#but they agree with nightmare that it's for the best

[augustjustice]

That Healing Touch

AO3 Link

They stand in the Mayfield’s darkened living room, all looking at each other like they can’t quite conjure up the words for their next move. Eddie rubs a hand over his head, eyes darting away from the gazes of the others, just barely managing to bite off another Jesus Christ by digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

They can’t be certain where Mrs. Mayfield is. Maybe she’s been cleared out because of the hellscape currently seeping through Eddie’s trailer ceiling, like he assumes Uncle Wayne has. Maybe–she’s out for some other reason. The pinched expression on Little Red’s face suggests that wouldn’t be all too uncommon, for her mother not to come home in the night. 

Eddie knows that song and dance well enough from his own youth.  

All they can do is hope for the best–that she doesn’t show up. Eddie isn’t sure what they’ll do then, but he’s gotten pretty damn good at this whole running thing, bitter as he is about it. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Nancy finally breaks the silence, clipped and authoritative, like she hadn't just been dragged through a landscape of nightmares by Vecna’s own design. 

After Chrissy, and then Patrick, Nancy makes the third time Eddie’s seen it, a pair of eyes glazing over, ghostly white. As shaken up as it’s left him every time just to see it from the outside looking in, he can barely understand how Wheeler is still on her feet, isn’t just a quivering mess in the corner somewhere, like he imagines he would be. Full of surprises is a fucking understatement, at this point. 

“Nance–” Steve starts, one arm stretching out towards her, the worry on his face transparent. 

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” she takes a step away from him, putting distance between them.

From the thin line of her mouth, Eddie gets the sense that any comfort offered might make her reach her breaking point. Steve must feel it too, because he drops his hands as though in surrender. 

“Just…” Nancy sighs, steadying herself, “we won’t be any help at all if we’re all too exhausted to function.”

“You heard the lady,” Robin gives a wobbly, uncertain smile, “she’s in charge, after all.” 

She pulls out that old adage, like it’s a well worn joke. Eddie has the good grace not to call her out on it, doesn’t quite drawl out a sarcastic That’s not what you said in the boat, but it’s a close call. 

Steve’s eyes dart back and forth between them, lingering on Robin, the pair of them managing some kind of silent communication through nothing but frowns and eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright,” he finally agrees, however reluctantly, giving a defeated nod. “I mean, you’re not wrong on the sleep thing. Not like we can play our best game when we’re totally out of it, after all.” 

There’s something in his tone, the way his gaze flits briefly to the kids and then catches Eddie’s own, that reminds him of that moment right before launching off the bank out into Lover’s Lake. Steve’s being glib, casual, the way Eddie had been when he’d refused to let Dustin get on the boat with them, the four older teens all playing along with an unspoken plan. He’s trying so desperately to seem perfectly normal for the four munchkins currently in the room with them. 

Eddie barely understands how any of the kids are holding their shit together as well as they already are, especially when he feels like he’s about to shake apart himself at any second. But behind the brave faces, he can see it, the exhaustion beginning to settle, making them look older than they have any right to.

The least he can do is play along. 

“Not the sports metaphors, Harrington,” Eddie sighs, long and loud, as he sways into Steve’s space, grin too bright. “Please, be merciful, there are nerds present.”

“Yeah, well, when aren’t there?” Steve asks, low and dry. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, gratitude obvious.

“I am not a nerd!” Erica protests loudly.

“You’re joking, right?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Erica Sinclair. You are as nerdy as they come.” 

It’s a little uncanny, because the amused but fond look Dustin pins her with almost perfectly mirrors the way Eddie has seen Steve look at Dustin himself, the way Eddie suspects he also sometimes looks at the kid.

“Plus, some of us? Are jocks and nerds, thank you very much,” Lucas says, swiveling around to Erica’s other side and shooting her a pointed look. 

“Yeah, turns out Lucas isn’t too cool for the rest of us,” Max teases, eyes crinkling at the corners as she knocks her shoulder into his. 

“That’s true,” Erica agrees, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Eddie, hysterically enough, of Harrington. “You’ve always been the one who’s way too cool for my brother, not the other way around.”

As their bickering continues, Steve catches Eddie’s eyes again, mouthing a quick Thank you while they’re all too distracted to see. 

Nancy and Robin both look a little heartened, too, by the familiar sounds of the kids arguing, their rigid edges softening.

“Nine has long since past, so you know what that means–time for bed, kiddos!” Robin interrupts the petty squabbling before it gets entirely out of their control, starting to corral them back on track. 

Several groans ring out, but Steve cuts them off with a quick clap of his hands, jumping in right where she left off, their rhythm as fluid as a well-oiled machine. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he makes a motioning gesture with one hand, the other firmly planted on his hip, “Come on, you knuckleheads, and get a move on.”

The combined force of Robin and Steve seems, miraculously, to be enough, the younger four members of their little monster-fighting brigade getting into gear to set up their various sleeping arrangements, even as they grumble about it. 

“Robin, you’re with me,” Nancy declares simply before turning on her heel and marching from the living room.

Eddie catches the subtle look Steve and Robin share again.

“Better somebody stick close by Nance after…everything,” Steve says quietly, the tightness of his voice making it clear he’s still a bit shaken up.

“I’ve got her,” Robin assures him, giving Steve’s arm a quick squeeze at his grateful nod. 

Max clears her throat, then, drawing Eddie’s attention away from the pair as they hunch their heads together and head out of the room, still talking in soft voices.

“Erica can stay in my room. There are sheets and shit in the hall closet for the rest of you,” she directs.

Eddie nods, following her and ignoring the heated game of rock-paper-scissors that’s broken out between Dustin and Lucas to determine which of them is going to claim the couch. As they make their way down the hall, they pass what must be Mrs. Mayfield’s room, catching a quick glimpse of Nancy and Robin beginning to quietly settle in for the night.

Max stops in front of a wooden door, shorter in width than the rest, and yanks it open roughly.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she gestures at the contents inside for Eddie to see. 

“Whatever you guys need, take it.” The words are brusque, a cover for the generosity of her statement, the ease with which she’s letting them all into her space, into her home. He’s noticed it to varying degrees with all of them–it feels transparent how much they know and trust each other, the way they’re willing to give up nearly anything to help the others, to help with this entire life-risking hero’s quest they’ve put themselves on.

But Eddie’s the outsider, here, not a member of their little party, the odd man out. So it still feels like he should be especially grateful, every time they extend that willingness to give whatever they’ve got to try and help him.   

“Sure thing. Thanks, Red.”

“Night, Eddie,” she murmurs, back already to him, quiet enough he almost doesn’t catch it.  

He’s turning to retreat back to the living room, blankets piled up in his arms, when a voice behind him stops him in his tracks.

"Psst! Eddie! Hey, Eddie!" Steve calls at a stage whisper from down the hall, reminiscent of the way he'd called after him in the Upside Down. When Eddie catches his eye, Steve motions with one hand for him to follow. "C'mere."

Eddie drops the stack back in the closet for now and dutifully makes his way towards Steve. 

“Yeah, dude. What’s going on?”

Grabbing onto a loose fistful of Eddie’s leather jacket, Steve tugs him into the bathroom in one quick motion, and then shuts the door behind him with a click.

Eddie tries fervently to ignore the thrill that goes up his spine at being manhandled by Harrington. 

It shouldn’t come as all that much of a surprise, really, that Steve’s capable of it. Eddie might not know shit about sports, but he did know that Steve was on, like, pretty much every team known to Hawkins back when he was in school. So, of course he can tug Eddie around like a floppy-armed ragdoll. 

That said–Steve seems winded from the exertion, after he does it, leaning back to basically slump against the bathroom door. The move serves as a reminder that he’s a little worse for wear, at the moment, despite the fact that he definitely hadn’t showed it earlier. Not while he was busy running around the world hidden beneath their feet. 

“Harrington, seriously, man–you doing okay?” Eddie asks, wincing slightly in sympathy pains even as he tries to keep his tone light, conversational. 

“Just–give me like…one second here,” Steve holds up a finger for emphasis, the fact that his breathing is still clearly labored not doing much to soothe Eddie’s nerves. 

But he does as Steve asks, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him–a check in with absolutely no subconscious ulterior motive, thank you very much. 

And, well–Steve is a far cry from the pristine, preppy visage Eddie had gotten used to seeing swaggering around the halls of Hawkins High in his perfectly pressed jeans and popped collar polos. Here, in the lowlighting of the Mayfields’ bathroom, he’s bare-chested–apart from Eddie’s battle vest still slung over his shoulders–skin smudged with Upside Down soot, his sides mottled with angry crimson gashes where the bats had dragged him across rocky ground. 

That famous hair of his is still somehow swooping perfectly into place, though. Annoyingly enough, and as fucked up as it probably is…Eddie thinks he manages to be mouth-wateringly hot regardless, whether he’s totally polished under the high school’s harsh fluorescents or mussed and panting beneath the dim orange glow of the single working lightbulb currently flickering above the sink.

