because the night air is just a little bit chilly already. Now you have to let go of Chan’s hand and follow the impulse to run across the now cool sand and throw yourself into an extra-large beanbag, giggling happily. Chan is not far behind, though, approaching you at a languid pace, two drinks in his hands which he has seemingly picked up from Hare and Hyunjin, watching you with a smile. When he is finally standing over you, you glancing up at him, his bravado seems somewhat diminished. “May I join you?” he asks, and when you wiggle just a little bit to the side and pat the newly gained space next to you, his smile widens again. He lets himself sink down next to you and you are overwhelmed by how much you like the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat and ocean breeze. Delicious.

It takes some arranging, but the two of you are finally comfortable side by side, your drinks secured in the sand, Chan crossing his arms behind his head and gazing up into the night sky. You can hear Hare giggle behind you as, by the sound of it, Hyunjin falls off a beanbag.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but you still decide to break it – after all, you want to get to know this delectable specimen better. “So, is this what Christmas usually looks like for you?” you ask.

Chan glances over at you and holds your gaze. Man, you really want to sink into those eyes. “The party’s a tradition,” he explains. “We always host it.”

“We?” You sit up a tiny bit, edging just a little bit closer, and from the way his body shifts towards you, you can feel that he welcomes the change. Your bare leg brushes against his and the skin-on-skin contact makes you antsy, but in a good way. This is exciting – the two of you both know where this will lead, but the timeline is yet unknown, ready to be discovered.

Chan nods. “The lifeguards. Hyunjin and I both work at this beach.”

You process the info quickly and file it away under the category “hot”. “That’s extremely cool,” is what you say, though. “Very responsible.”

The man seems to be blushing a bit and you love how his cool behaviour falls away when he’s being himself. It’s endearing. “I am a huge ocean enthusiast. I am actually currently writing my dissertation on various measures that could be taken to effectively clean the ocean, you know, to remove all of the microplastic. I’m trying to create a filter that can be produced cheaply and applied across all water temperatures.”

Your mouth actually hangs wide open at this. “So, you’re hot AND super smart?!” you blurt out. “That hardly seems fair!”

Chan smirks at this, but there is no denying that he is flattered and cajoled. “And you haven’t even seen me bench press yet,” he jokes.

You laugh. “I’d love to, though,” you say, more serious than you mean to be.

He grins widely. “Well, if you’ll have any more of those cocktails, maybe I’ll have to carry you back later.”

It’s a joke, you both know it, but you notice the exact moment where you both think about him picking you up and maybe pinning you up against a wall. The mood shifts for a moment, it feels less playful and more explicit. The silence is heavy, almost alive with an electric current.

Chan clears his throat. “You haven’t told me yet what a beautiful publicist from overseas is doing in Australia at Christmas.”

Thankful for the distraction, you tell him about the trip, about your job, and as you sip your respective drinks, you establish a shared love for TV shows, bubble tea, colourful hair, non-spicy foods. If this were a first date, it would be absolutely amazing, but sadly, this can’t be a first date, because in less than seventy-two hours, you will be on your way back, and you are severely jetlagged, having arrived only today, and this will merely be a three-day-thing, if at all. You try not to be sad about this, but it’s hard.

Chan seems to sense your distress. “Is everything all right?” he queries, using his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile. “Yeah. I was just thinking that I’d love to not leave in three days.” This feels like way too big a confession for this casual hook-up, but somehow, simultaneously, it also feels just right.

He seems to contemplate this, then takes your hand. “Want me to show you my lifeguard hut? You can see pretty far from up there.” It’s a distraction, but it’s working, so you nod and smile at him. Chan pulls you to your feet and just as you turn to tell Hare where you're intending to go, you can see her sitting in Hyunjin’s lap, making out with him. Shrugging, you turn back to Chan – after all, you can both access each other’s locations on your phones and Hare knows how to handle a dude. “You know,” you say boldly, “This could be us.”

Chan pulls you after him, towards the lifeguard station. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says with casualness that makes you shiver in anticipation, “it will be.”

…

Chan’s workspace is actually more elaborate than you anticipated. It’s a little hut on a raised platform so he can seek shelter from the sun while watching the ocean. The bottom of the steps is sealed for the night with a chain-link fence so unauthorized or drunk people won’t be tempted to climb up, but Chan produces a key from a chain around his neck and unlocks it so you can access the platform. You go first, but he keeps his hand on your lower back, steadying you, and you have to admit you like it.

Upon arriving at the top, you are greeted by a few solar lanterns glowing in the dark, illuminating your surroundings. You are maybe four metres up above the ground, but everything – the party goers down the beach, the music, the noise – seems miles away. The only thing you can feel is the wind and Chan’s warm hand against your side, and then there is the glorious sound of the sea. The lanterns also reveal that the chair Chan must usually spend his days in is folded up against the railing, replaced by a picknick blanket and a few throw-pillows. You turn to meet his eyes, into this half-embrace he has going on, and his hand finds your lower back again, pressing you softly to his firm chest. “Did you prepare this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Chan does have the decency to blush. “I was hoping our night would go this way, I must admit.”

Briefly, the thought that Chan must do this all the time, that this must be his move, makes an appearance, but you actually don’t really care to slut-shame the man. Good for him, he is hot and sweet AND smart, you hope that he has lots of amazing sex, but tonight, preferably with you.

You take it all in – the waves crashing against the sand, the darkness softened by the glow of the lanterns, Chan’s huge hand splayed across your lower back, his scent, his face just inches from yours. “Can I kiss you?” you ask.

Chan briefly closes his eyes before opening them. There is a tiny smile on his lips. “Please,” he whispers. And so, you slowly, anticipation rising in your gut, close the distance and softly place your lips against his. Your first thought is how soft they are as you slowly move, placing your hands against his chest, then sliding them upwards, holding his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Chan tastes of beer and chewing gum, but you don’t mind, you don’t have the capacity to think as his tongue touches yours and suddenly, this isn’t slow anymore, this is heat and lust and want and need. Chan’s hands are still at your lower waist, but from the way he is pressing you against him, you can tell that he wants to touch you, he is just too chivalrous to give in to his passion. You grab hold of one of his hands and place it very deliberately against your bum cheek as you pull his lower lip between your teeth and bite. Chan groans into your mouth, his left hand joining his right on your ass, and then he is lifting you up, pressing you against the railing, thoroughly devouring your mouth all the while.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and one of his hands slides down to touch your bare thigh while he breaks the kiss, pressing his lips to your throat, nibbling, licking, sucking. A moan escapes you, and you can feel him hardening in his pants. Without waiting for him to do it, you pull your shirt off so you’re just in your bikini top, and Chan immediately shifts your weight onto the railing and his left arm so he can slide his hand under the fabric and play with your nipples. At the first slight touch, you are already whining, arching into the touch, and Chan’s chuckle is half mean, half adoring as he watches you respond to him. With your bikini top askew, you feel that the clothing ratio between the two of you is a little unfair, so you pull at his shirt, and he actually stops teasing you for long enough so you can get it off of him. Unfortunately, you don’t have long to admire his physique, because as soon as the offending garment is discarded onto the floor, Chan leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips, and your moan is much throatier this time, needier, and you can feel Chan shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he breathes against your chest, making you shudder as the air hits your wet nipple.

“I want you, too,” you admit, stroking your hand across his pecs and earning another groan. “Can you take me like this? Up against the railing?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. “You want me to rail you against the railing?”

You groan at the dad joke, but, for once, not in pleasure. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yup. And speaking of right into…” He slides one hand into your shorts, going straight for your pussy and parting your lower lips with his forefinger so that any protest you had against his stupid pun dies on your lips. “Fuck, you are so wet,” he sighs. “I’d love to stretch you out with my cock.”

You cock your head to the side. “So why don’t you, then?”

At that dare, Chan crashes his lips to yours and your tongues dance wildly together as he slowly strokes your clit with his fingers, making you gasp into the kiss, before abruptly breaking away. “Fuck, let me just grab a condom real quick,” he says as he puts you down gently, placing an almost sweet kiss against your lips before approaching a bag that you didn’t notice earlier. You quickly discard your shorts and bikini bottoms; now only in your bikini top, you lean against the railing and watch the shoulders in Chan’s back work deliciously as he bends over, searches his bag and finally grabs a foil package before slipping it into the pockets of his shorts. Then he joins you again, scooping you up in his strong arms. You seize the opportunity to hold onto them and stroke them as he lifts you again and captures your lips in another scorching kiss. Your wet core presses against his naked lower abs, and Chan moans at the feeling. He lowers you just a little bit, grinding his still-clothed cock against your aching pussy as he presses kisses to your throat, your cleavage, any spot of bare skin he can reach.

