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j6piter · 2 years

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Fitting Room

guapo's speaking — this is a request from @goreszn <3 hope you like it & sorry i didn't write out any other details of it. i just went straight into it.

warning — mirror sex, hair pulling, degradation, public sex, heavy dom! eren, roughness, l-bomb, & a pinch of breeding

‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

eren picked you by the ass and slammed you against the wall of the fitting room, he knows it'll make noises but he doesn't give a fuck. he needs you right here and right now, his tongue was pressing hard against your tongue as your hands went on his cheeks to deepened the kiss more. "i need you so fucking bad, princess." his hands fondle your ass and felt it's fatness through your shorts, his fingers were gripping your skin so tight. "i need you too."

he placed you on the mini bench and unbuckled his pants, you chewed your lip watching him tower over you and seen his sprung hard dick dripping with beads of pre-cum. "take off your shorts now." you shivered from hearing his demand and did as you was told, you slowly took off your shorts doing it on purpose knowingly eren was being needy. so needy that he wants to feel that tight pussy of yours again. "fuck, the panties, baby. come here." he ripped your panties and picked you up as he hovered your pussy lips over his dick, he stroked his dick against your warmth and lubricious slutty hole.

"hah, eren~" your arms wrapped his neck tight from falling over, he let out a groan of him inserting his cockhead inside slowly. "fuck, your hole is so tight baby. just the way way i fucking like it." he squeezed your ass cheeks and impaled his whole size inside you, you let out a gasp then covered your mouth that you knows you'll get loud.

"baby, you better uncover that mouth of yours and let me hear you. i don't give a fuck how loud you get, let me fucking hear you." he gritted his teeth aggressively at you as he gave you a deep thrust, you let out another gasp forgetting how rough eren is during sex. "e-eren~ we might get in tr- ah~!" he gave you another deep thrust and started speeding up his pace, his mouth aparted of him letting out grunts and groans of your hole suffocating his dick.

"fuck, you're so tight. ha~!" he let out against your ear as you felt like your stomach twisting in knots that your boyfriend's huge dick is destroying your little hole. "eren~!" your nails dug into his shoulder as skins were clapping throughout the space around them. he bit your shoulder and let out a growl as your moans were choked up of eren was ramming her insides roughly and fast.

"baby~" he softly moaned out and slow down the pace as he placed you down and bent you over the bench, he pulled your hair back and have you to look at yourself in the mirror. "look at you, you're such a fucking slut getting fucked in the fitting room." he smacked your ass hard as you let out another moan with your mouth aparted, his dick lightly slapped your puffy pussy lips then insert back in having you both to let out breathy moans. "such a fucking dirty slut, look at the way your boyfriend is fucking you. you like that don't you, don't you?!" he gritted his teeth and he rammed his dick inside you hard as you let out a shriek, your eyes began to get glossy.

"yes, eren~" your words were breathy and continued letting out moans, he lifted up his shirt and spread your ass cheeks seeing your hole getting stretched out every time he thrust in and out of you. "fuck~ you like making me feel good, baby?" you nodded as you bit your lips softly that your legs were beginning to get weak by the position you was in.

"fucking say it?!" he pounded his dick hard inside, his cockhead reached your cervix as your mouth aparted more and tears streamed little by little. "yes, i like making you feel good." he leaned over and bit your shoulder making your walls tightened up around his length.

a light knock abruptly showed up having you both to be alarmed. "is everything okay in there? i heard yelling?" eren pulled your hair back again roughly as he still was giving you that fast, hard pace. "don't make a sound and if you do, i'll have you not walk for days." he gritted his teeth and you covered your mouth letting out muffled moans as tears were still rolling down.

"everything's fine, i happened to stubbed my toe. thanks for the concern." he gave you another deep thrust with his hands making your arch even deeper to the point where you accidentally let out a gasp of his dick really hitting your g-spot. "are you sure? it sounds really bad in there?"

"yes, i'm sure." he cussed his breath that you had to make a sound and this lady wouldn't fuck off already because of you. "oh alright, let me know if you need anything." his ears perked up hearing the footsteps faded away and eren pounded your insides rough to the point where your hand went on the clothing hangers handle from falling over. "you disobeyed me and now you're going to really fucking get it."

you cussed under your breath as his dick began to move again and pulled your hair back to watch yourself get fucked hard and sinfully. "eren~" you cooed his name but it went to his ear and out the other as his head leaned back and nails dug into your skin, spreading your legs more with his foot. your eyes shoot open as his dick roughly thrust his whole size, hitting your cervix multiple times until your eyes fluttered back and bit your lip hard from letting out a scream that he was destroying them guts for real.

he leaned your body upward and lifted you up, still stroking himself into you. he grabbed your cheeks and faced you to the mirror, his dick was covered with your faint upcoming creamy cum and your hole already stretched out due to his doing. your clit was very much swollen and slightly reddened. "fuck, you look so sexy like this." your eyes could barely open anymore and voice just tuning out moans and gasps for the remainder of the position. "i'm going to cum so hard in you, baby, you want me to cum inside you?" he bit your neck as you let out another breathy moan.

"yes, eren. please spray your cum so far up i can't see it." he moaned against your skin. "that's my fucking girl." his hand leaned down and rubbed your clit rapidly as you let out quick gasps of how sensitive it was.

"ah~!" you both let out feeling his dick twitching alongside with your walls squeezing him down as you creamed on his tanned tip dick all over. both breathing went heavily as he slowed down the pace, he kissed your cheek and connected his lips with yours. he groped your breasts then pulled away with a sinister grinly smirk that he had you fucked up with your mascara running all over your cheeks and lips all swollen. "i love you." he kissed you one more time.

"i-i love you too." you could barely talk since you used up all your voice.