He’s gotta admit, though, in his fantasies of Steve Harrington cornering him alone in a bathroom–of which there had been none, obviously, because that would be ridiculous, not to mention colossally stupid–approximately zero of them had panned out like this.

Especially when the next words out of Steve’s mouth are a hurried, “Eddie, man, you, uh–think you can change this bandage for me?”

Eddie's eyes dart down to the scrap of Wheeler’s shirt wrapped around Harrington’s middle, the darkened stain of rust colored blood coating it–and, yeah, shit. Definitely makes sense now, why Steve dragged him in here.

“I’d ask Robin,” Steve is saying, “but, dude, you saw how she got about the rabies, and I really don’t wanna freak her out more than she already is. And Nance–well, after the shit she already went through tonight, I’m not gonna put this on her too. There’s Henderson or Sinclair, I guess, but–”

Steve bites at his bottom lip. And, sure, Eddie’s never been great in school, but he likes to think he can read people pretty well. It doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientis to put the pieces together, especially after the little show they’d put on in the living room–Steve doesn’t want the kids to realize just how badly he’s hurt, and clearly he doesn’t want to burden the girls, either. 

Eddie wonders exactly how he should feel about the fact that Harrington’s singled him out as the one he’s willing to let carry some of the responsibility currently weighing on his own broad, more than capable shoulders…and decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts him off by clapping a hand gently to his arm, meant to be reassuring, “you don’t have to sell me on it, man. I’ll do it. Happy to help.”

“Oh, okay…good,” Steve’s shoulders slump, like he was expecting to have to put up some kind of a fight. He catches Eddie’s eyes, giving him a quick, almost uncertain half-smile. “That’s–thanks, man.” 

Steve moves around him, then, allowing himself to collapse into a sitting position atop the closed toilet with a pained wince. 

“Don’t mention it. Uh,” Eddie spins around once in the small space of the bathroom, searching, “has Little Red got…alcohol pads, gauze, shit like that?”

“Under the sink,” Steve pants, one hand clasped against his side, “second door.”

That one simple sentence from Steve is enough to paint a picture in full. Steve’s been in the Mayfields’ trailer. He’s been in it enough times he knows where things like the first aid kit are kept. 

Eddie squats down, ducking his head below the counter–and spots it immediately, the slender first aid kit, exactly where Steve had said it would be.

And, sure, Eddie had at least been aware that Steve knew his mouthy little red-headed neighbor. Dustin and the other boys had often regaled him, disbelieving as he might have been, with tales of their incredibly cool babysitter, the former King of Hawkins High. Eddie had even seen Harrington’s infamous BMW parked over here a few times, a sight so surreal he couldn’t help but register it. 

But, still–there’s a difference in knowing abstractly and actually seeing the familiarity between Steve and the kids in words and gestures, his importance in their lives taking concrete, undeniable shape. 

Like Eddie had told him while they trekked across the woods in the Upside Down–the Steve Harrington of reality? Is nothing like the one he’d pictured all those years they’d shared space in the same halls and classes. 

“Seems like you know the lay of the land pretty well,” he can’t help but comment as he tilts his head toward the cabinet.

“Yeah, well, Mayfield wipes out on her skateboard a lot.” Eyes widening, as though he just realized what he said, Steve points in Eddie’s direction. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Eddie shoots Steve a toothy grin. “You scared of a fourteen year old girl, Harrington?”

“Absolutely,” the corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up into a half smile, “and if you know what’s good for you, you will be, too.”

“Trust me, man–I’ve got a healthy respect for Red’s fearsomeness. Even if I think she’s totally a lot softer than she lets on.”

Steve shakes his head, giving him a rueful smile. “You’re not wrong there.”

Popping open the kit, Eddie surveys their supplies. There’s an assortment of things inside, including an array of bandages in a variety of sizes alongside gauze, scissors, and hospital tape. 

“Jackpot.” 

Eddie holds up an alcohol wipe, shaking the little white package triumphantly.

“Great,” Steve agrees, though he sounds ragged, eyelids fluttering shut for a brief moment as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You need me to,” Eddie tilts his chin towards the scrap of fabric wrapped around Steve’s middle, “undo that for you?”

“...Could you?” Steve asks, a flash of hesitance and uncertainty crossing his face. 

Eddie isn’t sure if Steve really thinks he might refuse, that he’s overstepping some kind of boundary by asking, or if it’s just costing him immensely to admit he needs the help. 

“‘Course I will, man. Absolutely. Said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Steve nods, then stands up, reaching out and gripping the bathroom sink briefly in order to steady himself. 

Once he’s up, Steve shrugs out of Eddie’s battle vest. The move puts himself–and that thick pelt of his chest hair over firm pecs, the hard planes of his stomach just above Nancy’s makeshift bandage–on full display…revealing the very physique Eddie had been desperately trying to get him to cover up by tossing him the vest in the first place. 

Eddie tries his damnedest not to ogle Harrington’s body too obviously, reminding himself of Steve’s wounds, of the task at hand. The task in which he’ll have to get up close and personal with Steve’s bare stomach. 

Jesus Christ. Maybe he’s still in Hell, and climbing out of that impossible, gravity-defying hole in the trailer’s ceiling had actually all been part of some elaborate fantasy. 

Eddie squats down in front of Steve, putting himself on eye level with his stomach. He shouldn’t be glad for the stain coating that strip of white fabric, the reminder of blood–he’s not, really, obviously he’s not–but he’s not mad about the fact that the sight is helping his boner just…calm the fuck down. Because now is absolutely not the time, but the wires in his brain can’t help crossing, taking very interested note of the fact that he’s all but kneeling in front of Steve fucking Harrington on a dingy bathroom floor. 

As Eddie reaches out for the makeshift bandage, he braces one hand on Steve’s hip to steady himself, his fingers grazing against the unmarred skin just below his wound. That initial brush is enough to have Steve sucking in a sharp breath.

“That hurt?” Eddie asks, spooked as he blinks up at Steve worriedly.

“All good, dude,” Steve shakes his head in answer before tilting it up to the ceiling, hands settling on top of his head.

He grips at his own hair tightly, mussing those luscious waves with the force of his tugs. The move is enough to have Eddie seriously doubting the truth of his denial. He’s got a feeling trying to argue the point, however, would get him absolutely nowhere. 

“Just keep going.” 

So Eddie does, unwinding the fabric in slow, careful movements, tongue poking unconsciously out from between his lips as he pours all his focus into the task at hand. 

He’s just managed to get off the first layer when Steve’s body gives a subtle shift, the only warning Eddie gets before the other boy sways on his feet. 

The pair of them let out an alarmed Shit! in unison just before Eddie catches Steve around the waist, careful not to press against his injuries.

“Dude! Holy shit, be careful!” he chides sternly. “You’re not gonna be a damn bit of good to any of us if you collapse on the floor and conk your head on the side of the tub or some shit.” 

Steve lets out a humorless laugh.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that, Eddie?” he asks, sarcasm on full blast as he gestures weakly to his belly, body still pressed close in Eddie’s arms. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not, like…exactly at full fighting shape here.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, man. Look around,” he thrusts out his free hand in exasperation at the empty bathroom. “It’s just you and me in here. So you can give up the heroic, stiff upper lip shtick for a minute, and just–I don’t know, hold onto my shoulder, or something. Jesus Christ, Harrington, scare a guy to death, why don’t you.”

Steve lets out a huff, but Eddie’s pleased to feel his body loosening beneath his touch, the line of his shoulders no longer so taut and rigid like he’s a warrior who’s about to be called right back onto the battlefield. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right, you’re right.”

“No shit I am, Harrington,” Eddie reaches over and bops him lightly on the end of the nose, “and don’t you forget it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Uh-huh. No one likes a smart ass, Eds.”

But Eddie can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up into a private half smile. 

They untangle themselves then, resuming their prior positions. Miraculously, Steve does as instructed, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, large palm warm enough Eddie can feel the heat radiating even through his leather jacket. He really hopes that’s not a sign Steve’s running some kind of infection induced fever. 

So Eddie returns to the task at hand, peeling back the last scraps of Wheeler’s shirt, he and Steve grimacing in unison at the way it tries to stick steadfast to his skin. 

With the wound finally free, Eddie hisses in sympathy as his eyes dart all over the bite marks beginning to scab across Steve’s stomach. They look raw and angry, bright red where all the skin has been scraped off or gnawed through. He’s seen his fair share of cuts and bruises, from brawls at the Hideout to scuffles at school, but nothing quite like this. 

"Shit, man. We could really use a Healer right about now."

Steve lets out a wry little noise of agreement, understanding enough.

“Guess that’s gotta be you, Munson,” he says, giving Eddie a jocular, almost apologetic pat on the shoulder. 

Eddie can’t stop himself from shaking his head, because Christ, this guy–all heroic, death-defying stunts and sarcastic comebacks one minute, and then big, sympathetic puppy dog eyes the next. He kinda can’t believe he’s even real, let alone that this is what the Steve Harrington is like.