“Please, Chan!” You might be begging at this point, but who cares, actually, he feels big and you want to see and especially feel if that’s the case. “I needed you inside of me like five minutes ago!” He stills, breathing heavily against your skin. “Fuck, okay,” he finally rasps after a moment of silence. “Hold on.”

You put your legs onto the railing, propping yourself up while Chan sheds his shorts and underwear, but not before grabbing the condom from his pocket. You watch as he tears open the package and rolls it over his indeed fairly large cock – it almost makes your mouth water and you promise yourself that before the night is over, it will literally make your mouth water.

Having finished his preparations, Chan steps back into the space between your legs, and you pull him closer. Your kiss is slower, more deliberate as he strokes his tongue against yours, tempting you, seducing you. And then his hard cock is pressed against you, and you shift, allowing him to press into you. Slowly, you feel yourself being filled, stretched by his girth, and you moan loudly as centimetre after centimetre disappears into your tight pussy. Unconsciously, you try to shift away from the intrusion, but Chan’s hands on your hips hold you steady, so you can do nothing but give in and take it. Chan’s tongue is back on your nipple, distracting you from the stretch by stimulating you sweetly, and the way he groans against your skin, muttering how amazing you feel, how tight your little pussy is, how good you are being for him, turns you on even further so that you use your heels to pull him closer, pull him in more quickly.

Finally, when he’s fully inside of you, he comes back up to kiss you, the movement causing him to shift inside you, making you both gasp. You are completely naked, completely out in the open, you realise, and still, this moment is intimate, like you are the only two people left in the world. It’s uncomfortable, rushed, risky – and somehow still perfect.

Chan is visibly trembling with the effort of holding still. “Can I move?” he asks, his voice hoarse against your neck as he kisses you softly, waiting for you to adjust to his size.

You cups his cheek so he’ll meet your eyes. When he does, you say, “Fuck me.”

His pupils dilate, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice before he pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in with a force that knocks the breath out of you. Before you can recover, he does it again, setting a relentless rhythm, and you are caged between his body and the railing, his thrusts an assault to your very being, but in the best way possible. His body is blazing in the cool night air, keeping you warm as he worships your body, stroking you, kissing you, licking you, fucking you. And even though your weight must take its toll on him, he doesn’t show it, doesn’t let up, pushing into you again and again, filling you, taking you. You are both trying to keep it down, so your heavy breathing can be covered by the sound of the waves, but you would not bet on it working.

He bites your shoulder, suppressing a groan. “I won’t last long, baby, you feel too good. But don’t worry, I’ll make you come as many times as you want tonight. I’ll eat your sweet pussy until you beg me to stop.” You moan, nodding, as he once again sucks a nipple into his mouth. “That’s fair,” you breathe, and Chan chuckles as he seems to again redouble his efforts, railing you against the railing as his breaths become groans rising in pitch until he bites down on your shoulder once more, stilling inside of you.

The two of you stay locked in your embrace for a moment longer, your breaths calming, before Chan tenderly kisses you as he pulls out. Scooping you up into his arms, he lays you down on the blanket and finally removes your bikini top. Drinking in your naked form in the better light provided by the lanterns, Chan strokes his hands up your sides. “There is just something about you that makes it utterly impossible for me to keep my hands to myself,” he says almost wistfully, and then he is between your legs, kissing the insides of your thighs, nuzzling into them, licking his way up to where you need him. Finally, his tongue is on your clit, and he slides two fingers inside of you, and despite the fact that you are deliciously sore from the thorough way he has just fucked you, this is exactly what you need. His tongue writes letters against your clit, every movement unexpected and all the more exciting for it, and the steady rhythm of him finger-fucking you pushes you closer and closer to the edge. God, he looks so good on his knees for you. Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him against you, and the way he groans into your pussy makes you bite back a moan as well, biting your hand to muffle your sounds of pleasure. Your orgasm crashes over you like the waves below you, unrelenting and unavoidable, and you remove your hand, letting Chan hear your high-pitched moans.

Chan stills his hand to feel the contractions around his fingers, but continues to kitten-lick your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you still, shaking from the stimulation. Only then does he press a handful of kisses to your lower belly and move to join you on the blanket properly, propped up on his side on one elbow, pulling you close and pecking your cheek repeatedly until you turn to slowly, lazily, kiss him. His hand strokes your side again. “That was… Pretty fucking great,” he reminisces, and you can’t help but giggle at the verdict.

“It was,” you agree, dragging your nails up Chan’s veiny forearm, making him shiver. For a moment, the sound of the waves is the only thing you hear. “And you’re here for three more days?” Chan asks, a serious note in his playful tone.

You continue to feel his muscular arms as you nod. “That’s right. Why?”

Chan shrugs – awkwardly, given his current position. “Oh, nothing,” he dismisses the question. “I was just contemplating how often I can fuck you in three days.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “I’d wager that a low to medium double-digit number could be achieved, don’t you agree?”

Chan’s face mirrors your expression. “Do you want to make a bet?” You shrug. “I’d rather suck your cock.” His expression is a mixture of shyness and surprise before it takes on a devilish note. “Well, in that case,” he says, his hand sliding to cup your arse, "be my guest."

#chanshoesunits #chanshoes everywhere all around the world #you make chanshoesunite stay #author hare #tortoise enjoyed this thank you v much #bang chan #stray kids #christopher bang #bang chan imagine #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #bangchan smut #author hare effectively writing herself into the story like the lil witch that she is

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ala-baguette · 4 months

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On April 28, 2009, I posted the very first chapter of this story. Today-- fourteen years, eight months, and three weeks later-- I posted the last.

I didn’t plan for this story to take me a decade and a half to write. I didn’t plan to take a ten-year hiatus halfway through. But life happened and the responsibilities of adulthood overtook the ambitions of youth. Still, never once in all those years did I forget about my story. Never once did I consider it abandoned. Through it all, I always intended to go back to it. To the writers out there worrying that it has been too long since their last update to continue: There is no such thing. To those worrying they are too old: There is no such thing. To those worrying they are too busy to update frequently enough: There is no such thing. If writing brings you joy, write. Don’t worry about the timeline, don’t worry about how often you can or cannot update. Don’t worry about whether you might be losing readers—the readers that matter will wait (believe it or not, I actually had a few readers still there waiting for me after ten years without a word!). And even if none do wait, you’ll find new readers along the way. If it brings you joy, then write. To the readers out there anxiously waiting for an update from their favourite authors: Tell them. No, don’t just drop a kudos and move on. Leave the comment, write the review, DM them, it doesn’t matter, just tell them! You never know when a simple message saying that you are still there waiting might make an author pick up their quill again. And finally, to my own readers. My wonderful, glorious, patient, kind-hearted, and encouraging readers. I would never have finished this story without you. This story exists because of you. I write because of you. Thank you.

#harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #knowing where to look #harry potter #writing #fan fiction #it's not abandoned until the author says its abandoned #just leave the comment #thank you #you are where I look

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slytherinslut0 · 5 months

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your writing is so cringe

there are better authors than you lmfao

#not sure where i claimed to be the best author ever #i’m literally just writing #if you don’t like it leave?#thanks for the ask tho

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laylajeffany · 1 month

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Llama, Llama Baby Drama | Wenclair One-Shot for @based7100

Summary: Enid gets an emergency call to babysit on a date night. When Wednesday shows up with intentions of having it anyway, they have a much-needed conversation about their future. (separate from my established Wenclair universe in CftF or Black Menagerie) WC: 4,979 (STILL UNDER 5K OKAY) Rated: All Ages

trigger warning: a baby

Prompted by @based7100, "Wednesday and Enid having the do you want kids talk" as part of my >5k writing (post-taxes) challenge

“Why is it sticky?” Wednesday asked with a grimace as Enid tickled the baby that was perched on her hip. The infant gave a loud squeal of laughter that drew a deeper cringe from Wednesday at the sudden pitch.

“She is sticky because she just ate, and I didn’t want you breaking and entering and setting off the home alarm! You’re lucky I have werewolf hearing, otherwise I would have made you be the one to settle her down.” Enid said with a smile of exasperation, opening the door wider, allowing Wednesday entry to a townhouse. Enid pressed buttons on a keypad when Wednesday came into the doorway of the space with some agitated trepidation. Monsters, serial killers – entering the lair of either would’ve brought her glee, but entering the space of an eight-month-old was like being dropped into a hostile landscape without adequate preparation.

She noted Enid in her stocking feet and untied her boots, staring up at Enid and the little she with unblinking eyes, attempting to assert her dominance in the small person’s home. Enid just rolled her own and gave Wednesday a peck on the cheek as she stood tall again, clutching her backpack strap. Enid looked at the entryway clock and added, “I’m going to get her cleaned up – it’s close enough to time – I’m going to get her in the bath if you wanna just make yourself comfortable! You’re like, forty minutes early, so don’t blame me that you’re bored!” The baby stuck her entire fist into her mouth, gurgling while a trail of saliva slipped her all the way down to her elbow. Again, Wednesday was sure she made a face, unable to help her disgust.