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jestersvanity · 1 year

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Another Friday Night: Patrick Bateman x reader

Oneshot

Warnings/Content warnings: Smut, sex n stuff, major noncon, blood, cutting, virginity loss, Dom! Patrick, he is a psycho, Patrick Bateman being Patrick Bateman yk the classic stuffs

Note: Idk wrote this cus yk why not and I was feeling extra spicy (deranged), only did minor edits so sorry if it's kinda shit. This was very VERY self-indulgent. I tried to leave it gender neutral but it's definitely more fem. Sorry

Summary: uhhhhhhhh yeah

It was about that time of the year where things started ramping up for Pierce & Pierce : Mergers and Acquisitions.

Well not really it's a very grey place to work. You. Well you were just an office runner, no real handling of anything important appart from maybe keeping the pens in stock and making sure there was enough paper in each printer. Making sure the common areas were kept up like restocking kitchen suplies, cups for the water fountain and mediocre coffee station.

The best part of the job was spending the company credit card on snacks and stocking up the snack bar in the "kitchen" area. The kitchen wasn't really a kitchen it resembled a tiny apartments sad excuse for a kitchen but it was missing the stove and oven. Instead replaced with a tiny bench top microwave. Besides the point spending money on cute little snacks and restocking the snack bar was very therapeutic.

You took alot of pride in the "kitchen". I mean there's not much u can take pride in, in this job. You were technically a "secretary" but... It was mainly Jean which took care of the classic secretary jobs.

I'd like to think of it as secondary secretary or on call assistant. Unlike Jean you moved around a lot more whereas she was more glued to her desk replying to emails and phone calls. She was always so polite when she needed me to run some papers to another person. Usually you were last to leave the floor, after Jean leaves for the night you stay back replying to the last lot of emails she didn't get to, usually it was just 5-6 emails with 3 sentence replies.

She's pretty good at getting through the influx of emails everyday but the ones left weren't anything too big so you didn't mind getting the rest done.

Also, you stayed back just in case someone else on ur floor stayed back and needed some errands run.

More often then not its was to pick up food... Again. Half the time you were on coffee runs, lunch runs, another coffee run, another late lunch run, snack runs etc. The snacks run out rather quickly actually. If it wasn't food you would be picking up things from the post office, things from the dry cleaners or once again running a Manila folder to another big grey building down the block. Tonight wasn't so different. You stayed back like usual today there weren't any emails to reply to so you sat at Jeans desk surfing the Web and online shopping.

Tonight Patrick was staying back, you didn't know why it's not like he does anything appart from being a dick. Everytime u passed his office you saw him he reading a magazine in his office or doing a crossword. Everytime he had called you in to run a task it was something useless like throwing a piece of paper from his desk to his trash can in the left corner of his office which he was too lazy to do. He definitely does it just to fuck with you because every time there was a condescending or snarly comment. Of course you would without fail glare daggers at him or reply with an equally snarky and condescending remark.

Scrolling mindlessly for shit you didn't need untill the phone started ringing. It was Bateman. So with a annoyed sigh you picked up "Yes, what." you said impatiently. Honestly you just wanted to go, it was boring and you wanted to use your new artisan bath bomb. Plus it was Friday. "Come here" and then he promptly hung up. What could that prick even want. Getting up with a heavy huff and an attitude walking up to his glass office and pushing open the door.

You stared at him with an expectant look, 3 seconds had passed before he decided to speak. "I need you to carry this" gesturing to the fancy wine and Armani wine glass set that he got gifted today. "seriously... Too weak to carry this your self?". He ignore you putting on his blazer and picking up his breiff case ready to walk out. Bending over to carry his gifts you follow behind him leaving his office.

The elevator ride down was silent and full of tension. What a dickwad you thought. As we got to the ground floor there was a Porsche already waiting. Walking around back to put the wine and glases in the boot suddenly hearing "no I need you to hold on to them in the car, don't want them breaking now do we" he says emphasing the last few words. The driver opens the door for you to get in and shuts it after you give him a slight nod.

Patrick is already seated next to you and staring out the window. God even the way he sits is pretentious. Sooner or later we arrive at his apartment complex. We get out and he waves the driver away. What a dick move, you now had to call your own cab home. After he makes you carry the shit up to his apartment on he makes you call your own cab home??? God what did you ever do to make him hate you so much.

The whole journey you had been glaring at the back of his head trying to burn a hole through his skull. He unlocked his door and opened it up waiting expectantly for you to walk through. You do. As you look around trying to find a table or something to put his stuff down on. At this point your arms were tired and you were exhausted. Not to mention that it was a fucking Friday night. Your eyes landed on his white marble counter top and finally dropping his useless glasses and stupidly expensive wine off. His place was nice but boring as you expected. Clean but a maximalists nightmare.

As the weight left your arms you sighed and went to turn around and leave as you heard a *click* the sound of the door locking.

Did this bafoon straight up forget he just let someone into his apartment??? Walking up to Bateman who was leaning back against his apartment door looking sly. "okay ur stuff-" before you could finish your sentence he had you in a choke hold with a cloth over your nose and mouth. Struggling like a maggot in the beak of a bird, thrashing around untill all went dark.

Blurry white was all you could see. What happened. What the fuck. As your vision came back you sat up slowly. Where. What. You were confused and still trying to figgure out what was happening. Hands shakey reaching up to rub the blurring out of your eyes. Checking yourself for any missing limbs or anything that might indicate what happened. As you explore you feel a thick collar wrapped around your neck. Huh?? Pain shoots through your whole body. In two distinct pulses. As soon as it stopped you hear a chuckle comming from behind you. Turning you see Patrick sat on a chair looking awfully proud of himself. "Patrick..what's going on?" there were tears welling up but you were not going to let them spill.

He hold up a remote with 3 buttons shaking it like a toy in front of a baby tauntingly not saying anything. Pressing one of the 3 buttons with a click that almost echo's in the room. Instantly you feel the pulsing pain shoot through you body again. This time it went on for one second longer but it felt like a minute.