Scrambling to cover up how awe-stricken he’s suddenly feeling, Eddie shoots Steve a smirk as he quips, "Admit it, Harrington. You just wanna see how I'd look in the skirt."

Idiot, Eddie mentally berates himself, posture stiffening the second the words leave his mouth. Just because you’re a sixth year senior, that’s no excuse to be a fucking moron, do not flirt with the former jock King of Hawkins High. 

After all, just because he's hurt…that doesn't mean he couldn't break Eddie clean in half if he wanted to, and flirting with a straight guy is practically a one-way ticket to just that.

So shock hits Eddie with all the force of an ice cold bucket of water dumped over his head when Steve simply huffs out a laugh, good-natured.

"You caught me," he sticks up his hands, like he's surrendering in a hold-up. "That's been my real plan all along."

For once, Eddie’s too flustered to speak, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he feels the distinct heat from a blush spreading up his neck, splotching his face and ears. 

There’s a playful glint in Steve’s eyes, then, like he smells blood in the water. It’s nice, after everything that’s happened this evening, to see them shine with something other than the foggy glaze of pain. 

“Oh, seriously, did I catch you off guard with that one for a change?” Steve leans a little closer into Eddie’s space, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk. “What is it, Munson, cat got your tongue?”

Eddie finally recovers enough to shake his head and quip, “Can’t turn off that infamous Harrington charm for even a second, can you, Stevie? Bleeding all over the place, and you’ve still got it.” 

“Well, how do you think I get all the nurses at Hawkins General to take such good care of me when I end up there?” Steve shoots him a wink, being distressingly glib, in Eddie’s humble opinion, about the multiple trips to the ER he’s apparently got under his belt. “A little charm goes a long way, Eds.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, so they tell me.”

“Come on, man,” Steve waves a dismissive hand at him. “You’d know all about it.”

Embarrassingly enough, the mere suggestion that Steve Harrington finds him charming makes Eddie’s cheeks go even pinker.

He clears his throat, soldiering on quite valiantly, if you ask him. 

“Well, uh…Nurse Munson’s on duty tonight, and, in my totally accurate medical opinion, we need to get those scrapes cleaned up asap, big boy. No more dalliances,” Eddie wags a finger in his face, “and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your lollipop at the end.”

Steve laughs again. “Yeah, well, no way in hell I’m gonna miss out on that.”

But he stills dutifully, like he really is serious about being the model patient, earning back his treat. 

As he starts tearing open the alcohol pad, prepping for the next part, Eddie can’t help but shoot him a sympathetic look.

“Harrington–sorry, dude. This is probably gonna sting like a bitch.”

Steve’s grip, where his hand has settled back on Eddie’s shoulder, tightens, but Eddie refuses to shrug him away. As Steve nods his head, Eddie can see the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

“Just…try to make it quick, yeah? Lickety split.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in amusement from the dorky turn of phrase, yet another layer to Steve Harrington he finds irresistibly endearing. 

But he promises just the same. “You got it. Fast as lighting, that’s me.” 

Keeping his swipes gentle, Eddie begins to clean the wounds gouged into his sides. Almost instantly, he can see sweat beading on Steve’s brow. 

It feels kind of like a parody, of the handful of times Eddie had attended gym class, found his eyes lingering despite himself on Harrington’s glistening, Adonis-like form. Something inside him stirs, deep into caretaking mode, compelled to wipe the dampness away.  

He resists the urge, but just barely. And since there’s not much else he can do for the pain, Eddie figures conversation makes as good a distraction as any. 

“You know, I thought Dustin was full of shit before, but–you’re, uh. Totally babysitter extraordinaire, aren’t ya, Harrington?” 

“For all the good it does me,” Steve lets out a huff that’s at once amused and exasperated, and the sound is music to Eddie’s ears, breaking up the short, pained breaths from before. “Those little shitheads are total pains in my ass–but, I mean, somebody’s gotta keep ‘em alive, you know?”

“And that’s gonna be you, huh?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow up at him as he continues rubbing circles into his skin, doing his best to clean the gore and muck from the stretches that remain uninjured. 

Talking is helping distract him, too. Sure, he had patched up his dad as a kid, after a few jobs gone wrong, but, still–nothing that really held a candle to this. The less he thinks about the raw wounds spread out in front of him, the ones Steve is trusting him to help with, the better.

In honor of that, Eddie lets out a whistle. “Steeeeeve Harrington, big damn hero. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut up, man,” Steve complains, and even though the lighting is low, Eddie would swear there’s a pink tinge staining his cheeks, “it’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Steven. It absolutely is. Total paladin behavior, in fact.”

The little confused furrow that appears between Steve's eyebrows is ridiculously cute. Eddie isn't sure how disgusted he should be with himself for what a lovesick thought that is.

"...Pala-what?"

“They’re like knights, basically. The D&D version. Championing a cause, protecting the weak and defending the innocent, restoring good to the lands. That sorta thing.”

Steve gives a short nod of understanding, his mouth forming a perfectly shaped oh. 

“I’d say the shoe–or, you know, armor, whatever–fits.” Still meticulous in his strokes with the pad, Eddie finds himself rambling. “Diving into that lake to protect the rest of us? That’s paladin 101, man. True heroic shit.” 

“I mean…it’s really not.” Steve shrugs ever so slightly, his lips tugging down into a small frown. “It’s what I’m good for, you know? Nance and Robin–hell, even the kids–they’ve got the brains part of this operation covered. They need somebody around to just…take the risks so they don’t have to.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up immediately at the implications of Steve’s words. 

“Well, well, will you look at that? Now who needs to cut himself a break?” Eddie asks, echoing what Steve said to him back in the Upside Down.

“Just the facts,” Steve says with a wan smile–parroting the phrase Eddie’s heard the youngest Sinclair use on the boys after she’s thrown out a particularly cutting remark, and not even having the decency to look bitter about it.

Eddie shakes his head, vehement. “That sounds like a crock of bullshit to me, Harrington. Don’t sell yourself short, not like that. You’re a badass, sure, no two ways about it–but those kids, out there? They’d be fucking…lost without you, man. Hell, when Buckley realized you’d gotten hurt? Looked like she was hanging on by a thread. They need you.” 

I need you, Eddie thinks, but can’t quite say it, his throat constricting anxiously around the words. Still, he catches Steve’s eyes deliberately, willing him to catch his full meaning. 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to chew at it, Steve ducks his face for a second, dodging Eddie’s look. When he speaks again, it’s quiet but no less sincere.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie answers immediately, a smile breaking out across his face. “I mean, what’re friends for? You’d do the same for me–already have, even.”

“Oh, so you’re saying we’re friends now, Munson?” Steve crinkles his nose in amusement, inviting Eddie in on the joke.

“Well, I mean…hell pretty much has frozen over,” Eddie replies, playing along easily. “Besides, who else but us is there to band together, give Dustin a hard time so his head doesn’t get any bigger than it already has?”

Steve inclines his head, smile amused, soft. It’s a beautiful sight, one Eddie could get used to seeing. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

As Eddie finally finishes up cleaning the last of the scrapes and bite marks, he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, following his movements. 

“You know, you’re not half bad at this,” Steve observes thoughtfully.

Discarding the last of the alcohol pads, Eddie gives Steve a cordial half bow. “Why thank you, my liege. That’s high praise indeed coming from the king himself.”

“Never mind, I take it back. Your bedside manner sucks,” Steve says, deadpan, rolling his eyes. Then, he jabs a finger in Eddie’s direction, “And don’t call me that.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to report me to the doctor on the floor, then…your royal highness.”

As Steve reaches out to shove his shoulder, Eddie lets out a delighted cackle, dancing just beyond his reach. 

“Strike what I said earlier, too. There’s no friendship bracelet in your future, dude, not with that attitude.”

Eddie lays a palm over his heart, gasping like he’s been hit. 

“Not the friendship bracelets, Stevie! What have I done to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment? And after I helped heal your wounds, too.”

“Yeah, well, the job’s only half done on that front, Nurse Eddie. Better get back to it, and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your friendship bracelet. Maybe,” Steve says, mimicking Eddie’s ultimatum from earlier. “And you’d be missing out, too, dude. Just ask Robin, I come up with the absolute coolest designs.”

“Challenge accepted, Stevie boy. Prepare to witness the best bandaging you’ve seen since Boris Karloff’s The Mummy.” 

Steve’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to bite back his smile. “Thought you were trying to keep me alive, Munson, not turn me into a Halloween decoration.”

Eddie clucks his tongue. “Such limited imagination, Harrington. I assure you–I can do both.”

Gauze from the first kit at the ready, he gets right to work unspooling it, giving himself a suitable enough length to get started with ease. 

Now that they’ve managed to jump over that first major hurdle and Steve’s injuries have been thoroughly cleaned, the full magnitude of the situation hits Eddie all at once. A wave of tiredness, bone deep, rolls over him as he presses that first layer of gauze against Steve’s side, and he can’t help but say, “This whole thing is–completely and utterly batshit insane. You realize that, right?”