Make yourself comfortable was quite a loaded statement, as Wednesday didn’t have a portable bed of nails handy. She and Enid had their third Saturday night date cancelled in a row; the last minute “emergency” babysitting request coming through from a Normie family she’d made friends with in Jericho (really, Wednesday considered grandma falling down the stairs more of a coming of age event than an emergency) dampening a makeup date from a makeup date. Unable to tolerate three weeks in a row of a Saturday night without her girlfriend, Wednesday had cautiously accepted the invitation to come over after the baby was in bed. The child’s mother had said that was acceptable – and though she feared becoming a 80s movie babysitter cliché of making out on the couch while there was a killer outside, she’d taken the chance as the next week was supposed to be just as busy for the seniors at the end of their school year as they’d all been. (It was unlikely the house had a landline for anyone to ask if Enid had checked on the baby, anyway.)

Enid disappeared with her down the hall, using a different tone in her voice than usual to talk to the baby, who obviously couldn’t comprehend what she was saying regardless of her cadance. Staring after them for a long minute, Wednesday gave a tiny blink and took a look around – finding a stereotypical portrait of a family sitting in a field of leaves with their infant from the fall. The picture-perfect matchy-matchy white, suburban American aesthetic completely draining her before she even properly entered the home.

Exiting the foyer into the living area, she recoiled a touch at the explosion of color and plastic toys. Wishing she’d brought Thing to put him to work, she thought about perching herself on the edge of the wooden rocker in the room, not touching anything when she realized – if she didn’t pick up the toys while Enid was picking up the baby, it would just be that much longer before they’d be able to sit together on the plush loveseat under the window.

Wednesday let out a silent sigh, dropping her shoulders, taking a sharp glance around trying to figure out the organizational method when she realized – there wasn’t one. Unable to tolerate such a disaster, she began sorting the toys into piles, little rubbery blocks with forever chemicals laced into them together, tiny plastic people that probably had lead in the paint, and stuffed animals that had polyurethane filling which would outlive them all.

She found a few collapsible baskets that had never been put together near a stack of unopened mail on a bench, keeping everything separate as she got it off the floor. She rolled up the blankets, then went so far as to wipe down the tabletop when she couldn’t identify the crusty material that was gathered on top, using a deplorable smelling baby wipe.

It seemed like Enid at least hadn’t been forced to make anything for the baby, as there was just a spoon and a little plate in the sink and cleaning off the high chair tray. (Wednesday could handle blood spatter, entrails, and digging through bones, but honestly – the mush and droll were going to push her over the edge.) After putting everything that seemed dirty in the dishwasher, Wednesday followed the sounds of splashing and giggles to the bathroom down the hall.

Enid was on her knees in front of a tub, where the baby was in some sort of special seat. Not sure if she needed to avert her gaze for privacy, Wednesday almost disappeared but Enid shook her head, “You can come in! It’ll be a few minutes. Bailey loves to play in the water!”

Bailey. That was surely, the name of a dog, not a human child. Certainly – not an adult someday who needed to enter the workforce someday.

Avoiding yet another dramatic sigh out her nose, Wednesday hovered, her arms crossed as she stared the child down, who dropped her silly little face full of joy at the leer. Bailey frowned severely, suddenly – and Wednesday took the cue to leave, wandering into the baby’s nursery.

The room was surprisingly neutral, which Wednesday did appreciate with the lack of stereotypical pink. The baby’s crib was simple, and though Wednesday might’ve joked about smothering Enid in her sleep the first day they’d met, she knew that it was important to just keep a fitted sheet on so the baby didn’t manage to do so to themselves. There was a second rocking chair – a glider, in the corner, a small bookshelf, overflowing with titles, a dresser that seemed to be doubling as a changing table, based on the diapering supplies, and a few unopened boxes of toys that she probably wasn’t developmentally prepared to play with stacked in the corner. The walls had simple wooden, cut-out letters that read the girl’s name, and three photos above the dresser of her with the family, a few peel-and-stick bunnies at her eye-level beneath them.

Wednesday squatted down to examine the child’s literature selection, shaking her head in disapproval. How did they expect to raise a well-rounded child if she lacked the classics? There wasn’t a Homer, Miguel de Cervantes, Shakespeare, Stephen King, or even a single Orwellian novel on display. Her own father had been sure to get through all of the works of Poe and War and Peace before Wednesday had even left the womb!

Pulling out a few titles that didn’t sound horrendous, Wednesday shook her head at the modern children’s literature; thinking it was a damn shame that some of the best sellers clearly had no concept of rhythm. What a chore some of the books would be to have to read aloud, a near burden and waste of a tree’s time on earth.

She sat in the glider with a stack, ready to provide Enid with what she hoped would be interpreted as a humorous, critical review of some of the books, when her girlfriend came in with the baby all wrapped up in a towel, cheeks rosy – but significantly cleaner. “Forgive me, baby Bailey – I was so rude not to properly introduce you. This is Wednesday. Don’t mind the glare, that’s her friendly one.”

Wednesday was about to start her joke reception of Brown Bear, Brown Bear but Enid kept talking. She took out a yellow onsie with ducks on it, placing Bailey on her back on the changing pad, giving that same high, fake voice that was just so grating, even from someone she loved. “Okay, sweet baby – let’s get all dry…yeah, we’ll dry your little feet-feet-feet,” The baby kicked and laughed while Enid kept going, rubbing the towel along her. “And your legs-legs-legs,” She shifted into sing-song, “And your belly-belly-belly, and your arms-arms-arms…”

It went on for so long. Wednesday just continued to watch the spectacle, as she started with a disposable diaper and then worked her into the front-zipper pair of baby pajamas. “All done!” She waved her hands in a way that Wednesday knew was sign-language, and the baby copied it. Enid kissed her all over her face, making Baily whirl in happy sounds and Wednesday was sure, she was glowering, unable to help her jealousy – even if it was a baby she was being paid to watch getting Enid’s physical and emotional attention.

Finally, Enid completed the scene, looking at Wednesday with a seriously sort of expression. “We’re almost done. Can you hang in there?” She asked, using nearly the same voice that she had for the baby. Practically growling, she was about to stand up, when Enid developed an evil sort of twinkle in her eye and came forward, depositing Bailey suddenly onto Wednesday’s lap. Thankfully – she had some sort of protective instinct, and her reflexes kicked in before she could let the baby fall backwards. She went to make a snide, argumentative comment, but Enid just wasn’t having it. “Start reading to her, I’ll make her bottle, and we can be done in half the time.”

“Enid – I can’t –!?”

“Read?” She teased sassily, putting her hands on her hips, perching a brow. “Nice try. Here, she loves this one,” She reached down to a paperback (the very feeling of the thin cardboard cover making Wednesday’s skin crawl) with a worried looking farm animal on top.

Before she could protest again, Enid adjusted Bailey more in Wednesday’s lap, putting her back closer to her chest. Bailey looked at Wednesday with as much certainty as she returned, looking like she was about to cry. “Start reading and she’ll totes be fine.”

“Enid, I swear –”

At the empty threat, Enid dashed out of the room and down the hall. Wednesday let out a breath, grumbling, “Llama, Llama, Red Pajama…creative. Endlessly, creative.”

With a sigh, she started to read and Bailey settled at the familiar rhyme. Wednesday followed through, managing to go for the first few pages until she read, “Llama, Llama, red pajama feels alone without his mama. Baby Llama wants a drink…oh, no. No, no, no. This Llama is playing games with his caregiver and she needs to ignore him before she develops horrific behavior cycles that take years to break. Next thing she knows, she’s going to have nine-year-old llama walking in on mama and dada llama fornicating and traumatizing him like Pugsley because they never put an end to his bedtime drama. Oh, llama, drama – I suppose that’s nearly clever.”

Sighing, she flipped through the pages to find that indeed, the mother gave into the child’s tantrum and Wednesday snapped the book shut. Reaching into a stack, she pulled out another title. “Fine, Corduroy. At least Lisa understands that the value of something doesn’t lay necessarily in the perceived perfection of it, but in what it means to the individual. This is a better message for you to internalize.”

With that, she found herself actually gliding the chair back and forth, starting and finishing the story. Bailey yawned and gave a clap at the end, looking up at Wednesday, squeezing her hands open and shut.