Angry and scared you shouted at him but all that came out was a high pitched pip and air getying caught in your throat. "awww what's wrong? Cat got ya tongue?" he teases walking closer now being over to meet your eye level.

You were on his bed, atleast he had the courtesy of putting you on his bed instead of the hard floors. Gathering your voice back up "Patrick what the fuck?" you manage to snap.

"I would drop the attitude if I were you"

"No Patrick what the actual fu-" pain sears through your limbs once again making you double over onto your side. "Be nice. Or ill shock you till your brain oozes out of your thick fucking skull" Patrick spits out, the dislike apparent in his voice.

As the pain subsides you open you eyes back up eyes landing on the knife he was now holding in his other hand. "Patrick why... Why?" looking up at him as he looms over the edge of the bed, voice no longer as strong or determined but quiet. Putting the knife down oh is side table he grabs a fist full of your hair making you sit up and look him directly in his eyes. "since you think ur so fucking smart why don't you figgure it out" adding a hmmm at the end as to belittle you even more. As if this wasn't already enough.

"what do you want" you whine out eyes casting down. His eyes were piercing straight through you. You didn't want to admit it but something inside you found this oh so very hot.

Letting go of you hair and grabbing his knife back he opens a closet. Watching his movement closely trying to figgure out what he was possibly going to get. He starts to set up a tripod. Oh God what the fuck you think to ur self. Panicking even more if that was even possible.

Adjusting the camera to face you he clicks a few buttons then clears his throat. "Ass up for the camera" in a stern demanding tone. Looking at him questionably to counter he holds up the remote for the shock collar you had on. Almost challenging you. Reluctantly you get on all 4s and arch your back with ur bum facing him and the camera. His footsteps comming closer untill you feel cold sharpness run up the back of ur thigh. Staying silent as he rips you skirt off leaving you in your stockings and a thong. You were still basically dressed but felt so naked and vulnerable. As he threw the now fabric rectangle on the floor he spanks your ass. The stinging making you involuntarily let out a little whimper of confused pleasure. "oh, so your are a little whore" feigning surprise. Hearing something scrape against the bed you try looking for clues as to whats to come next but fail as he strikes you with a whip? Cane? Unknown but it stung. Yelping as the thing made contact. The weight on the bed shifted as he got closer shoving ur face into the blankets "don't move bitch" he whispers into you ear before moving off again. Now you have deduced it was infact a cane and he wasn't going to tap you lightly. Striking your ass with the cane again and again while berating the living hell out of you. It hurt so good as tears soaked into the sheets. You could feel your pussy pulsing but you couldn't let Patrick know that.

"please stop" you were begging him as he kept whipping your cheeks with the cane. "Patrick please it hurts so much" "yeah it's supposed to hurt you dumb cunt" a few strikes later he stops. "stand up" he orders. Mustering up the strength you feel your stiff joints scream as you step onto the floor and straighten you knees and back. He's behind the camera "go have a good look at yourself" gesturing with his head to the mirror.

As you near you see the dark red lines left by the cane. Beads of blood forming at the skin and the skin that did split the blood was smeared by the other smacks all across your cheeks. "you see that" you nod slowly still looking at the carnage of your cheeks. "that's what sacarstic sluts get, I'm not letting you off with just that either" he warns as he roughly grabs you arm dragging you back to the edge of the bed and forcing you into your knees.

You could feel the heat and the pain radiate from your ass as your knees made contact with his carpet. With a hand firmly grasping at you hair and the other one skilfully undoing his belt and fly he pulls down his silk boxers revealing his massive hard cock. "don't just stare open up" yanking your head back so you would be looking up at him. Opening your mouth reluctantly he roughly shoves his cock in. Your hands automatically push against his thighs to no avail. He was so strong all you could do was grip at the fabric of his pants as he kept gagging you. He didn't let you breath and all you could hear was triumphant groans of pleasure comming from him. Your things were pressed together trying to quell the throbbing down stairs. As he pulled his dick out and let you breath he yanked to to your feet and forcefully ripped your shirt off and harshly yanking your bra off as the straps snapped and the claps split. "oh wow would you look at that, you don't know how long I've been wanting to fuck you brainless" as he roughly fondles your chest. His hand making its way up to you neck and then pushing you back onto the bed. "Patrick" you pleaded "Patrick please don't I'm" struggling to get out the words as he tightened his grip around your throat.

All you could do was let out a strangled moan. Finally letting go he sat back onto his knees and spreading your legs so that his cock was right at the entrance of your coochie.

Looking at him with pleading "Pat please don't, please I'm.." "finish ur sentence bitch" as he rest a hand on your inner thigh ready to rip your tights off. "I'm a virgin please don't"

"ur so fucking stupid ur pissing me off you fucking whore" as he rips a hole in your stockings and completely ripping your thong off leaving fabric burn marks on your hips. Without a second he thrust his girthy penis inside. Instinctively you tighten around him yet your legs were trying to push him away. None of your protest did Jackshit. Leaning to the side he grabbed the knife off the night stand again. Pressing his body against yours as he slid the knife up too your throat holding it there as he looked into your eyes while fucking you. All you could do was hold onto his forearm to lessen the pressure of the blade against your throat.

It hurt so bad but he didn't slow down he was pounding into you harder and faster. A shamefully moan every time he trusted into you. "you like my cock you little cum slut? Ofcourse you do u pathetic bitch" "because that's what you are aren't you" he cooes as you moan. He keeps ramming into you harder and faster untill you feel him cum inside of you.