Steve’s got his arms raised over his head, now, but the slight tilt of his eyebrow might as well be a shrug as he looks down at Eddie, the quirk of his lips apologetic. 

“You kinda get used to it, after a while.”

“Get used to it? Jesus Christ–” Eddie groans in disbelief even while he keeps his fingers steady, holding the gauze carefully in place as he continues wrapping it around Steve’s stomach. “Don’t say that kinda shit to me, man.” 

“Sorry.” Steve has the decency to look chastened, though not nearly as apologetic as Eddie thinks he should.

“Like, sure, okay–dark wizards and magic, that’s great for D&D. But in real life? Kinda prefer that the evil alternate dimensions didn’t eat a hole in the ceiling of my uncle’s trailer, you know? Some of us need a place to live.” 

Eddie’s practically hugging Steve around the waist by the time he’s stopped talking, ready to secure his handiwork. There’s a bizarre kind of intimacy to it, Steve warm and solid in his hold, and Eddie wonders if Steve can feel it too when he glances up at him, silent communication passing between them that has Steve ripping off a long strip of medical tape and handing it down without having to be asked. 

So, needless to say, Eddie’s a bit distracted, finishing off the job and giving everything one final assessment, when Steve breaks the silence with two totally nonsensical words. 

“...the pool.”

Eddie blinks, startled enough he straightens up and gives Steve a full once over, wondering for a moment if the bats had gone for his head, too, without them being any the wiser.

“Wait–what?”

“The pool, at my place,” Steve trucks on, that determined clench to his jaw. Not from pain, this time, but something else. “That’s what it was–well, is–for me. The place, where the demogorgon attacked. It took Barbara–Holland? Nancy’s best friend. The first night that we…”

He trails off with a shake of his head. 

“Well, anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, I get it. Maybe not to the level of, you know, having your whole goddamn ceiling ripped out, but–the Upside Down, all this shit. It takes things from us. All of us. And I’m sorry it happened to you, too, but…at least you’re not alone?”

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip as he looks at Steve, watching the other teen wince. Like he just knows it’s not enough.

But the thing is…it is. Steve has to know that it is.

“To be honest, I think that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from just, I don’t know–shattering into a million little pieces, or something,” Eddie admits. “The fact that you guys–” 

Embarrassingly enough, his throat constricts, for a second, choking off his words. 

“...that you’re here. With me. Especially Buckley and Wheeler and Little Red–even Lucas, after I was such a shit to him…and you. I mean, you don’t even know me, not really, and the whole rest of the town is practically lined up outside with Carver, holding pitchforks…but not you. Pretty damn sure I’d never have even made it this far without that.” 

Steve clasps his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re not going anywhere, man,” he promises, gaze steady, hazel eyes so serious Eddie doesn’t dare doubt him. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Eddie takes a chance, settles his hand on top of Steve’s, gives it a squeeze in return. 

“I’ve got you, too. You know?”

Steve gives a little nod, his smile warm enough to light up his entire face. 

“I know you do, man. I know.”

And, for a second, looking back at Steve, the hope floods in, and Eddie lets himself believe it. That, with this merry band of misfit monster hunters standing behind him, there’s no choice–it’ll all turn out alright, in the end.  

—

By the time they make it back to the living room–“decent” again, Steve having immediately shrugged Eddie’s battle jacket back on over his now freshly wrapped bandages, the sight of which had made something in Eddie’s chest immediately flutter–Lucas is settling down on the couch with a patchwork quilt while Dustin bemoans his fate, loudly, as he piles blankets onto the floor in something that’s steadily resembling a nest. Eddie guesses, when he didn’t immediately come back, the pair of them must have gone on their own journey to raid the Mayfield’s linen closet.

“We said best of ten,” Lucas is saying with a sigh, the picture of put-upon patience, “not my fault you suck at rock-paper-scissors.” 

“It’s a game of chance!” Dustin squawks in protest. “There’s absolutely no skill involved. How can I ‘suck’ at some bullshit game that requires no strategy.”

Lucas shrugs, unperturbed. “You tell me.”

The noise Dustin lets out makes it clear he’s gearing up for a continued argument–when Steve drops a hand on his head, distracting him with a noogie. 

“No one likes a sore loser, Henderson.” 

“I am not a sore loser!” Dustin huffs, arms crossed over his chest and lip jutting out in something that dangerously resembles a pout. 

“Au contraire, my dear friend. You’re right about that, you’re not a sore loser. You are, in fact…” Eddie holds up a single finger, Dustin’s face brightening in that moment’s worth of anticipation, “the sorest of losers.”

The blue streak Dustin swears up is worth it for both Lucas and Steve’s guffawing laugh. 

He continues muttering to himself, low-voiced and difficult to make out apart from something that sounds distinctly like traitors in my midst, as he somewhat viciously tosses more quilts onto the ground.

“Gimme that,” Steve says without heat, taking several blankets from Dustin’s hands and spreading them out, laying a solid foundation for a pallet that he quickly uses the others to build upon. “Now, come on, man, quit complaining and just…lie down.”

Given the fuss Dustin’s been kicking up, Eddie can’t help but be impressed that Steve’s instruction is enough to actually get him to comply. The powers of babysitter persuasion strike yet again, it seems. 

Or, at least…half as he’s told, since settling onto the pallet still offers plenty of back talk on Dustin’s part. 

“I can’t believe this. My theories turn out to be correct all damn night, and still I get relegated to sleeping on the carpet. How is that fair?!” Dustin huffs. 

From his position on the couch, Lucas’s only answer is to snort, shaking his head. 

Hand on his hip, Steve cocks a single eyebrow, shooting Dustin the driest of looks. There’s something deeply wrong with Eddie, he’s pretty sure, that he finds the whole thing painfully attractive. 

"Dustin, man, it’s not a competition. Besides…beats the floor of a Russian elevator," he comments, and Eddie has no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean.

Dustin tilts his head from side to side, as though considering. Reluctantly, he says, "...Agreed."

Nodding, seemingly satisfied, Steve lays down on one side of Dustin. Eddie does the same, following suit until they’re bracketing him like a pair of parentheses. A warmth settles over Eddie, pleasant and bone-deep, as he tilts his face to catch Steve’s eyes, staring back at him from over the top of Dustin’s head. 

"Scoot over, dude. Eddie doesn't want your pointy ass elbows digging into him." Steve nudges Dustin in the side, causing the younger teen to readjust with a minimal amount of grumbling. To Eddie he says, sotto, "Trust me, man, I know. Those things are like daggers or something, I swear."

“Are not,” Dustin protests, though the words sound drowsy, his eyes having already drifted shut despite all the protests about how uncomfortable he’d been.

“Are too,” Steve volley backs effortlessly. Eddie catches the look he’s giving the kid, though, and it can only be described as fond amusement.

“Thanks for the warning, kind sir,” Eddie gives Steve a mock salute, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll be on the lookout for those deadly weapons being brandished in the night.”

“Can’t believe…ganging up on me…” Dustin murmurs, the last word trailing off as his breathing begins to even out. 

“You’re the one who wanted to introduce us, dude,” Steve argues softly, though it’s clear his words have fallen on sleeping ears. To Eddie he says, voice a whisper, “You believe this kid? The arguing never stops, man, even in his sleep.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back, parroting back Steve’s own words in the Upside Down, and the pair of them share a pleased, knowing grin.

And it’s comforting, the thought that sweeps through Eddie’s mind once he’s settled enough to start drifting off, Dustin’s snoring soft between them, Steve only an arm’s length away.

They’ve got Henderson. And as for Eddie himself?

Well…Harrington’s got him.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #henderfam #henderdads #the party #brotp: babysitter's club #buckington besties #my writing #my stuff #my things #missing scene fic #fellas is it gay to gently clean another man's wounds? you decide

[thewickedspinster]

Cassian x reader. We all know dancing isn’t cassian’s forte, however maybe he learns and catches reader off guard with some of his new skills (even) if he isn’t perfect.

The Idiot

a/n: crying at this btw. literally a dream i had once.

warnings/content: keir's sexism, platonic az x reader, fem! reader, language probably, cassian's dancing bc OOF, masquerade trope bc it's FUN ok

The Idiot

If she had to deal with one more obnoxious male approaching and asking for her hand, Y/N was going to lose it.

The Court of Nightmares had never been her favorite place. As the younger daughter of Keir, lord of the infernal realm, she had known it all too well for most of her life. By now, the heady drumbeats, slinking fae, and ears in the stone walls made her shudder.

Luckily, she spent plenty of time above the surface. Though she had stayed in the court under the mountain for several decades longer than her sister, Y/N had finally escaped her father's slimy grip and joined her cousin above ground. As a member of the Inner Circle, she had breathed fresh air the first. She had learned to live, and she had learned to fight differently than ever before. Now, as Rhysand's chief diplomat, she had a place that was more than just her sex. A family more than the one she'd been born into.