Enid gave an amused chuckle from the doorway, shaking a bottle. “It’s right here, sweet girl.” Bailey kicked her little feet and reached her hands for it. Enid gave her the bottle and she held it with one hand, using the other to twirl at her own, light-brown hair as her eyes instinctively went half shut, but turned back to the book. Wednesday tried to hand her over, but Enid winked. “I think you’ve got this. Look, she’s relaxing on you!”

“I don’t like this,” Wednesday grumbled, but didn’t fight it too hard, not wanting to make the baby choke. In general, she wasn’t about to be the good Samaritan to help somebody experiencing that in public, as it seemed like a solid natural consequence, but she didn’t want to be the reason that Enid lost her babysitting gig. (She stubbornly refused to always allow Wednesday to pay for things and insisted on odd jobs around town to make her own money.)

“You’re doing great,” Enid promised, kneeling at her side, putting a hand on Wednesday’s knee. “It’s good to challenge yourself to do things that make you uncomfortable.”

She flickered her gaze down to the hand on her knee, wishing it were elsewhere on her body… “Give me another book,” She demanded as the baby was practically guzzling her bedtime bottle.

With two more selections (far better choices for her interest level of reading aloud to an infant – though she swore, if she ever ended up coming again, she’d bring some proper literature), Wednesday closed the third story up and looked at Enid, who was looking at her with…

…fondness? Desire? She couldn’t quite read the emotion. As the baby finished, Wednesday passed her over to Enid, where she curled instinctively into her neck, holding onto her shoulder with a contented sigh. Watching the sight herself for a long moment, she started to feel a strange discomfort and took the empty bottle, excusing herself as Enid started to pat her back and rock her to sleep.

With simple deduction in the kitchen that the bottle required to be hand-washed, Wednesday completed the task, then found Enid’s phone on counter. Unlocking it and logging into her own account for a food delivery application, she placed an order for a local favorite that was still open at the evening hour, and wrote threatening instructions not to knock or ring the bell. If that baby woke once it was placed in the crib, so help her…

It was hardly ten minutes later that Enid stepped out of the room with a little monitor in her hand, placing it on the end table that had little rubber bumpers on the corners, giving a stretch and a yawn before looking at the stiff-sitting Wednesday fondly.

“Hey,” She greeted, plopping herself down on the loveseat, turning right into her.

“Howdy,” Wednesday spoke in reply. “Is the small gremlin asleep?”

Rolling her eyes again, Enid put a hand on Wednesday’s cheek, turning it towards her to press a long, sweet kiss on her lips. “She’s out. Thanks to your help. I appreciate it.”

“I have been told I have a soothing reading voice,” Wednesday spoke of herself, squaring her shoulders a little bit. “I would still prefer to have been at the steakhouse and then stargazing in the cemetery with you, though.”

“I know,” Enid wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry. I’d usually say no to a same day request – but nana in the E.R. is a pretty valid reason. Imagine poor Bailey stuck there with them all night? She’d have been miserable.”

“You seem to do a good job at keeping her happy. I claim she’s still sticky, though.”

“Wednesday, she’s a baby,” Enid gave a tired chuckle, leaning back on the couch, intertwining their hands. “Thank you for being willing to even come over. I thought you might give me the silent treatment tonight.”

“I considered it,” She said honestly. “But…with time fleeting from us so quickly these days, only a month left until graduation – it seems prudent to spend as much time together as we possibly can, even if it includes minors.”

“Hopefully it’s a one-time thing. I told Bailey’s mama when I got here, I think that emergencies-pending, I’m tapping out for the rest of the year. There’s way too much fun left to be had and I don’t want to regret missing out for cash.”

“As I have repeatedly insisted, it is unnecessary. But I understand the desire to be productive and contribute to capitalism in your own way. I do hope you told her, she’s not allowed to have any emergencies next weekend.”

Giving almost a purr of a sound, Enid traced Wednesday’s jaw. “Not when I’ve convinced you to be my date to the Dark Prom.”

“As if I’d let you go alone,” Wednesday let out a little breath through her nose. “I’ve ordered dinner, so we can still have a touch of our date tonight as well.”

“Thank you,” Enid said quietly, kissing her again. “Hey…while we wait for that…let’s chat, since the topic is indirectly here, anyway.”

At the sound of sincere need for a challenging conversation, Wednesday’s defenses immediately went up. “Or I could pull you onto my lap and have you put your tongue in my mouth.”

“Well, I’m going to do that, anyway,” Enid giggled, straddling her to prove the point, giving her a long kiss. Thinking she was off the hook, Wednesday went to slide her hands along her back, just above her hot-pink pants, when Enid caught them and brought them together near her chest, pushing a kiss to her fingers. “We should talk.”

“We should keep doing that.”

“I’m serious,” Enid said quietly. “Look, I love you, so much. But – you’ve been very clever and used incredible evasive tactics each time we’ve tried to have a chat on any sort of serious front like the one that we really need to.”

Feeling trapped, Wednesday’s heartrate doubled in speed and she had to exercise every molecule of self-restraint she had not to shove her girlfriend to escape the situation. “I know, you’re not afraid of anything, but the future…it’s nerve wracking to think about. And, unfortunately – it’s really only a month away. I love you. I know that I love you, and I know that you love me, too. But we do need to start talking about what we want in life beyond just that we love each other. For your mom and dad, it was so easy – as they graduated Nevermore, they just ran off on trips and quests and got married and had more fun than they knew what to do with. We already know that our lives are going to be different than that. So…I just want to talk about that, a little bit – before we makeout anymore, okay?”

“Enid…” Wednesday tried to avoid her gaze. “I didn’t come over her to make things difficult, I thought since you would put the baby to sleep by seven-thirty, we could just spend time together-”

“We are. We will. But…Wednesday – do you want to have babies with me someday?”

Feeling like the springs in the couch cushions had just given out, popped her off and through the roof – Wednesday knew the color drained right out of her face, her eyes glazed over and when no words could form in her throat –

“Hey, hey…” Enid put her hands on her cheeks, snapping her awareness back. She pushed a sweet kiss to Wednesday’s lips and tilted her head. “Stay with me. I think that I’ve got my answer.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Wednesday responded with far more hostility than she needed to.

“Okay, okay…” Enid lifted her hands up in defense and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was so not a good way to lay that out there. But I’ve been trying to ask you more direct questions for months and you always avoid them, Wednesday. It’s frustrating! I want to plan for the future, and I want a future with you. I just want to know what that means.”

Wednesday swallowed thickly, trying not to feel overwhelmed and guilty. Her pulse was throbbing in her ears, her palms were sweaty –

“I told my mother that I would never be like her. I would never be a housewife, or a mother.”

There was a flicker on Enid’s face. Barely there, but obvious to the girl who knew her the most, who knew her the best, who loved her more than she’d ever thought possible.

“I mean, we’d be working, no doubt,” Enid said through a bubble of barely concealed emotion. “I can’t see you ever just wanting to sit about at home, and even if you were, you’d be writing or composing music or solving contracted murder cases, for sure…”

Cutting off her ramble as guilt was the next emotion that she started to experience, Wednesday hated how her harsh could snap out Enid’s light so quickly, even when she tried to hide it. “I…didn’t mean…Enid, when you just throw these things at me, I’m bound not to have an eloquent speech planned.”

“Well,” Enid shrugged, biting her lip. “We’ve talked about being married. That it might be possible for us. Just know – I’m open to having a family with you. Whether that’s us and a disembodied hand and a one-eyed cat, or us and a little…human-person, you know, I’m open to it. Just so you know.”

Getting a little lost in her comment, Wednesday popped a questioning brow. “Why would the cat only have one eye?”

Enid recoiled a little. “You seriously think you’d have a normal pet? Be real, Wednesday. The one-eyed cat would be a sign that he’s a street fighter. That’s way more your style than a cuddly, perfect Persian.”

Wanting to acknowledge the other part of Enid’s sentence, she found words locked in her throat again. She gave a shrug and balled her hands into fists at either side of Enid’s ankles on the couch.

“We know we have the next four years together, so like – this isn’t a convo that has to happen right now, I guess. I’ve just…read, that the longer a couple takes to talk about their wants and desires for the future, the more challenging it is if those things are different from one another. I don’t want things to be challenging with you. I love you. And I want to know – your wants, so that…I can prepare myself for making them happen.”

She leaned forward and initiated a kiss and Wednesday immediately felt her heart rate drop. After letting it go on long enough that her hair was a little messy in the back from Wednesday’s wandering hands, Enid pulled away with a wink, wanting to check the baby monitor. “Oh, she’s out. I had her outside until just before she needed dinner. The fresh air always does that.”

Just as Wednesday was about to try and tug her in for more affection, an alert on Enid’s phone indicated that the food had arrived. She deactivated and reset the alarm after securing it in her hands. “It’s no steak, but carne asada will totally do instead of whatever frozen post-partum diet food Bailey’s mama has in the freezer. Ick.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “A mother feeling pressure to return to her pre-pregnancy size is such a horrific societal pressure that needs to be popped.”