A few final pumps and as he lifts himself up pressing his hand on your chest admiring what a mess you had become. "look at me" you had to fight your mind fog to look at him. "mm pa-" he slaps ur face leaving a sting hand print on your cheek "it's Sir." "slut" he spits out. "sir please no more" pleading with him again now fully exhausted. He just chuckles and walks back over to his camera taking it off the tripod and filming manually. "open up" hitting you leg lightly expecting you to spread them open again. But you didn't hear him still in a daze trying to process what just happened.

One quick shock back to reality quite litteraly you instantly spread open your legs. Kneeling down with his camera he reaches his fingers to display his hard work to the camera. You could feel the warm cum oozing out of your slit. As he kept using his fingers to spread your lips open. Standing back up again. "hands off your tits bitch" he demands. Slowly uuncrossing your arms from your chest you prop yourself up to face him properly with your legs still open. He's filming you. "okay repeat after me, I'm just a hole" "I'm just a hole" you whisper weakly. He drops the camera a bit to look at you and sighs with disappointment "a bit more enthusiasm and smile a bit" tilting his head to the side in sly mockery. "your a slut. Act like one" he states impatiently then lifting the camera back up. "I'm just a hole" this time you exclaimed with more life, surprisingly a smile was easy to muster up.

That sick part of you enjoyed this. "see that's not so hard is it" he teased as he propped the camera back on the tripod. This time he opens the night stand and grabs something. You couldn't quite see. *click* he opens it to reveal a switch blade. Frozen you followed him with your eyes as he sat opposite you. "patric- sir w-what are" squealing as he lunges at you pressing you back down on the bed.

His weight and strength being impossible to struggle against. "stay still doll, it's easier if you stay still" he chuckles as the knife nears your face. "pat" you manage to squeak out as he sliced up the corner of your mouth and up your cheek. The warm blood running down the sides of your head and down your neck. You actually started crying now the tears which you held back so long came pouring down mixing with the warm thick blood from your cheeks. He had finished with your other cheek now sitting back. Losening his tie and undoing a few buttons of his shirt. "look at how much prettier you are now" looking at you with admiration for his handy work. Taking off his tie "hands" he said composed like he didn't just mutilate your face, you stretch out your arms to him as he ties your writs up with his tie then strapping it through a slot in his headboard.

Grabbing his switch blade again he drags it up your thigh stopping when he reaches your sternum. Paralized in shock, fear and... Love? Your breaths slow down as he looks back up at you. "it's okay doll, just customising you a bit alright?". Proceeding to slowly carve his name into your torso. Each letter painfullfully deep and deliberately slow. Making you squirm with each slice. The muffled sobs bouncing around the room.

After he pumped 3 more loads into you he flopped onto his back and reaching for the smokes on his side table. Lighting one up puffing away nonchalantly. After he was done, he snuffed the cig putting it out above the I making the the dot above the I in Patrick.

Untying your wrist and you stared at the wall. Making his way to the bathroom and bring back a warm towel he kisses you for the first time tonight on your now dried up bloodied cheek.

Before tenderly wipeing the blood and dried tears off your face. You sat there on the bed not moving but concious just not moving. He got a second warm towel after the first one got drenched in blood to wipe down your torso and the rest of the dried blood off your body. "Get under the covers" his voice now softer. Before heading back to the bathroom to do his night ime routine. Getting under the blankets. Curling up into the fetal position despite the pain of the cuts in your torso screaming to stop. Trying to fall asleep. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped as Patrick got under the covers his warm body pressed up against your battered body. You were divided. You hated him more than ever you were scared, confused, angry, tired and yet your body seemed to move on its own. You sank back into his chest and arm as he pressed a kiss on the back of your neck. He was completely different than who he was 30 mins ago. You couldn't imagine the Patrick you saw in the office doing all that to you. You couldn't imagine the Patrick that cut you up pressing that soft tender kiss he just kissed on the back of your neck. Yet he did.

Note: y'all got the good ending smh I might write a different ending with more smut lol idk.

Lmao

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ring-of-galactic · 1 month

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They care about you because you're Saturn, not because you're a different version of their friend. But because they know you and worry for you.

It doesn't make sense. You're supposed to help people when things go wrong not leave them behind. They are awful people and they left you. It's not your fault, you didn't have to be useful.

mm.. e-even if t-they do care, it doesn't matter.. I'm s-still alone. S-Still fending for m-myself.. d-dealing with one s-shitty thing after another... i.. im tired of it. even if I keep getting sent nice things.. it doesn't replace having people to look after me. A-All I have is Toxicroak, Zubat, and Porygon.. but it's not enough! It's not fair! I j-just want someone w-who can hold m-m-me and say i-it's gon-gonna be okay.. t-that im safe a-as long as they're a-around, and.. and that t-they'll n-never leave me. I- I just- i want a-an.. an.. adult.. a r-real one.. but i- i don't get one. N-Not any t-that could a-actually come here a-and protect me themselves... its not- its not fair..

#saturn posts #rotomblr #asks #tw self degradation #tw implied abandonment issues #tw breakdown #//oops all his walls came crashing down

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cardinal-contest-king · 2 months

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..Is it bad that I'm willing to take him up on that offer? I mean- if I can get the other Ruby out of that situation.. it'd be worth it. Besides, I'm not as important anyways... and I'm used to.. dealing with that stuff anyways. I-I'd be okay. O-Or, he'd be okay. T-That's what matters most. Nobody would miss me that much anyways...

#ruby posts #rotomblr #tw self degradation #What a selfless child..#And a foolish one.#Why submit when you could raze the land this 'Norman' walks on?#And of course claim that land and expand upon it!

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r0tten--4ngel · 14 days

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I wanna get stomped on

Bash in my face

Drag me over the floor by my hair and scrape my skin open

#g0recore #g0rewh0re #self h@rm #self h@te #tw g0re #tw self h4rm #abuse k1nk #cnc abuse #abuse me pls #degrade and humiliate me #degrading k1nk

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f4cefu7ked · 3 months

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Can we send each other lewd pics on telegram so I can feel confident again 🥰🥲

#nsft #telegram #tw depressing thoughts #low confidence #self degradation #tw selfhate

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smol-demon · 7 days

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God I wanna binge... I want someone to tell me I'm disgusting and should throw all my food away and that someone like me shouldn't be eating...