Yet, each Solstice, these visits to her father's domain were obligatory. A show of good faith, if you will. And yet each year, Keir put on a show that made Y/N's skin crawl. It was the dark side of the dreamer's world that Rhysand had created. It was a dark side that was necessary to maintain the peace, no matter how much Y/N wished it destroyed.

Tonight's party was no different. Rhysand and Feyre lounged on their thrones, heads leaned together as they surveyed their dominion. In all honesty, it wasn't much to behold. Drunk fae crowded together on the ballroom floor, courtly dances forgotten for the preferred grinding and undulating of the underground folk. This wouldn't be so bad, honestly, had Y/N not experienced being a young female here. But those memories of being treated like chattel were impossible to forget.

Her only saving grace was the mask perched upon her face. Though it was clear who she was, to the untrained eye, she was just another noble female of the abundant court. While it attracted more males to her side, she had an easier time turning them down. And an easier time avoiding her father, who lurked in the shadows somewhere beyond the High Lord and Lady's thrones. Which was for the best, because he would surely comment on her presentation in night court black, with mother of pearl weighing down her skirts and the mask on her nose. The creamy white was even scattered through her hair, marking her as someone important, but someone forgettable. That was how she'd prefer to stay.

She felt a gentle nudge, barely there, against her shoulder. Without turning, she knew who was there.

"Anything interesting happening behind the scenes?" She asked, still facing the dance floor.

"Nothing you'd want to know about," came Azriel's low reply, laced with a chuckle. "Plenty of sex. And plenty of fear."

"Can practically smell it."

"It reeks," he agreed. "Rhys does that."

She snorted. "It's because they don't trust in Keir to lead them that they fear Rhysand."

"Don't let anyone else hear you say that. They'll mutiny." Y/N was always able to bring out the smirk in Azriel. They got on well that way, and worked even more closely together than Az did with Cassian. Together, the three of them were an unstoppable team.

Observing the rolling mass of bodies, inhaling the stench of faerie wine and sweat, Y/N sighed. "Just wish it were less hedonistic down here. Not that our lives are particularly savory, but just..."

"It feels too heavy and forced down here," Azriel said gently, stepping up to her side and slipping his arm through hers. "Like they're made to do it. Like they relish in the pain that Keir brings them."

She drew him close. "They probably know no different," she murmured.

A moment of silence passed as they watched the crowd, as they observed their friends across the cavernous space. Then, Azriel said, "I'd ask you to dance, but I just don't think this is your style."

She barked a laugh. "Not quite, no."

Though not as talented as Nesta Archeron, Y/N had been trained as a young female to dance in the classic ballroom style, to a formal orchestra and before a crowd housing endless royalty. She'd been made to dance more than once before Rhysand's father, who had relished in forcing Keir's daughters to perform for him. It did not bring back good memories, but she had enjoyed the movement. She found moments of rhythm and dance even now, in her training above ground. She had never forgotten the feel of the music sliding against her bones, and she hoped she never would.

The minutes ticked by. In rotation, the Inner Circle floated past Y/N, checking in. Azriel departed, and Mor soon after approached, cup of mead in hand for her sister. Y/N took it gratefully, and the two damned princesses stood, shoulder to shoulder, observing the dark splendor. Finally, finally, the evening was drawing to a close, It had been hours, and Rhysand had finally shifted in his seat, signaling he would soon stand to leave. But just before he could, the floor cleared.

Still at her post opposite the thrones, Y/N glanced around, gauging the crowd. They had withdrawn bowed, as if they'd been ordered, but they chattered nervously. Clearly, something was meant to happen. Whether Rhys and Feyre knew or not, Y/N couldn't judge from their expressions.

From the crowd, he stepped. Crimson siphons gleaming, scaled armor traded in for soft formal leathers, hair soft and eye gleaming, General Cassian of the Night Court armies stepped forth, hand held aloft.

His eyes met none but hers.

Y/N stared back at him, a breathless laugh escaping her lungs. "Cass?"

"Don't make me look an idiot, Y/N," he said, a smile hiding the nerves that shone through his hazel eyes. "Come dance with me."

"But -"

"No buts," he said. "Just c'mere."

Y/N couldn't believe what she was seeing. Cassian had been missing in action all night, and now he was asking her to dance? Before the entire court? She had never seen him dance, and she'd probably laugh if she had. He was famous for his two left feet, and his fumbling compliments. She would know better than anyone else; as his best friend, his confidant, his partner in politics, she knew him better than most. And she'd thought she'd known him better than to ever expect him to ask her to dance.

Yet, as her closest friend, the one that understood her to her core, Cassian knew she would never say no to him.

As he stood before her, crooked grin on his face, hand outstretched, he watched her flounder only a moment before she straightened and laid her hand gracefully in his. Her grin matched his own.

"Better not trip me, Pigeon."

Cassian didn't have the chance to respond as the orchestra struck up the song he'd chosen for this moment. The prelude began, and ever proper, Y/N withdrew to drop into a low curtsy, her black skirts spread over the marble floor. Cassian bowed low at the waist, though his eyes never left hers. Hidden there, in their depths, was laughter.

The first movement began, and Cassian took Y/N by the waist and swept her into the dance. A waltz-like thing, it sent them spinning and gliding across the entirety of the floor, which had been cleared entirely. The whole court was watching them, and yet Y/N could only see him.

"I always thought it was strange how people talked when they danced," said Cassian lowly, "but now I think I get it."

"No one can hear us out here," she agreed. "Perfect for sharing secrets. Like where you learned to do this?"

He sent her spinning, and her trained feet knew the steps well. After a moment, she came back to him. He stumbled, but only just. "Well, Mor told me how you'd learned, and I know how much you hate it here." He shrugged. "I figured I'd try to make this Solstice visit memorable for you. In a good way."

She smiled up at him, eyes crinkling. "I mean where you learned to dance. Don't think all that training adds up to this."

At this, he turned pink. "I asked your sister to teach me."

A laugh bubbled up, unstoppable. "How long did that take?"

"Only about three months."

"Cassian!!" She cried in disbelief.

"Listen," he chuckled, giving her another spin. By this point in their talking, he'd already stepped on her feet more than once, but she could not bring herself to mind in the least. "I wanted to learn! And maybe I'm terrible at dancing, but I did learn this little number."

"I'm proud of you," Y/N complimented, leading him through the next few steps with a gentle hand. She turned serious "And thank you, Cass. Really. You -" She paused, swallowed. "You don't know what it means."

The orchestra (conveniently) slowed, flowing into the second movement of the piece, and they followed suit. They moved with the gentle fluidity of a mountain stream, and Cassian pressed his forehead to hers.

"I want to," he whispered, just for her. "I want to know everything that goes on in that pretty head. I want to know you, Y/N."

Y/N took pause. She and Cassian had been the best of friends for centuries. They had been constant companions during Rhys's fifty years Under the Mountain. And despite it all, she had hoped against hope that perhaps someday, his feelings would blaze to life like hers had. That he could see her as she saw him - everything.

"You can't just say those things," she breathed with a nervous chuckle.

"Don't tell me what I can't say, Y/N," Cassian said, will everstrong. "You know exactly what I mean."

"How could you possibly think I know what you mean?" She countered, put off by his tone. "If I've ever -"

"Elain told me," he interrupted. "How you feel about me."

Y/N gasped, her chest closing in on itself in panic. Elain was a close friend, one who was usually a vault when it came to secrets.

"She didn't mean to," Cassian amended quickly. "Azriel got her too drunk at Rita's one night, and she started talking." He shook his head, cursing. "I shouldn't have fucking said a thing. Look, if I've got this wrong -"

"No!" She blurted, before thinking. She recovered, but barely, as the dance picked up once more. "No, she's right. I'm just surprised she said anything, is all."

"... She's right?"

With as much confidence as she could muster, heart pounding, chest aching, Y/N straightened in his grip and said, "Yes, she is. As much as this could fuck up everything, I have loved you since you saved my sister. Maybe even before. And I was so lucky to have you as my friend that I couldn't bear to say a word for fear of losing you."

A slow, hesitant smile on his rugged, handsome face. "You love me?"

He tripped, his foot catching on her dress, and stumbled. He was laughing before he could right himself, and they both gave up the steps of the dancing, holding each other before the entire Court of Nightmares.

"Yeah, idiot, I do," she confirmed.

"I love you," he breathed, palm rising to cradle her cheek. "Have for not as long as you, but long enough for it to hurt."

"And long enough for you to learn to waltz."

His laugh echoed around the chamber, booming even over the music. The orchestra continued on, playing into the conclusion of the piece. Their time on the floor had felt like an eternity wrapped in a heartbeat, where truth suspended time like water.

"Long enough for me to learn to waltz," he repeated. His mask had been abandoned long ago, forsaken for the sweat it gathered. With brazen sureness, he lifted Y/N's mask, setting it atop her immaculately decorated head, and murmured, "I'm gonna kiss you now, Y/N/N. Don't make me look an idiot."