Enid brought them plates and forks, giving an approving sigh. “I know, right? Like – you just grew a whole-ass human! Give yourself a minute, mama – you just performed a miracle, and you should appreciate your body.”

Biting back a comment befitting her father of appreciating Enid’s body, Wednesday thanked her for the dinnerware and served them, listening to Enid blather about how excited she was for the following weekend and all the songs she hoped the DJ would play, singing a few dramatically to remind Wednesday of how they went (as if she could forget the earworms).

After taking care of the dishes and putting the leftovers in the fridge, Wednesday knelt in front of Enid as she flipped through a streaming app, knowing it would be some time before she landed on something for them to watch.

When she put her hands on Enid’s knees, the same way that Enid had done when she was rocking the baby, Wednesday locked eyes on hers. Enid dropped the remote. “You okay?” She asked in a serious, worried way, rubbing her shoulder.

Nodding, Wednesday let out a breath through her nose and shrugged. “I’m open…to whatever feels right for us.”

Enid lowered her hand from her shoulder to take Wednesday’s both in hers. “You don’t have to say that just because I said it first,” She promised. “I meant it as in, there’s no pressure, like - one way or the other. I’m serious. I just want a life with you.”

“What if we found a two eyed cat…and a one-eyed child at the same time?”

Blinking, Enid smirked. “I’m not sure what circumstances would lead to that, but of course. I don’t care how many eyes a kid has. If it feels like they’re part of our family, of course they should join it!”

Wednesday gave a curt nod, finding the words that had been locked away. “I don’t know that I’d ever want to carry a child. Physically, I mean – in utero. It seems like a distressing invasion of my personal space that I’m not sure I would ever recover from, and not due to societal standards of looking a certain, outward way afterwards.”

Enid’s eyes grew a watery sheen to them. “Of course, Wednesday. We’d never put you through something that made you uncomfortable that way. I’m, ugh,” She groaned. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by practically forcing you to hold baby Bailey earlier. That was wrong, I’m s-”

“That was an okay sort of discomfort,” Wednesday promised. She’d very much survived that moment. “It’s good to prove to myself that I can be gentle sometimes. But…maybe – if we don’t happen upon any orphans with limb differences who need space in our home, and you feel that you would like to carry a child and technology advances in such a way that it is possible for them to share our genetic makeup and we have space and have open hearts and we decide it’s what’s best for us and our family in our situation -”

Enid cut off her near-breathless ramble with a very sweet kiss. “I love you. I love this. Keeping our hearts open. That’s all I wanted to know, Wednesday.” She beamed at her. “You did a great job with Bailey, tonight.”

“You’re the natural. I would likely have a large learning curve.”

Enid raised a brow. “I’m not so sure. I think if it was a child of your own, not one already on a firm schedule and routine, you’d be quite instinctive. What aren’t you good at Wednesday?”

“Engaging in conversations and expressing my feelings,” She muttered as she proved that very point that night.

“Well, it’s not your strength, but both are totally mine, so – that’s where you lean on me, because I’m your partner, who loves you. And,” She kissed her again. “I appreciate you, coming out here tonight, just to spend this time with me like we’d planned. And having this tough talk. I love you. Come put your butt on this couch so I can sit on you and kiss you again.”

Not needing to be told twice, Wednesday took that direction very well, enjoying about twenty minutes of heated kisses, heavy petting and almost a little bit more when a fussing sound came from the monitor.

Enid groaned as she pulled away. “Right now, my heart is so not open to this,” She giggled.

Wednesday smirked, following her, having an idea as they moved to the nursery. Bailey was crying, mostly asleep, but wanting…something.

“I’ll change her real quick,” Enid whispered, nodding, “That bedtime bottle will run right through a baby.”

As Bailey whined and grumbled when Enid made to lay her back down in the crib, letting out a loud cry that made Wednesday wince, she shook her head, reaching her arms out. “I’ll talk to her.”

With an amused smirk, Enid passed her over and Wednesday sat back in the gliding chair, holding her awkwardly in front of her, explaining to the baby, who stopped, staring at her with exhausted eyes, “You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re full. You’re dry. You have everything you need, except about ten more hours of sleep. So, I’m going to rock you, and in five minutes, I’m putting you back in the crib, and you’re going to sleep. Do you understand?”

It was as if the baby said ‘yes’ when she gave a coo, reaching forward. Wednesday gave a curt nod. “That’s the rule. Five minutes of rocking, then back to bed.”

With the firm expectation set, she brought Bailey up to her shoulder the way she’d seen Enid do earlier. She snuggled right in, surprisingly – and thankfully – she wasn’t overtly sticky or snotty, as Enid had wiped her face pretty well after changing her. Gliding back and forth and patting her back, Wednesday thought that perhaps – if she had a beautifully haunting Russian composition playing softly in the background, it would help her stay asleep – adding that to her mental toolbox of notes in case the situation ever arose for her to develop a routine with a baby…

As she expected, once she’d put her foot down with the rule, Bailey knocked out on her shoulder. Enid whispered and motioned for how to transfer her into the crib, and as she did so, onto her back, Wednesday almost smiled at their tag-team success.

Back in the hallway, Enid winked and gave her a kiss. “You are a natural, Wednesday. You just do things in your own way. Now come here,” She gripped her collar, making Wednesday flush. “I’m about to have my own way with you.”

#wednesday 2022 #fanfic #oneshot #wenclair #author hates babies #thank you for the prompt this was so easy to write I did half of it on my prep period today lol #also fuck llama llama so hard #he's banned in my classroom as is Pete the damn Cat and Skippy Jon Jones #layla's >5k challenge

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underwittingly · 10 months

Text

An expression flickered across Tom’s face so quickly that he couldn’t read it. “I won’t do it again,” he said after a beat, sounding far less flippant than he had before. He was on top of Draco, a knee on each side of his hips, one hand still on his shoulder from rolling him over, the other on the pillow beside his head. He was, well, not warm but solid, real. It was difficult to be angry with him when he was so close.

ch 8 - Alley Cat by @the-paper-monkey

#my art #tom riddle #draco malfoy #tomdraco #CAN I JUST SAY THIS IS MY FAVOURITE FIC EVER 100/10 #i love you and i hate you author for writing this fic and all ur other fics and pulling me into taco rarepair hell ><><><><#they were so CUTE in this scene ?djbefj:MKFndkfm;#draco is so oblivious and cute wtsksjnf #thank this fic for pulling me out of a huge artist block #amen #fic rec

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aliea82 · 3 months

Text

Saw this

And then this would not leave my head!

Words:3807 cw:bullying, discrption of injury, injury care.

"I am not yours to protect"

Steve stands against the side of his car as he waits for the kids to emerge from School. It was their monthly Friday night treat, Steve would take them all out for dinner and then to see a movie.

Eddie had started to join them, making the ride less cramped as he would take Dustin, Mike and Lucas, while Steve had El, Max, Will and sometimes Erica if she didn’t have plans with her friends.

As the bell rang he watched the crowds of kids leave, slowly disappearing from the school grounds until Steve stood alone still, a frown on his face.

Just as he went to push away from the car El and Max appeared running towards him, worry on both their faces.

Moving towards them he caught them both by their shoulders as they started talking over each other.

‘Wow, wow, slow down, one at a time guys.’

They both stopped, and then with a silent look at each other Max started to talk.

‘Eddie, he...he was meant to meet Dustin before coming out and when he didn’t he got worried. You know how he’s been struggling since coming back.’

‘Yeah, I do.’ Eddie was quiet about the bullying, but Dustin wasn’t, keeping Steve in the know about how the jocks still had it out for Eddie despite his name being cleared.

‘Dustin found Eddie, but he won’t come out.’

‘Okay, show me.’

El grabbed Steve’s hand while Max led them both into the school.

Steve tried to keep his cool, kept telling himself things couldn’t be that bad, that he knew Eddie could stand up for himself, had seen it, but the way Max was, the worry clear as day on her face made it hard for him to keep calm.

‘They had been at him all day.’ El spoke quietly as they made their way towards the gym changing rooms.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The ex-basketball guys, they...they kept at him all day, in the hall, at breaks, during lunch, they didn’t stop.’

When they got to the changing rooms the girls stopped, staying outside while Steve went in finding the boys minus Dustin, by the lockers.

‘What’s going on?’

‘He won’t come out, Dustin is in there trying to talk to him, but he refuses to leave and he won’t tell us why.’ Lucas explains looking towards the shower blocks.

‘Okay,’ he grabbed his keys from his jacket giving them to Will. ‘Go wait for me by the car, take the girls as well.’