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philsleftnut · 2 years

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I Wish My Father Loved Me.

Chapter Summary: Steve’s parents meet him at his house after the Battle with Vecna. Notes: I actually have a funky little playlist I made while I wrote it. If you wanna take a listen.

Find me on Ao3!

Word Count: 4963 Tags: Angst, hurt/no comfort, themes of abuse, face grabbing, choking, hair pulling, degradation/belittling, PTSD.

Wind blew through the crack in Steve’s car window. There was a quiet hum of music that played through his car speakers. He couldn’t even hear it over his clogged, ringing ears, but he acknowledged it's calming presence. The wind brushed the greasy, unwashed, tainted hair out of his face. Tickled across the red bruising on his neck and mud caked face and skin. It swam into his eyes, drying them out in a foolish attempt to keep them open while he drove. They drooped low, seconds away from closing. Steve was afraid his tiredness might cause him to actually fall asleep behind the wheel. He shut them tightly for a second, blinking them open wildly, staring out his windshield to the pitch black empty road in front of him. Lit by his headlights alone.

He looked over at his dash, the time reading just a little past five o’ clock. In the morning. It was so late, well early. He’d been up since two days ago, preparing weapons, stealing vehicles, fighting demons you should only hear about in your nightmares. Yet here he was covered in the blood, sweat, tears of those exact dreams. And now he was driving home so casually, exactly like he hadn’t.

People died. And Steve was driving home.

Steve took one of his hands off the wheel dragging it down his dirty face, like his hand wasn’t just as. He could taste bile in his mouth. It combined with the muck that caught on his lip and dissolved in his mouth. He turned and spat it out the window. Saliva just continued to collect. He chose to swallow it this time, and all it wanted to travel all the way from his stomach, up his esophagus, and back out of his mouth. Onto the dash. But he couldn’t. Not now. It wasn’t his time.

Right now Steve had to focus on keeping his eyes open long enough to not crash his car before getting to his driveway. The familiar crackle of his neighborhood street could be heard under his tires when he turned. He slowed his driving, knowing when to stop. Steve stops a house early. His way too tired eyes are making images appear that aren’t there. He rubbed hard circles into them, looking back at his house. Nope, still there. A car. There was another car in his driveway. And it belonged to his father. He already begrudgingly started his car back up, driving up into his spot next to the second car. Steve just stared through his passenger side window at the vehicle. His mother's sunglasses hang from the center mirror. Along with a tassel for a graduation cap of the year he graduated. It didn’t belong to his cap. It was bought second handedly, almost not at all. There was luggage packed into the back seat. They hadn’t even bothered to pretend like they were staying. Steve had to wonder if they were home out of concern for him, or simply their own image. It made sense that they had returned home. Hawkin’s had gone through one of the biggest tragedies since the “mall fire”. God forbid his parents not be around to dote on little old Steve for their gracious community to see.

He shook his head, laughing to himself and turned his car off. Five a.m. It’s early. Early enough that there was time to wash the Upside Down off of him. Cover up the bruises. Act like he’d been asleep in his bedroom this entire time before they even woke up. If they asked where his car was he’d just say he had lent it to Robin or Nancy or something way more believable in the morning.

Moving out of his car was hard. His whole body ached. Simply opening the door used more strength than he was willing to admit. He pathetically pushed it open, swinging his legs to the side to step out. Sucking through his teeth at his fatigue. He sntached the keys out of the ignition and got out of his car, closing and locking his door as quietly as he could. Each step toward his front door was worse than the last. Like his body knew he was getting closer and closer to a bed, to losing adrenaline.

His thighs burned through the porch steps, and the walk to his door. It shot up his spine, leaving him in an uncomfortable bent position as he unlocked it. The second he heard the click, the knob turned and he’s using nothing but his body weight to push the door open. His feet followed by muscle memory. Steve shut the door with his back, placing a hand behind him to quiet the blow to not wake his parents. His legs wobbled. They might as well give out underneath him. Steve let them, just for a moment. He slid down onto the ground, legs falling out in front of him. He tilted his head back to rest against the door, arms lax to his sides and falling to the floor. It’s the first time he thinks he’s sat down without actively trying to focus on something in the last two days.

“Steven?”

Steve gained a sudden shot of energy. His head jerked up from its position, and he raised his eyebrow. Someone was in his dining room. And Steve would have normally ran to his room or car to get one of his well used bats if the voice didn’t sound suspiciously like his mother. Steve tilted his body to the side, looking down the hallway, and into the room where the light was on. He hadn’t even noticed it when he entered. From his place on the floor he could only see a pair of feet coupled with a pair of legs across the table.

He slumped the rest of his torso onto the ground. He wanted to just let the linoleum suck him in. Let him disappear. Because of course they were both awake and waiting for him. Pretending like they cared. At least the cold floor gave him something he needed. He pressed his cheek into it, curling his face further into its coolness. His dirty exterior was getting everywhere. Falling off of him and creating a ring around him. His face was a paintbrush and the floor his canvas while he felt the cold stimulate his nerves. There was an anxiety that was calming, but he couldn’t tell which one. The one he had just ran away from, or the one he had just run into.

Shoes stopped at the tip of his nose. His eyes raked up the body in front of him. Brown loafers, khakis, brown leather belt, with a blue dress shirt tucked into a nice lovely package that was his father. His arms were crossed across his chest, with a stern look across his face. Steve knew his father hated how late he stayed out. And he knew he hated catching him even more. Have to keep up appearances for those college apps, right dad?