"You've never been an idiot, Cass, and I certainly won't make you one now."

And when his mouth met hers, it was chapped and raw and warm and strong. Everything she had always loved about him, she tasted on his lips, his tongue. Everything she had wanted to be protected by, she felt in the strength of his hand around her waist. Everything she had wanted to keep safe, she heard in the soft sound that fled his throat. In the gentle murmur of her name repeated back to her against her flesh.

Cassian couldn't dance for shit, but he was no idiot. He knew love when he held it in his two hands. He knew to cherish it close.

#cassian x reader #acotar #cassian acotar #platonic!azriel x reader #fem!reader #fluff #this is so sickening i could throw up #acotar fanfic

[ae-neon]

I find it incredible how a crack ship like rhysta has more traits in common than the two canon ships f/eysand and n/essian

I think I can understand why fans of those ships like them but I also think sjm's writing is so weak I can't get over how shallow the canon ships end up being.

The potential is there but she always fails to fully develop the individual halves so the who just ends up looking like 60% [aesthetics + 5 quotes/scenes] and 40% [fanon or lost potential]

I won't talk about Nessian because I cannot stand the fundamental Taming of the Shrew dynamic behind the ship. It was never gonna gonna get me.

So let's talk F.eysand (in a surprising more positive light than I thought)

Like I said in another post, Rhysand being the younger sibling would have made F.eysand make so much more sense to me and given me something to root my understanding in.

One of my favourite moments of character clarity is Rhysand telling Feyre it was her defiance reminding him of Cassian that made him fall in love.

That speaks volumes. It tells us about him and his admiration for this downtrodden bastard boy who stole his clothes. It tells us a part of Rhysand feels helpless despite his power so he really appreciates powerless people who overcome that to be brave anyways.

But then it's retconned to him feeling Feyre was his mate even before she set foot in Prythian and I just... Like oh, nvm then, it's just an immaterial magical bond that doesn't care about who each person is that ties them together

And let's say you're a reader who really cares about mates then the "like calls to like" nature of Prythians magic also makes rhysta and feyssian logical pairs with their own unique dynamics that would have been interesting to read

Also idk sjm just can't do enemies to lovers in my opinion. One party (the young woman) always feels like a victim whose healing is centred on becoming a suitable partner for the mmc instead of genuine working through their trauma

I mean Feyre goes from nightmares of UtM to being in that same outfit in the CoN (also under a mountain) and is simultaneously dissociating and but also okay and even empowered?? These things happen at best 3 months apart like ☹️ she's just a kid, it's actually gross

The argument for rhysta here is that Nesta has no UtM trauma, would not have played sex pet even if she agreed to go to the CoN, would have some leverage because the IC needed her cooperation to reach the queens. It's not a complete dismantling of the set up but it feels less idk icky??

Like had Feyre been given more agency I could accept more, that's why I really think Frost and Starlight should have been a novella about Nesta going to the Continent and the next book in the series should have been Feyre with the Valkyrie plot so she can reestablish herself outside of being Riceball's plus one

I could go into smaller details but I think this is the general view of my issues. Also I don't really like Hades and Persephone, Good Girl Bad Boy vibes so there's that

#Sudden rant #anti sjm #anon asks #nesta archeron #anti nessian #rhysta #anti acosf #sjm critical #acotar rant

[my-acethetic]

I truly spent about 80% of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter thinking that branderson liked his dayside/nightside planet concept from White Sands so much he decided to reuse it lmao.

Pleased to find out that wasn't the case but I still think it would have been funny if he, like the majority of the fanbase, decided to pretend that White Sands never happened.

#unpopular opinion but i actually kind of liked white sands #i can agree it definitely wasnt his best work though #cosmere #ssp3 #ssp3 spoilers #yumi and the nightmare painter #yumi and the nightmare painter spoilers #yatnp #brandon sanderson

[corrodedcoughin]

younger Eddie being excited to go to sleep because he unintentionally figured out lucid dreaming so he could plan entire dnd campaigns and feel like he was creating his own fantasy world

Sometimes he’d just go to the shire and hang out with his favourite characters, watching Gandalf’s fireworks, eating with the hobbit and hearing stories from Aragorn and Boromir while being infatuated by Legolas and Gimli’s interactions with each other

#eddie munson #stranger things #sleep was an escape for Eddie #the upside down took that away #he lost the lucid ability and no longer being able to control the monsters of his imagination was potentially the scariest part #of going to sleep #he did his best to avoid sleep through different vices #one day when he’s at family video to return tapes Robin tells him to go to their break room #he looks awful and the deep bruises under his eyes worry her #Steve is taking his break and Eddie goes to sit next to him on the couch #he doesn’t realise how tired he is until he’s waking up with his head on Steve’s shoulder and hearing him hum #love grows where my rosemary goes over Eddie’s head as he flips through a magazine #turns out he’d only been asleep ten minutes but there were no nightmares #he starts to come by to sleep at the shop more regularly when eventually Steve just starts inviting him over #Eddie is uncertain but agrees and most nights he ends up unceremoniously passed out near or on Steve as a movie plays and he and Robin #bicker in low voices and Steve runs a hand over Eddie’s back #slowly the lucid dreams start to come back #and if that means Eddie starts to play out his romancing Steve might go #well let’s just call that tactical research #idkkkkkkk this is silly I’m sorry I get carried away

[mispronouncing-michaelangelo]

tagged by @pxiie !! ahh! thank you for the tag, this was legit so fun and also so much thinking haha, i dont play a lot of games so it was hard not to just make them all little nightmares t-t

im going to tag @norsferatu (ofc uwu) @teddytoroa @makahitaki @vanarobot and @egg-is-killing-me but no pressure aye

#okay so i didnt pick a best soundtrack because it would have just been little nightmares and subnautica and inside #and inside and LN are kinda just ambient noise but im not willing to commit to subnautica #and while i dont fundamentally agree with the idea of guilty pleasure (enjoy what you want; ya know??) i also play mean runs of detroit #i play a lot of kill connor runs where i kill him as much as possible just for fun #and that i suppose is a guilty pleasure #i also feel bad for the android that greets you in the home screen #and i dont hate minecraft i just never really got into it aye #it seems lovely and charming but its the same as like the sims for me? like i personally am just not the target market #also that childhood game is a neopets game called fyoras quest and its so fun and you play as a little frog man #anyway ill stop rambling!! but thank you for the tag! and mutuals dont feel pressured or anything to do this one ^-^

[and-stir-the-stars]

~

@dire-kumori MMMM. EVIL. pure, unadulterated evil you have brought unto my dash, I love it.

Just. Evan trying so hard to reconcile the image of this stranger covered in blood beside him in the next loop, except the memory is so hazy he doesn't know what to make of it. At first he wants to hope that he was wrong and this stranger isn't actually working alongside the animatronics, but the more Ev tries to remember that cycle, the hazier the memory gets. And Evan can't stop thinking about how the very next thing that happened after he saw the stranger bleeding beside him, was getting attacked by the monsters. He opened his eyes and saw the stranger beside him-- just lying there, not even PRETENDING to be trying to help him anymore; the stranger killed himself just to get away from Evan, and he just left Ev alone to die.

When Evan wakes in the next loop, he can't even muster the energy to get out of bed. He knows the monsters will drag him out of bed if he doesn't get up, even without the stranger yelling that particular fact at him, but he can't help but just lay there.

The stranger tries keeping the doors shut alone, apparently having decided to keep pretending to help. Evan still can't get out of bed. He only has the effort to sob: "I can't do this anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. Please just stop!"

Maybe, eventually, Mikey gives up and curls up next to Evan in the bed with his arms wrapped protectively around his little brother. Or Maybe Michael scoops Evan up and tries running them both out of the house. Either way, Evan doesn't have the energy to fight against the stranger's hands on him. Either way, they both end up dead.

And speaking of Evan’s memories being confusing jumbles. Before Mikey tries revealing himself, back when Evan still thinks of Mikey as some stranger, maybe Michael has to listen to Evan beg for "Mikey" to come save him.

Evan doesn't remember who this "Mikey" that he is screaming for is anymore. When Evan was alive, he thought of his big brother Mike as being the adult he was supposed to be able to turn to for help, the person who would make everything okay. Now, dead and stuck in this nightmare, Evan has the vague sense that there was a Mikey in his life, someone who was supposed to be there for him and make everything better. Evan holds onto that single memory, that one vague hope that his mysterious Mikey might help him.

It encourages Mike to risk telling Evan the truth in one cycle, except when Evan learns that the Mikey he's been begging for help from and the cruel Foxy-mask boy in his memories are one and the same...

~

~

Evan is *outraged.* He's dealt with a lot of pain and suffering and betrayal, but THIS?

Evan is in the middle of screaming at Mike thay he can try to be a good person all he wants but will NEVER make up for what he did when one of the animatronics gets past their defenses. Evan doesn't even notice at first; he's still mid-sentence screaming at Michael as the animatronic tears him apart.