He didn’t expect an argument and was almost proud as they did as they were told, leaving him as he walked into the shower blocks.

The sound of water filled the area as well as Dustin’s voice talking gently.

Dustin was stood right at the end of the long hall of shower cubicles, talking through the curtain, but stopping as he saw Steve.

The worry on the kid’s face matched that of his friends, but there was more than worry etched on Dustin’s face, there was anger also, something Steve hadn’t really seen before.

‘Eddie, Steve’s here.’

There was a reply but Steve couldn’t make it out through the closed curtain and falling water.

Dustin walked towards him, his eyes sad and furious at the same time.

‘I don’t know what they did, he won’t tell me, and he refuses to open the curtain or come out.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll see what I can do. Go meet the others at the car.’

Dustin just nods leaving Steve without another word.

Making his way down to the last stall, Steve stands quietly for a moment listening to the sound of the water before reaching out to the curtain.

‘Eddie, can I come in?’

‘Please don’t.’

Steve hesitates, his fingers curling into themselves.

‘It’s just me, the kids have gone, they won’t see.’

He waited a moment before gently moving the curtain aside, his heart hammering against his chest, bracing himself for what could be on the other side.

The sound of the water increased as he pulled the curtain back, but he became deaf as he looked down at his friend, huddled against the cubicle wall, water falling over his already soaked hair and clothes, bare feet placed on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his face buried against his knees.

All around him were words, spray-painted on the walls, horrible, hateful words, some bleeding down the walls, colouring the water going down the drain, but most stark and vivid.

Murderer

Freak

Fag

Killer

Fagot

Loser

Steve stared, anger building, he couldn’t believe after all these months, after it was proven beyond reasonable doubt that Eddie was innocent, that this was still happening.

How dare anyone treat him this way.

Eddie was kind, gentle, funny, a nerd and a geek at his very core, someone the kids looked up to and loved to hang out with.

He didn’t deserve this.

‘Jesus,’ Steve reached out, turning off the water, wincing as ice-cold water soaked his arm.

Then, without a care in the world, he knelt before Eddie, the knees of his jeans instantly soaking up the water.

‘Eddie, can I touch you?’

Consent was crucial to Eddie, ever since the upside down and then months of hospital treatment, Eddie hated to be touched unexpectedly, but if he knew it was coming he sought it out, loving the attention, the affection. Steve would find him curled up on the sofa with El or Dustin watching TV, the two kids having formed a bond with Eddie the others hadn’t. Dustin for obvious reasons, El because as far as Eddie was concerned she deserved all the love and affection he could give after learning her full story.

When it came to Steve however, as soon as Steve asked for permission, Eddie couldn’t seem to get enough of the attention Steve wished to give him.

They had spent hours snuggled up on Steve’s bed, listening to music, talking shit and falling asleep together. Steve would spend movie nights playing with Eddie’s hair as Eddie sat at his feet, with El and Max using his legs as pillows.

But Eddie needed to give consent, it was a known rule amongst the group, one they all stuck to because they had all seen the consequences of unexpected touch.

So Steve waited, watching carefully for Eddie to give him the okay, which came in the form of Eddie’s fingers reaching out towards Steve.

As soon as Steve touched him, a sob escaped Eddie’s throat, and Steve pulled Eddie towards him, uncaring as his clothes instantly soaked through.

Wrapping his arms around Eddie, he held him close as Eddie buried his face against Steve’s neck crying hard as he clutched at Steve’s jacket.

‘I’ve got you baby, it’s okay, I’m here.’

Steve didn’t register the name he gave Eddie, he just held his friend, giving him the comfort he needed, his hand on wet curls, his other arm holding him tightly while he pressed kisses into the wet skin at Eddie’s temple.

It took a while for Eddie to calm down, his cries slowly stopping, but he held Steve as though he was a lifeline and Steve wasn’t going to let him go first.

When Eddie finally pulled away slightly, Steve pulled back as well, but only enough to look at Eddie’s face.

What he saw was heartbreaking.

They had beaten him.

His right eye was swollen shut, he had bruising around his jaw and his lip was split, blood oozing slowly from it. He was wearing a black tank top and Steve noted the bruising on his arms and the split skin on his knuckles, something he hadn’t registered before now.

‘Who?’

Steve demanded without thought, his anger overwhelming and clear in his voice causing Eddie to shrink back slightly.

Steve instantly berated himself, his face softening, his voice turning gentle.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you, I...’ he paused, stopping himself from needing to know who had done this. Eddie didn’t need to be answering questions right now, right now he needed to be taken care of.

‘Can you stand?’

Eddie looks at him with his one good eye for a moment before nodding. Steve helps him, then stops, taking him in once again.

‘Can you tell me where hurts the most.’ He was worried about possible broken ribs, even bruised ribs, he was also worried about his still-healing scars.

‘My face, they...they stayed away from my sides.’

With this knowledge, Steve assessed him again and could see what happened.

They had jumped him, he had fought back, getting in a few good punches before being caught, his arms held, before being punched several times in the face.

It was common knowledge about Eddie’s injuries, blasted all over the papers, deemed necessary to prove his innocence, that he too had almost died. Who ever had done this didn’t want to kill him, and so stayed away from his injuries, not wanting to cause what could be deadly damage.

‘Okay, let’s get you some dry clothes...where are your shoes?’

Eddie shrugged letting Steve lead him towards the lockers.

‘Did they take them?’

‘Yeah, and my rings, and ch...chain.’

Steve reined in his anger, he had to keep calm.

Together they got Eddie into dry clothes, consisting of school logoed sweatpants and hoodie, something he was sure Eddie had never worn in his whole school career. But they were warm and better than the freezing wet clothes he did have on.

They couldn’t find Eddie’s shoes anywhere so he ended up putting on a couple of pairs of socks on each foot just to warm them up.

‘Okay, so, what do you want me to do? The kids are waiting outside, you can’t drive. I can send Dustin and El in while I take the others home.’

‘I can drive.’

‘Not with your eye like that, and not without shoes.’

‘I can drive barefoot.’

‘I’m sure you can, but not today. So, Dustin and El?’

Eddie almost glares at him, or at least Steve thinks it is a glare, but with one eye swollen shut it didn’t have any intensity behind it.

‘Okay.’

‘Good, right, I won’t be long, okay?’

Eddie nods from the bench, his hands clenched together as he looks down.

Steve looks at him, before kneeling before him, his hands hovering over Eddie’s knees before Eddie nods again, and his hands fall onto his legs.

‘You’re safe now, I won’t let them hurt you, not ever again.’

‘You can’t promise that Steve.’

‘I can, and I will.’

‘What...You can’t protect me, not all the time.’

Steve sighs, his thumbs running gently over Eddie’s legs.

‘I need you to trust me.’

Eddie holds his eyes, searching them.

‘You don’t know who it was.’

‘I have a pretty good idea.’

‘You can’t do anything, I leave soon anyway, so why bother?’

‘I’m not going to let them get away with this Ed’s.’

‘I won’t tell you who did it.’

‘I already told you, I know who.’

‘What if you’re wrong?’

‘Am I?’

Eddie falls silent, his head lowering.

‘I don’t need saving, not this time.’

‘Eddie, ba-‘ he cuts himself off, knowing this time what he was about to say, ‘It’s not about saving you, it’s about making sure they understand that they can’t do this to people. What if this happened to one of the kids, to El?’

That was a low shot, El had been having problems when she first joined the school. The kids had rallied, Max and Mike especially, but it was Eddie who had put an end to it, stepping in when El had cried in his arms.

Steve knew Eddie would do anything for the kids, just like Steve would. But Eddie needed to understand that Steve wouldn’t let this go, that he would do anything to make sure he was safe.

‘Just...be quick, I want to go home.’

He stands, his hand going to the back of Eddie’s head as he leans in, his forehead pressing to Eddie.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

He presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead before heading quickly to his car.

Eddie huddled in the back of the car, El playing softly with his hair while Dustin sat up front, his eyes watching the two in the back through the mirror.

Steve drove carefully, hands tight on the steering wheel.

‘He refuses to tell me who did it.’ Dustin says, his voice quiet.

‘It’s okay, I’ll sort it out.’

‘It has to been the ex team, they had been harassing him all day.’

‘Dustin, let it drop.’ He looks through the mirror, catching Eddie’s eye as he lent against El’s shoulder.

Dustin huffed, his arms crossing as he falls silent.

Steve knew he meant well, but the priority right now was Eddie, not the shit bags that had done this.

He dropped off the kids at Mike’s house, the kids gathering there for the night instead of going out.

Steve was pretty sure they would spend the night plotting.