And here Steve was, laid in front of their front door, looking as if he had just crawled out of a grave, wearing nothing his parents would consider presentable, at five in the morning.

Steve turned his head to look at his father. He plastered a smile wide on his face, as if nothing was wrong, “Hi daddy.”

“Get the fuck-” His father mumbled before reaching down, grabbing Steve by the vest, and pulling him up to his feet. Steve’s body is limp. He couldn’t have much of a reaction if he tried. He let him push him into the wall behind him. He let him hold him just a few inches off the ground. He would let his dad do anything right about now.

His arms go up instinctively. He dropped his keys to the ground, and fell to submission. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay” Steve whispered quickly. It was an apology without actually saying it.

The breath of his fathers is right up on his face. It smelt like pure tobacco and wine. His mint toothpaste covered up some of the smell. He was probably drinking it with his mom. They could finish a whole bottle off pretty nicely. Smoke a pack. Call it a day. Steve turned his face toward the door as his father's face inched closer. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

“Not okay, open your eyes.” Pressing his forearm into his chest to hold him, he grabbed Steve's chin with his other hand, pulling it to face him. His cheeks squished together through his father's fingers. Fingerprints melted into his jaw. Steve blinked his eyes open, avoiding any sort of eye contact. “Hey. Hey!”

He pushed him further into the door. Steve winced, shutting his eyes again tightly. “You look at me when I talk to you.”

A part of Steve feared his hand wasn’t gonna stop at his face. The things he said would just anger his father off enough one day he would drop it down to the giving space around his neck. Push against Steve's windpipe until he couldn’t respond. His brain would lose enough air that the only thing he left he knew was ‘yes sir, no sir, I’m sorry for everything sir.’ And an even worse part of Steve wanted it to happen.

He opened his eyes in defeat, “yes sir.” staring down at his father. Steve looked dead into his dad’s eyes. Him looking back into his. His father's eyes were dark, like all empathy for the person in front of him had left a long time ago. Steve tried to find it. He searched. He swore he did. Maybe some time ago he would’ve spent more time. But he heard the patter of his mother's feet down the hallway and his eyes tore away and over his father's shoulder.

The hold on his chin was still strong. Dad’s arm wavered, losing the strength holding Steve in the air against the surface. A small act of weakness. Never to be seen again. He was thrown from the door by his jaw back onto the ground. He crumpled, looking up as his father stood above him.

“Do you know what time it is? Where have you been Steve? Why in the world do you look like this, and at this fucking hour?” he spat, questions one right after the other.

Steve’s mom came up timidly behind his dad. She was a good few inches shorter than him when she wasn’t in her heels. She wrapped her arm around his gently. She stood above Steve now too. “We were really worried about you sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Love. Baby. Dear. Angel. Steven. It was endearing. It wasn't real.

He didn’t have an answer either. Not a good one. He smoothed his jaw and maneuvered himself back into sitting against the door. Legs into his chest, arms resting on his knees. “I mean, you probably saw the news right? Hawkins just fell in a major way, kind of hard not to get caught up in at least some of it.” That wasn’t entirely a lie.

His father scoffed, “Some of it? You look like you caused it. What, were you right dead in the center of it?” And that wasn’t either. Steve had been in the middle of taking down Vecna, causing the four point intersection of gates to open directly in the middle of Hawkins. How do you explain that to your parents? They already didn’t believe a word out of his mouth.

He opened his mouth to explain away further but his father just continued, “And what's with the damn JROTC getup? It looks stupid on you. Practically swallowing you up.” He walked away from his mother's grip and crouched down to Steve’s level. Steve stared at him afraid to look away. His mouth still open, ready to defend himself against nothing. His dad dragged a slow finger along the cloth of his forearm. “You’re so dirty Steven, how about you tell us the truth?”

Steve raised his arm, speaking with his hand. “The army is here, so the-” there was an abrupt smack as his father gripped his wrist. He held it tightly in place in the air. Every single touch from him seared its way onto Steve’s skin. He swore every time there were going to be red aching burn marks.

“Oh! The army is here! So you couldn’t even defend yourself, had to get the army to save our poor little Stevie.” Steve grazed his eyes from his wrist to his father's empty eyes and over to his mother. Their eyes met. His tired, scared, beautiful eyes. To her pitiful ones. His mother leant against the wall, watching. She looked as if she had words on the tip of her tongue. If she truly wanted to stop him. She would.

He ripped his arm from his father's grasp. “If you would let me explain sir,” He scrambled to his feet, almost knocking his father over in the process. There were two seconds where Steve looked down and his father looked up. And Steve stood over him.

Then his body ached, his wrist and jaw throbbed. His neck pricked in the memory of his ventures the days before. Steve’s legs were moments from giving out again. Dad standing next to him, they came to about the same height. His father standing a few centimeters taller. He glanced between the three of them for a moment. It was quiet. They were angry. And Steve was. Well Steve was.

He huffed and walked the three of them into their dining room. Steve sat in the chair at the head. A seat normally reserved for someone with great importance. Head of the family. When Steve sat there during times like these; it was more a seat of shame. His parents in the surrounding seats scolding him for the things he’s done. They sat down in their seats they had previously made comfortable and waited.

This was it. The moment Steve hated the most. The moment when the next few words were either taken with grace, or out of context. All depending on how his parents decided to wake up and feel about him that day.

“I’m sorry sir, for coming home so late.” An apology. Good start. “And dirty.” He added quickly. “I went out with Robin, Nancy, and some others earlier today before the earthquake. While we were out the earthquakes started and as I said we got caught up in some of it. It was kind of hard not to miss it. The car is fine, I got some minor injuries, my clothes got kind of messed up, which is why I had to get a change of clothes. And the army and the homeless shelters set up at the high school are here, which is why they look like, well, this.” Steve said, in all one breath. Inhaling another huge one after he had finished. His eyes wide as he looked for a reaction from his parents.