Then Evan dies, and the cycle restarts, and Evan Forgets. Except, Michael can't help but notice that Evan never screams for "Mikey" to save him ever again.

And don't get me started on THIS.

~

~

After getting so offended at me calling you a monster, I offer you the chance for a happy ending where Mikey and Evan resolve their issues and move on, and you teAR IT TO PIECES?? FOR SHAME

i mean, don't get me wrong, it's a beautifully horrific ending and i love it, but holy heck. I am going to need 3-5 business days to emotionally recover!!!

Michael slowly fading as he is FORCED to realize he can't save Evan after all. Evan’s hope of finally being at peace savagely crushed, as he is forced to remain stuck in the simulation until the software and hardware his spirit is attached to slowly crumbles with time and too much use.

And the idea of him (and Mike) getting recorded onto Help Wanted is PHENOMENAL.

I'm just imagining Evan cowering inside the Night Terrors/Fnaf 4 section of the game. Despite the lifetimes worth of awful memories he has inside that room, it's the first familiar place that Evan stumbles across, and he craves the comfort of the familiarity of his prison. He much prefers it to the unknown, and he's been stuck in this room for so long that the outside world (or, well, the other virtual recreations of the various games) are too big, too scary, too overwhelming. Besides, Evan has learned from his father’s simulation that bad things happen when he tries leaving this room.

#Excuse me as i get self-indulgent for a moment: i am choosing to believe that an alternate #Ending for this au can tie in what we learned from the GGY reveal-- #That Gregory was in all likelihood probably a victim of the vr headset too #Au of an au in my head where gregory encounters Evan’s spirit in the Night Terrors game #And Gregory agrees to let Evan haunt him. Best friends forever. #Okay self-indulgencies over. I'm not completely sure what glitchtrap is but if g.trap IS william #Then wouldn't it be just awful if manipulative mastermind william found evan and tried to get his son to join him on his side? #Though evan probably has too many trust issues for that to be successful. He takes one look at will and bursts into tears #Someone get this kid to the foxy pirate ride fr. Give him some fun and time to decompress :( #I would also like to point out how mean it would be if evan died so many times in the Nightmare that his #Memory of Mike killing him is all hazy and wrong too. Maybe instead of remembering his first death as a prank gone wrong #(Not that ev saw it as a prank but whatever) evan remembers it as michael *purposefully* feeding him to nightmare Fredbear #Just for an added dose of angst. #Also damn this au needs a name now too... #Nightmare au feels too unoriginal... ig i gotta think about what to call this au now #Also i would like to point out that me calling you a monster was 100% a joke #Just in case that wasn't clear

[grapecaseschoices]

For the bff asks: 3, 6 and 23 for Val? And 11 and 20 for Kendis? No pressure, of course. I'm just very curious about the friendships for everyone's ocs, as the romance paths often get more attention

@serenpedac thanks for the ask hun!

val

3. Which iconic bff duo are they?

felix: i am having trouble of thinking of a pair that could just carry that MAYHEM. lilo and stitch?

tina: these two are chaotic too, but it’s less !!! in a sense. and more borne of years -- they don’t always GET each other (tina is infinitely more sensitive than val and doesn’t always get val’s awkward humor) but when they do? wow! (i vary with how close i have, they werent terribly so in my first pt, but on my second im leaning toward the direction of close and growing closer). 

i can’t quite think of an “iconic” dynamic that fits that exactly. maybe jake and rosa from b99? (though tina is no rosa ertew lmao)

6. What was their first impressions of each other?

I’m goin solely with Felix and Val. We know Felix was open to flirt and looking to make a friend. Val thought Felix was hot and had fun energy, but they were also wary/a bit sus because the team was related to Rebecca and stepping on their insecurities toes.

23. Why are they bffs?

tina: proximity lmao. and tina’s relentlessness. but mostly because i see them as the type of ‘when they’re good, they’re very very good’. they’re both passionate about their work/they care about justice, they both enjoy having fun, they’re both short. there was no other choice but bonding. 

felix: they can match each other’s energy. val is going to show felix a whole new world (physically .... activities-wise, get your mind out the gutter). and felix is gonna show val much needed emotional / encouraging support (and adam insight). val also doesn’t have a lot of people that -- i dont know how to describe it, but that’s THEIRS. on their corner, and that discovery will be a lot. so im looking forward to felix havig that at their back, because i can see val being protective.  a mixture of pitbull and awkwardly supportive

kendis

11. What is their name in the phone contacts of each other’s phone?

adam: strangely enough kendis doesn’t often do silly contact names. he was probably just variations of his name. but he was very likely ‘commanding agent dukie man’ once. and ‘adam 🙄’ . these days, as the fondess grows, he’s probably occasionally ‘buttface ❤️’ but she changes it in front of him and shows him when he’s being Most. 

kendis is ‘most cherished detective’ ONLY BECAUSE farah had made it ‘my favorite detective’, and adam was gonna change that nonsense but he saw that kendis was lowkey touched, so he made it more his style. they don’t know he’s changed it to THAT, he’s saving it for maximum damage, possibly. 

verda: they’re ‘sci guy’ on each other phones. it’s a dad joke gone wrong, thanks verda. 

20. Which song do they both vibe on together?

verda: probably she blinded me with science by thomas dolby. it probably started as kendis being a brat (thinking they're funny) (("science!!!!")) and evolved into a thing -- their thing. (tina vibes too, can't leave their third out, but they get a kick out of it more)

adam: how to be a heartbreaker by marina.  is lizzo out when the books are? what year is it in wayhaven book 3? probably something peppy and energetic when adam tortures trains the detective. i can see clearly now by jimmy cliff or eye of the tiger by gloria gaynor.

#serendepac #twc detective #and i completely agree with you. i definitely want (deeply desire?) to hear more about the potential bff routes #oc: val montemer #twc: kendis crawford louel #also not that tina isn't a close friend for kendis. they and verda just click #kendis and the queer old men brigaide #while val felix and tina is adam's worst nightmare (best dreams? as it's two of his favorite people happy? strange fella that one) come to #life #twc #grapecase answers #kendis and adam #val and felix #all songs listed under adam are actually under an old kendis playlist #*at me if you do this please! #headcanoning was fun #headcanons

[mrfoox]

Not to be dramatic but I've been without my cats for three days now. And for the first time at home without any other living being around me...

I've never slept this bad and felt this lonely in my life

#miranda talking shit #I have always struggled with sleeping in a matter of bad intense nightmares #But it have always comforted me to have pets OR another living person sleep in the same room/bed as me #And now i.... Tried it alone for the first time at home and its so bad like holy shit #My little freaks aren't here to scream at me and lay on my feet... #I want to scream and cry and kill i hate it #I never really express this in a normal manner bc ahaha... It is actually a lot worse than i express #I can say this but i do it half jokingly bc i know if i dont I'll staft crying about it #I legit ... Kinda need someone or something to sleep in my bed (if i want best sleep results) or same room as me #So i always suggest friends sleeping over to sharw my bed. Thankfully i got mostly girl friends and have sincr i was 6 #So they basically agree and dont find it too weird. #Problem comes with guy friends bc then i am afraid they think i have ulterior motives. The biggest ulterior motives id have #Is for me to ask to hold your hand if im struggling to fall asleep... #I always ask for consent to basically touch anyone even so its like... Naw buddy i just need you for my #Mental and sleeping health. Dont think about it more thanks

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I talk about the medical neglect and ableism I've encountered as a victim of the healthcare system, there's always some cockwaffle who feels entitled to come into my inbox and make the argument of "not all doctors" while talking about how "people like them" (because it's always someone in a field of medicine who does this) are doing their best and it's really hard because so many people fake being ill to get on welfare (Yikes), but like, yeah, obviously #not all doctors, because if all doctors were negligent, bullying scum bags, I'd be dead.

But here's the thing: while I truly believe that the majority of doctors are doing their best in a system stacked against them and their patients, their presence does not negate the mass harm caused by the bad ones. And there are far more bad ones than you realize.

Fuck, John Oliver literally did a segment on this last week:

Yes, the truly bad, malicious doctors are in the minority. Most are just horrifically burned out and fighting a losing battle against a system, killing both them and their patients through a lack of funding and resources and profound overwork.

But the malicious ones do exist, and they will go out of their way to harm patients who don't kowtow to them.

I almost lost my life because when I was in my early twenties, I told a doctor I didn't think she was listening to me, and I disagreed with her assessment of my mental health (she was not a mental health doctor, and I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain). She retaliated by putting "non-compliant" in my file.

There was also a fun little "doesn't show respect" note too that lives rent-free in my head because I know I wasn't rude. I was polite. I just didn't agree with her, and my refusal to accept her off-handed comment that "you probably have bipolar or BPD" (again, I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain) meant I was "refusing care."

I wasn't. I just refused to be slapped with a mood/personality disorder when I was there because I kept fucking fainting when I stood up.