He stopped El as Dustin went ahead, his hand gentle on her arm.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

She looks at him, her head tilting slightly. She knew what he meant, he didn’t want her to go looking, to lead the kids anywhere that could get them hurt. Monster hunters or not, at the end of the day they were still kids and humans were a whole different ball game.

She nods once, not saying a word before following Dustin into the house.

Getting back into the car, it’s to find Eddie up front, leaning his head back against the seat, eye’s closed.

‘Yours or mine?’

‘Yours, Wayne is working a double.’

‘Right.’

As they drive, Eddie stays quiet, his hands clenched, shaking ever so slightly.

Getting to the house, he goes to help Eddie out but the other brushes him off, heading to the house on his own.

Once inside Eddie disappears to the bathroom leaving Steve standing in the hall.

He waited a moment before heading to the phone and calling Robin.

‘Buckley house hold.’ It was her mum.

‘Hey Mrs Buckley, is Robin about?’

‘Hi Steve, yeah let me get her.’

Hearing her call Robin he waited, keeping his eyes on the stairs waiting for Eddie to return.

‘Hey babe, what’s up? Need help wrangling the kids?’

‘What happened with Eddie today?’

‘What?’

‘Eddie was cornered in the showers, he’s been...they...what did you see?’

‘Eddie said he had it under control, I...oh god, I should have called you. They had been at him all day, little things, but he seemed totally unfazed by it all. He was being himself and I just thought he was ignoring them. What did they do?’

‘It was the ex team right?’

‘Yeah, Andy led the charge, he’s been queen Bee since Jason... Steve, I honestly thought he was okay, I would have called if I thought it would go like this.’

‘Cover for me this weekend, I wont be in, let Keith know I’m sick or something.’

‘Sure, but Steve, promise you won’t do anything stupid.’

He was silent and he heard her sigh on the other end.

‘Look after him.’ She finally says.

‘I always do.’

He hung up and headed to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and setting up two mugs, one with coffee the other tea before grabbing the first aid kit from on top of the fridge and taking out what he needed.

Finishing up the drinks he set them on the kitchen island and sat down, waiting.

When Eddie came down he had changed into clothes of his own, as well as Steve’s own black knitted jumper, something Steve had gotten while Eddie was still in hospital, it had become their jumper, Eddie normally wearing it after Steve.

Steve found himself watching him, as he sat down, taking the mug of tea and holding it in his still trembling hands.

‘Can I check you over?’

There was a small nod, so he got up and gently reached out to Eddie taking his right hand and looking at the cuts and swelling.

‘Can you make a fist?’

The hand slowly curls into it self and Steve is satisfied nothing is broken, just bruised and sore. He did the same with the left hand before putting antiseptic cream on both and then wrapping them to help with the swelling.

He moved on his arms, gently rolling up the sleeves, the bruising obviously caused by being held, finger imprints all up his arms. He gently rubbed in ointment to help with bruising, apologising with every hiss Eddie made.

He quickly checked his sides, despite Eddie’s reassurance that they hadn’t touched him there, he just had to make sure.

Once happy he moved onto Eddie’s face, breaking a cold pack and instructing Eddie to hold it over his eye while he tended to the split lip and bruised jaw.

He then gently felt around the swollen eye, his fingers searching for the feeling of a broken eye socket, a feeling he knew well from the Russian encounter.

As he held Eddie’s face, he could feel Eddie watching him, his good eye never once leaving his face.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

Steve glanced at him, holding his gaze before going back to the damaged eye.

‘Nothing is broken, luckily, but you’re going to have a swollen eye for a while and a hell of a black eye when it settles.’

He got Eddie to place the ice pack back over his eye before gently checking through the still wet curls.

‘Back of my head. I fell, not sure how bad it is.’

Steve moved Eddie’s head down so it rested against his chest so he could search through wet strands, wincing himself as he found a deep gash and an egg sized lump.

‘Shit, okay, maybe I should have taken you to hospital. Why didn’t you tell me when I asked where you hurt?’

‘Cause you would have taken me to hospital.’

Sighing, Steve stayed quiet as he cleaned the wound as best he could, it had already stopped bleeding and the shower at the school had cleaned most of the blood from Eddie’s hair.

‘I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, you definitely will have concussion.’

‘If it means you can’t leave, I’m glad.’

Steve tensed, his hands stilling on Eddie’s head.

Eddie looked up, a smirk on his lips.

‘I’m not stupid, I knew you would leave and go off to be some stupid vigilantly hero the moment I fell asleep or something.’

‘They hurt you.’

‘I know, I was there.’

‘You should have called me.’

Eddie tilted his head, a habit he had picked up from El.

‘I’m not yours to protect.’

‘Yes ,you are.’

‘I’m not one of the kids Steve, hell I’m older than you, I can look after myself.’

Steve moved his hands to Eddie’s face as he tried to turn away, holding him in place.

‘I know you can, I’ve seen it, time and time again. But they obviously got the upper hand this time and I can’t...I can’t let that stand. I can’t let them get away with this.’

‘Again, I am not yours to protect.’

Suddenly his heart was racing, his eyes held Eddie’s as his fingers gently moved over damaged skin.

‘Yes, you are.’ He repeated, softer than the time before. ‘You...God. You have been mine for months.’

Eddie had gone still, his eye searching.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I fucking love you is what I mean, I have been in love with you for months, and this is the worst time to bloody confess it because I will not let our first kiss be when your face is busted up, and you have a damn concussion.’

Eddie slowly smiled.

‘You want to kiss me?’

‘More than you will ever know.’

Eddie lowered the ice pack from his face, placing it on the side so he could pull Steve closer, slotting him between his legs.

‘So all it took was for me to get the shit kicked out of me for you to confess?’

‘What? No! Bloody hell. I...I wanted to tell you, to make it special, to take you on a date. Robin has been helping me plan it all.’

‘So when was this all going to happen?’

‘After you graduated, I didn’t want to distract you, I wanted you to get your diploma, and I was going to tell you then.’

‘That’s months away.’

‘I know, I was being patient.’

‘What if I didn’t want to?’

Steve felt his world drop from under him, his hands dropping to his side.

‘You...you don’t want to?’

‘Steve, sweetheart, I meant, what if I didn’t want to wait.’

‘Oh...ohhh.’ Steve smiled, his hands moving back to rest on Eddie’s shoulders.

‘You want me too?’

‘Jesus Harrington, I’ve been flirting for months. I thought you were just being nice, but then you flirted back. You let me be me, always, I feel more at ease when you are around. So yeah, I want you too.’

They stare at each other, the need for more palpable between them.

‘I still wont kiss you.’

Eddie groaned, leaning his head against Steve’s chest.

‘So mean.’

‘I know, but we have waited this long, a few more days won’t hurt.’

‘Might hurt.’

‘It really wont.’

‘Promise you won’t go after them.’

‘Eddie-‘

‘No,’ he looked up, his eye wide. ‘Promise me.’

‘I can’t.’ He moves his hand back to Eddie’s face, ‘I can’t not do anything.’

‘They are all just a bunch of ex-jocks, sore because they lost their spot due to a stupid vendetta that got their leader killed. I’m not afraid of them.’

Steve thought back to the shower cubicle, to the words written around him, to him crying in his arms.

‘I can’t let them hurt you again.’

‘I promise to never let them get me alone again.’

‘No, because like me that’s not a promise you could keep. Please baby, please just trust me to sort this out.’

Eddie smiled, and it would have been bright if not for the split lip and swollen eye.

‘Baby huh?’

‘Yeah, and stop changing the subject.’

‘Fine, but you do it with Hopper with you.’

Steve sighed, his wings being clipped with those words.

‘Fine, okay, I’ll take Hopper.’

‘Good.’

They fall silent, just looking at each other, the tension high.

‘I really don’t know how we will last, I really want to kiss you right now.’

Steve moved his thumb to Eddie’s split lip, pressing slightly causing Eddie to wince and pull back.

‘Really?’

‘Fine, you win, we will wait.’

‘Good boy.’

‘Holy shit...okay, that will not stand, when I’m healed I’ll show you that I am definitely not a good boy.’

‘Looking forward to it.'

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ao3 author #steve and eddie #steddie drabble #thank you #ao3 #ao3 writer #aliea82 writes

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yuesya · 10 months

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Twin AU is watering my crops and clearing my skin ngl. Could we maybe see the moment of realization for Satoru (and maybe Shiki) about her situation as a cursed spirit? Because there’s probably a period of time when they both were effective toddlers that Shiki wasn’t yet hosted inside Satoru yet right? Or what is the development of personhood like what you effectively don’t have your own body? And how did they discover that Shiki was Satoru’s murdered twin?

Satoru had always known that he wasn't alone.