His mother stared at her manicured nails. Peeling the skin around them. She was thinking, except she wouldn’t speak before his father would. His father held a hand to his mouth, staring at him with disbelieving, disproportionately wide eyes. He barked out a laugh. Steve flinched. “If that isn’t the largest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Well I don’t think that it’s too unbelieva-” she started.

“For the love of God, don’t humor him.” He put his hand up to quiet her. He kept his glare at Steve. “After all the trouble you’ve put us through the past few years, you really expect me to believe that your story is that simple? That moronically put together?”

She pursed her lips, and stuck her fingers in her mouth chewing on the skin around them. A nervous habit. Steve felt a twinge in his heart for his mother. The small indications of submission to his father they both admitted to. She would never say it aloud. And neither would he.

Steve rucked his hands through his mucky hair, letting it fall back into his face. A nervous habit. “I-I don’t know wh-what you want me to say dad.” Voice wavering.

“I-I-I, want you to tell me the goddamned truth!” He said, mocking the fear in Steve’s voice. His hand slapping the table to accentuate his words. Both Steve and his mother cringed away from the loud noise.

“I am!” Steve defended. Leaning back in his chair, back hitting the frame. “There’s nothing more to say, I promise!”

There truly wasn’t. There wasn’t anymore to tell. Vecna pressed on him like an aching nerve. He couldn’t move without a nagging ping of remembrance. The people who he fought with. The people who he loved so painstakingly. And the people who died. Steve didn’t have the words to even articulate what he had been through in the last 72 hours to himself let alone to his wanting father.

“Steven I swear to go-”

He was tired. He was in pain. His fear bubbled into an uncontrolled anger. He couldn't blame himself for saying what he said. “Dude just let it go, this one fucking time!”

That’s all it took.

His mother widened her eyes, spit ridden fingers, slowly falling out. “Steven…” She whispered. It was a warning. Only one her and Steve could hear.

Before she could stop him, his father darted out of his seat and over to Steve. Hand gripped around his throat pinning him to the back of the chair. Finally.

It rubbed his already red neck raw. “Is that the kind of respect we give in this house? The kind you think I deserve?” He pierced his nails into the skin on the sides of his neck. Crushing his trachea. Steve couldn’t talk, there was no answering him anymore, just listening. “What have I told you about talking to me like that? Like I’m one of your goddamn sorry ass friends.”

Steve fumbled with his hands, wrapping them around his dad’s wrist. There was an attempt at pulling them away but his father was stronger, pressing harder. Steve’s mouth was open, his throat contracted trying to let out a word. All that was heard was a choked out whimper. He rolled his eyes around staring at his ceiling, his mouth clamped down, almost locking on his tongue, biting. A small amount of blood filled with the collecting saliva.

His thoughts wandered with his breath. Thinking that maybe if he tried answering he could gain at least some control back. Steve inhaled through his nose, the air getting caught where his father's hand started. He opened his mouth, teeth glistening with his own blood. The noise he let out was pathetic, “It’s-it.”

“It’s a bad look. That’s right.”

There was a shock of relief in his chest as his dad let him get a singular breath in. It singed his lungs, he was so desperate for air he breathed in everything in his mouth. Steve tried coughing out the blood, spit, dirt that entered him, but it was blocked again in an instant.

His hands pushed, pulled, tore against his father's wrist, tearing at the skin, there was no moving it. He was weak and unprepared against his father. His face was flushing, the fingerprints bruising into his neck. He couldn’t find another choice but to limp his entire body. Held to the chair, the universe by his father's hand. What he wanted, Steve was willing to give.

Steve dropped his arms and they settled next to him. He relaxed his body, small whimpers searching for breath that weren’t coming.

“Look at that. Our little boy is finally learning his place.” His dad’s face inches away, breathing the words onto his cheek. Mocking. His hand slowly let go of Steve’s throat. Red hand print painted across. “Be a good boy and keep it that way.” He tapped Steve’s cheek quickly, “disrespectful piece of shit.”

He stood. Steve fell forward, coughing. His hand coming up to his mouth catching all that was in his mouth, anything that was willing to come up.

His bloodshot eyes met his mothers gorgeous ones for the final time. They were empty. Sympathetic. In a way Steve didn’t need them to be. “Steven, please it doesn’t have to be like this.” She said, in her voice, that only he could hear.

“No, please mom,” He rasped out, voice raw. “Stop, just stop.” Steve leaned over the table rubbing his sore neck, attempting to swallow, attempting to breathe.

His father placed two hands on the table beside him, inching closer to Steve leaning into him. “I’m going to give you one more chance to explain yourself.” He talked slowly, threatening.

Steve shut his eyes. “I already told you what happened.” All he could see was the flashes of things he couldn’t explain. Ethereal things, other dimensional things that haunt the back of his head. And his father. He sighed out shakily. “I don’t know how to get you to believe me sir , but it’s the truth.”

“I bet you were a part of that satanic Hellfire shit. Following that freak murderer Edward Munson around like a lost puppy, huh?”

Eddie.

People died.

Eddie, Max, half of fucking hawkins.

“Don’t talk about Edd-”

“No? Why? You have something to say about what you were doing Eddie ?” His voice was low in Steve's. Implication shooting through his veins. He was testing Steve. Trying to get him to blow again. Pushing his limits through the fucking roof so he could have a chance to reprimand him. He loved it. He had an image to uphold. And beating the image into Steve was his favorite pastime.

Steve knew what his dad wanted. He wanted to give it to him. Some sick, twisted part of him needed to be choked, slapped, spit on, and told what to do.

He wasn’t good friends with Eddie. They had maybe three conversations in total. Yet, walking back up to Dustin Henderson holding the 20-year-old corpse shattered a huge part of his heart. Steve imagined he would never get those parts back.