... There's no grand moment of dawning comprehension leading up to this realization, or anything of the sort. He just... knew. It's kind of hard to explain. Sort of like how a person knows how to breathe without ever actually learning how to breathe? Except this is something that's entirely beyond simple bodily instinct. It's really hard to describe using words.

Satoru had always known that Shiki was there with him, long before he ever knew who Shiki even was.

Every day when he wakes up in the mornings in his too-large room, he'll touch his hand to the ground at his side Good morning. His shadow promptly reaches back to him, cheerfully answering him in greeting.

When Satoru is on the verge of dozing off during one of his elder's droning lectures, his shadow insistently nudges him beneath his legs, keeping him just awake enough to prevent him from toppling over and making a fool out of himself. Or, even worse, earning himself an hour-long reprimand from an displeased elder over the lack of decorum.

Sometimes, when Satoru is alone, he'll purposely make silly shapes with his body. And laugh, when his shadow doesn't copy them properly. Then he'll stomp his feet in frustration, when his shadow smugly gets back at him by contorting itself into shapes that are impossible for a human body to mimic in turn, the cheater!

... It takes an embarrassingly long time before Satoru realizes that your shadow isn't actually supposed to play games with you.

It's not a realization that occurs all at once. It's something that creeps up on them as Satoru dives deeper into his lessons as a sorcerer, when they learn more about jujutsu together.

"Are you a cursed spirit?" Satoru finally asks one evening. His shadow wiggles in a 'dunno, probably?' sort of gesture. "Y'know, you're pretty harmless, for a cursed spirit."

His shadow crosses its harms huffily; Satoru grins.

"Aw, don't be like that, you know what I meant." Cursed spirits are amalgamations of evil and hatred, and must be exorcised for the sake of peace and order. Or so their teachers kept saying. "How did you even get here, anyways? And why me?"

Another wiggle.

But it's a valid question -with all the layers of seals and protections slapped over the Gojo Compound, it's impossible for any cursed spirits to slip through the cracks unnoticed. And yet the cursed spirit living in his shadow has clearly done just that. His Six Eyes informs him that the cursed spirit's energies blends perfectly with his own, which adds another layer of oddity to the mystery.

Everyone's cursed energy signature is different; families are similar, but not even siblings share the exact same signature. Was this a cursed spirit born of Satoru's own overwhelming cursed energy, somehow?

... Logic says that it's plausible, but his intuition tells him otherwise.

Satoru doesn't put together the pieces until his younger cousins are born. A pair of twins, a dark-haired boy and a dark-haired girl, sleeping together on the same cot. The way that their cursed energies intermingle next to each other is exactly the same as Satoru and-

...

... Midori-oba looks scared, instead of happy. Why?

"Cursed twins," his aunt whispers, trembling. "An ill omen, oh no... My husband is furious with me. Hina-neechan gave birth to you, while I- I-"

Satoru tunes out his aunt's incoherent ramblings, and instead focuses on cursed twins.

An ill omen, cursed twins. For twins begin as one singular entity in their mother's womb, and despite coming into this world as two individual bodies, they are still One. Each is only a mere Half of their Self, an empty shadow and pale imitation of what they could've been. Neither twin will ever reach their full potential, unless preventative measures are taken.

Satoru frowns. He doesn't like the sound of these 'preventative measures,' because if the implications are true, and knowing what the elders are like...

Six Eyes. Limitless. The Honored One.

What if the honored one was born with a cursed twin? ... What would the Gojo Clan do?

But did Satoru really have a twin? There's no trace of it -his father had told him about his late mother before while reminiscing, but he's never mentioned a twin sibling. Discretely poking around among the servants also reveals several glaring vacancies (sudden deaths) for those who'd been present during Satoru's own birth, which is not a great vote of confidence.

"... Are you really my twin?" His blood feels cold, a chill that runs down to his bones. Did he have another sibling? Did the clan kill his twin?

His shadow wobbles sluggishly. Satoru bites his lip, concerned.

Despite their innate compatibility with each other, the only way a spirit can truly dwell within a person's shadow was if the person in question was a Ten Shadows user. The bindings holding them together are fraying, growing weaker by the day -Satoru doesn't know how to keep his sibling with him!

And if it breaks- The Gojo Clan-

I won't let that happen.

Satoru's eyes narrow, determined. "I won't let you die again. I refuse to let you die because of me!"

How does one keep a cursed spirit with them?

By providing them with a proper vessel.

How does one hide a curse in a family of sorcerers?

By hiding them somewhere sorcerers will never notice or think to look.

... Satoru knows what to do.

The solution is simple: He takes his twin into his own body.

...

It's...

It's like suddenly drinking a large mouthful of ice-cold water, and Satoru can feel them spreading inside his body. He gets exactly one second to remember that, despite everything, they are a cursed spirit and Satoru's body isn't exactly one suited to be a vessel in the first place, maybe this was a bad idea-

But there's no accompanying pain. Nothing of the sort. Satoru gets the sensation of a soft sigh from his twin, as they carefully curl themselves through Satoru's flesh and blood and...

... goes to sleep.

... Wait, goes to sleep?? Just like that? Doesn't he at least get a 'thank you' or something?!

Unbelievable.

...

That night, Satoru has a dream. There's a little girl his age who appears in front of him. White-haired and blue-eyed just like him, and the moment she looks up and catches sight of him, she smiles brightly.

"Toru-nii!"

Satoru catches his little sister when she throws herself at him in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry," he says. I'm sorry that it took me so long to figure things out. I'm sorry that you're dead, because of me. "I'm so sorry."

The girl tilts her head in confusion. "Why?"

Satoru chokes, "Do you really have to ask?!"

"Silly," his lookalike laughs, reaching up and patting his cheek in comfort. "Toru-nii has nothing to be sorry for."

Actually, no, but Satoru isn't about to let their first conversation together devolve into an argument. "What's your name? ... Wait, do you have one?"

"Shiki." They blink at each other in mutual surprise, and the girl -Shiki- scrunches her face in confusion. "My name is... Shiki?"

... She actually has a name. The clan even named her -then denied any records of her existing and killed her afterwards?? She's not even on the family grave! Were they trying to make his sister into a vengeful ghost??

Satoru breathes in deeply -even though this is a dream and he isn't actually breathing in deeply like this with his physical body right now, but, details- and firmly puts his hands on his sister's shoulders.

"Shiki," he says. "Do you know who killed you?"

His sister shakes her head. Well, it was a long shot -if Satoru had the timeline pinned down, then the clan would've ordered her death within the first few months after they'd been born. Children don't really start retaining conscious memories of their childhood until they're at least a few years old, so it makes sense that she wouldn't remember. In fact, it's probably for the best that she doesn't remember her no-doubt traumatic death.

"It'll be alright," he says. "It'll be alright. Toru-nii will protect you."

But first, he needs to know who in particular to protect her from. It takes Satoru awhile, over the course of a few years, but he's able to put together the minuscule pieces bit by bit. If Satoru hadn't possessed the Six Eyes and if it weren't for Shiki's own discerning eyesight, the investigation would've been a lot harder.

But the conclusion that they find at the end... it's...

...

Father? Really? Shiki had been killed by their own father?

Satoru can't believe it. Yes, Gojo Muneyoshi is another one of the elders' worthless puppets and only all-too-interested in polishing Satoru into the clan's sharpest weapon. But the man is a coward. Did he really have the guts to murder his own child?

... Only one way to find out.

The perfect opportunity comes one evening when both of them are awake, and going over Satoru's boring history texts. Muneyoshi gets up in the middle of the night, presumably to relieve himself or to fetch a glass of water, or something along those lines. Satoru deliberately turns on all the lights in his room.

As expected, Muneyoshi makes his way over.

“I guess it’s a good thing that at least one of us is interested in this rubbish, so we can at least get lessons over with quickly." Satoru sighs dramatically, and inside his head, his sister's giggles echo incessantly. "Counting on you for the next test, Shiki!”

Outside their room, Muneyoshi freezes. The man's cursed energy trembles with heavy, unspoken guilt. But there's no hiding anything from the Six Eyes, and Satoru has his answer.

So it really was you.

His fingers tighten on the edge of his history scrolls.

... It's not fair.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. Why does Shiki have to die? Just because some elders think it means that it will curtail Satoru's power? There's no proof! And Satoru is strong. Even if his sister was a non-sorcerer -which she wasn't- it didn't matter; Satoru would be strong enough for the both of them, if that was what it took. But they wouldn't even give her a chance, and they just-!

Toru-nii?

... Don't worry, I'm fine, Shiki.

That night, Satoru resolves to himself that he'd rather see the world burn, before he ever let any of them touch his little sister again.

#QA #Writing #zenith of stars au #twins au #thank you for readinggg #glad you're enjoying the au anon!#... even despite all the angst lol #hi yes i'm an author who likes writing happy things why do you ask-

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