Steve looked over to his dad, his holed out eyes. He made a quick decision. “No. No sir.” His breathing still ragged, he tried calming it.

“Good.”

“Good.” Steve repeated.

His father straightened. He looked down at Steve. Witnessing the mess he’s made. The expression on his face is almost jovial. Steve wished he had the strength to reach up and wipe the damn thing off. But all he could do was wait for his father's instruction, who had moved his eyes over to his mother. Having a silent conversation. Deciding what to do with the pathetic little boy sitting at the table before them.

Steve dropped his head, his breath shook, dripping sweat onto the tablecloth below him. If he thought hard enough tears might begin to join them. He refused to cry in front of his father. He felt them burning onto his waterline. He began to look up to stop them, his father finishing the job, pulling his head up to look directly at him by his hair.

He leaned into Steve’s face. “We’re not done, we’ll finish this conversation in the morning.” He let go of Steve's hair, tossing his head back down. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”

Steve didn’t respond. He didn’t look at his father. He didn’t look at his mother. He pushed his hands against the edge of the table and got up. Walked out of his dining room, down the hallway, and to the end of the stairs. He didn’t exactly know what energy was making his movement capable. He couldn’t feel his feet. Some smarter part of him allowed him to walk without permission, he thanked it.

He held the railing at the bottom of stairs, about to go up them he caught a glimpse of his parents arguing. Faint whispering, “We shouldn’t of even come back,”

“That’s not fair-”

“Why are you always defending him, it’s not like he has any respect for us anyway.” His father spat back. “The way that boy parades around, making us look bad, the company look bad, hell the entirety of Hawkins is an embarrassment.”

His mother sighed. He could hear the scraping of her chair as she stood. “If you think you’re any better than him you’re lying to yourself.”

“Any better than him? What the hell does that mean?” He was angry, his voice was raising.

“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play fucking dumb. You may have Steven wrapped, but not me.”

That stung. His moms admittance to being better than him. Handling his father. He wasn’t allowed to say the things she could when they were alone. Because he had cheated on her, and she held it over his head. Steve was just a child who watched and got abused. He would never be on her level.

His father's voice gained more volume, “Watch your damn mouth,”

“Watch yours.”

There was a slamming noise. A hand slapping wood. A scare tactic. His dad never hit his mother, just him.

Steve’s body jumped, one foot on the bottom stair creaking. Fuck.

“Steven?” His mother called out.

He ran. He sprinted up the steps. Avoiding any contact with his parents. He could hear his mother following him down the hallway, continuing to call for him up the stairs. Ignoring her he found his bedroom, shutting the door abruptly. He stood in the middle frantically looking, like it was his first time he had ever been in the room. His eyes met the door the bathroom adjacent to his room and he headed over.

Steve shut the door to his bathroom quickly. It was completely dark. He doesn’t bother turning the light on. He took one long stride over to the sink, holding himself over it. His hair hung in front of his face, it brushed along his cheeks and nose. His hyperventilating breath pulled the hair in and out across his face. It tickled his senses, heightening them. Steve’s air came quickly, leaving just as fast. It hurt his lungs, burned his nose, his head started to lose circulation, it pricked, throbbed at his bones.

He had way too many clothes on. They weighed on him. Some throw away camouflage shirt. A brown leather jacket patterned with patches, with a green army vest with heavy pockets atop. His father was right. They didn’t belong on him. Ripped and bloodied. But Steve felt as if the only thing keeping him from collapsing was the sink beneath him. He couldn’t move to take them off. Stuck in heavy, wet, muddy clothes, pressing on his tender joints. All that was left with Steve was to take impossible breaths and feel every nerve inside of him light on fire. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t want an answer. He just was. Steve always just was.

He glided his eyes to the mirror. He couldn’t really see himself. There was a low glow around his silhouette when his eyes adjusted to the darkness around. It was low. His body was slumped. The things he couldn’t see, but knew were there. Cuts, bruises, burns, thick dried blood sticking the strands of Steve’s hair together. Trauma etched into his pores. He was broken. Ready for the cracks to finally break apart at a moment's notice. His eyes began to collect tears once again. They were warm and unwelcome. Moistening his overly dry eyes. That hurt too. The heavy implication of what was behind them, not just the physical sting. The love his parents refused to give. Falling down his cheeks, and into the marble sink. Soaking into his lips. Steve could taste the nuance of the tears he shed for his parents, but the ones they never cried for him. It was disgusting. Tasted like the bile that was already rement in his mouth.

Steve swallowed the taste in his mouth. The salty water mixed with his saliva. His face cringed as he choked on it, got stuck in his throat, attempting to itch its way back up with the rest of his stomach contents. He took a deep breath, fighting his body, swallowed anyway. The acid burning down his throat.

He trained his eyes directly on his own in front of him. The shadow of a reflection that stared back at him. He couldn’t see much, but his eyes were noticeable. Dark and scared. Wet and streaming worthless tears. If eyes were the window to the soul, he was looking into one that was so utterly tortured. Behind his pupils Steve was screaming. And not a single soul could hear it. His mouth wide open, with no one willing to listen. His family locked him behind a cage a long time ago, and Hawkins threw away the key.

Steve wanted to let it out. Let out the voice no one wanted to hear.

Anger boiled in his nauseated stomach. His knuckles wrapped around his bathroom sink gripped tighter. His hands an irritated shade of red and white. Steve squinted his eyes at himself. Challenging. Tempting. There was something thrilling about the way his depression turned so quickly into anger. A self hatred that dug deeper than Steve was ever thought about admitting aloud.

It happened in seconds. His tear soaked face swung back. And then swung forward. He let out a winding yell as his forehead collided with the mirror in front of him. “Fuck!”

Glass cracked, skin cut, blood splattered. Steve kept his face attached to the mirror, regaining his breath.

And then he did it again.

And again.

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