(Spoiler alert: it was dysautonomia)

That "non-compliant" marker followed me around for years. It followed me across an ocean and effectively ensured that any doctor I saw was going to treat me like absolute dogshit because no one wants to help Difficult Patients. It wasn't until I was so undeniably ill, literally on the brink of death, that anyone helped me.

I'm alive because of a good doctor. And all the good ones that came after him because of him.

So, I know they exist. You don't have to tell me that.

But I really fucking need you to acknowledge the bad ones and that you're part of a system with a long, long history of abusing minorities and vulnerable people. I need you to acknowledge that because it's the only way we're going to survive this godforsaken nightmare and make things better.

So yeah, #notalldoctors, but if you feel the need to say that because someone talking about being literally left to die by the medical system hurts your feelings, I'm going to have to ask you to take a step back and ask yourself if you're going into medicine for the right reasons.

Namely: do you want to help people, even the "difficult" ones?

Even the ones who might disagree with you?

Even if they're on welfare?

Even if they'll never get "better" in a way that means "cured"?

Just a thought. But hey, what do I know. I'm just someone who experienced hemolytic anemia because doctors kept telling me I was anxious and needed to exercise more 🤷‍♀️.

#chronic health tag #medical abuse #medical neglect #medical #ableism #to all the good health care workers who follow me and leave supportive comments: I appreciate you so much #but you need to come get your fellow drs #and idk #give 'em a shake or something #Youtube

[reverieblondie]

Remember Me?

Pairing: ExNerd!Miguel O’Hara X fem!civillainreader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), , Oral, Cowgirl, Missionary. You and Miguel make a mess...

Summary: Miguel has changed a lot since high school, but one thing remains the same...how he feels about you.

A/N: I have been trying to write about Miguel for weeks now! Every time I get close to finishing something for him I reread it and hate it! So I am posting this before I can change my mind! I hope you all enjoy I tried my best!

Word Count: 6,823

“Pfft…I can't believe this is real; this can’t be real!” Gwen keeps repeating to herself, trying to stifle back her laughter. 

“I know! I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peter showed me but here it is!” Miles agrees; Pav quickly slings his arm around Miles for a better look.   

“Take a look at the specks on him. Did you know he needed glasses?” 

“Flip to the club photo. Now, that will shock you all.” 

At Hobies request the teens quickly start flipping through pages. The sound of flipping pages and then the sudden bursting of laughter from the small huddle was something Miguel could no longer ignore. Miguel wasn’t sure why the teens and Peter were in his office. But since the events with the spot and some well-deserved apologies, Miguel, in the teen's words, “Chilled out,” and now they seem to hang out around him more. Meaning they are often now in his office… Miguel, of course, tried to appear as indifferent as possible to this change of pace, though He had to admit it was somewhat nice to have the cheerful ambiance that came with them... Hell, sometimes they could make him chuckle; Miles was actually pretty funny. But, of course, he keeps these things to himself. 

Miguel makes his way to the huddle to see what could possibly be so enthralling. When he sees what's causing their uproar, his blood runs cold, freezing him dead in his tracks.

Is….that…his….yearbook…

It was turned to his picture and plan as the day under his unrecognizable photo was his name. So there was no getting out of this saying it wasn’t him…

“Miguel, is this really you?” Miles questions pointing to the picture. 

“Must be his name right there,” Pav teases, making Miguel groan. This was an actual nightmare. 

Looking over them, Miguel sees the picture they are all questioning; the difference is pretty night and day. A young 17-year-old Miguel was way scrawnier compared to his now bulking physique. His dark brown eyes were hidden behind his thick black-rimmed glasses, the only ones his mother could afford at the time. Miguel's thick, wavy brown hair looks untamed as it hangs down his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes if not for his glasses, the rest hanging loosely down to the nape of his neck. Poor kid was desperate for a haircut. Their cheekbones and jaw were still chiseled, and his face was not yet littered with lines of stress, sleepless nights, and age.  

Hobie quickly grabs the yearbook, vigorously flipping through the pages until he stops on a picture of a young Miguel holding up a mathlete trophy, awkward smile and all. “This is my favorite picture. Do you still smile like that, bruv?” 

“How did you all get this?” Miguel asks in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that will somehow stop his building anger and embarrassment. 

Very aware of the sight of Miguel about to rage out, the young spiders quickly part, pointing the blame to a laughing Peter. Who finally quits his laughing fit as now he is staring into the eyes of a very irritated Miguel, waiting for an explanation. 

Peter nervously clears his throat before speaking, “Wel, uh…do you remember a couple of days ago when you told me to drop off that equipment at your apartment? Well…I happened to see this on your living room bookshelf and thought I would look at it. Then I saw how much you had changed… I figured the kiddos would get a kick out of it…”

Miguel's eyes narrow, and his talons pop out, ready to bounce, but that is quickly escalated by Gwen taking back the yearbook, prepared to negotiate peace. 

“Okay, okay, no need to rip his head off; we will return your book.” Miguel's body relaxes as he sighs of relief, holding out his hand for the book, but Gwen smirks, holding the book back out of his reach, “But, you have to show us your old crush first.” 

Miguel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, freezing at the terms of the agreement, and everyone else, including Layla, starts oohing. Making Miguel pitch the bridge of his nose again, muttering under his breath, “Esto tiene que ser una pesadilla…” (this has to be a nightmare…) 

Then, to make things worse, they start chanting, “Show us….Show us…Show us! Show us!!”

The chatting became too much, and he snapped, holding out his hand irritatedly for the book. “Fine! I will show you; just shut up!” 

A yay fills the room as Miguel starts irritatedly flipping through the book as soon as it’s laid in his hand. Everyone waits in bated breath until finally landing on the correct page. It's the page he spent the summer before college staring at, the picture he had agonized over. Miguel pauses, taking in the picture, and he feels those familiar feelings rushing up and swelling in his chest…Those high school crushes do hit you hard…

Even after all these years, he still remembers you so vividly; seeing the picture always solidifies for himself as confirmation as to why he had liked you so much. Beautiful and popular, everyone would only have positive things to say, even if your friend group wasn’t as nice. Miguel remembers that sweetness fondly. Though, behind that sweet smile, there was a mischievous side of you; he recalls hearing it hidden in your cooing voice when you would say that pet name during chemistry class… 

“Miggy~”     

The memory warms Miguel's cheeks, but he quickly dismisses the feeling. “There, that's her.” 

The teens quickly grab the book back, climbing over each other to marvel at the picture of the girl the oh-so-scary Spider-Man 2099 had a crush on when he was their age. 

“Wow, she's stunning!” Gwen complements 

Miguel hums in agreement, “Yeah… the prettiest girl in my grade…prom queen, part of the student council, incredibly sweet…, and we took chemistry together…” 

Pav and Hobie shoot Miguel a smirk, and he quickly huffs, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Ever work up the nerve to confess?” Pav questions, ever the romantic. 

The group watches as Miguel closes his eyes, thinking that the blush from earlier is slowly rising to his tan cheeks, making them all gasp in excitement. 

“You did!” They all scream, but Miguel is quick to correct them. 

“Well…technically…I didn’t” 

“What do you mean technically?” Miles prys

Miguel can’t believe he admitted this much, but since he's already down the rabbit hole, he might as well give some more context: “At graduation…I kinda did, then I…ran away…”

A look of shock and confusion fills the teenager's face, but Peter is all grins and is going to give Miguel a high five: “Ah, the mysterious type. Nice.” 

Gwen quickly swats him on the shoulder, earning a whine from the man. 

“Not nice! That is so confusing! You just ran? Did you ever talk to her again?” 

Miguel takes a second to avoid eye contact, stoically starting to the side, before letting out a quiet, “No…” 

There is a collective groan, and Miguel rolls his eyes, trying to contain his high school embarrassment. 

“Can we stop talking about this and return to work now?”

“Have you seen her since?” Miles questions, 

“No,” Miguel answers sharply, irritation coming back up.

“Wha-what! How will you ever win her love if you don’t clear up the misunderstanding and confess your true feelings!” Pav laments, making everyone look at him with a raised brow. 

“Pav, mate…you know how long it's been since he's seen her?” Hobie chides 

Pav shrugs slightly, muttering, “Maybe it could be like a romantic thing…” 

“So wait, You have all the resources and never thought to at least search her out? Aren't you curious?” Gwen prods 

“No, I never thought about stalking my old crush. Now, can we please-” 

“She lives in the city!” Miles' voice calls out, making Miguel whip around.

Miles and Layla stand on Miguel's platform with your picture, info, and social media pulled up on his halo screens. Everyone is quick to web over, including Miguel. Miguel quickly pushes away a beaming Miles as he takes in all your information. He sees where you went to college, where you work, and…

“Ooohhh! She's still single!” Pav beams, looking at Miguel expectancy.

Miguel rolls his eyes as he keeps looking at you, still as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, you seem more confident in yourself, you seem…sexier…

Feelings start rising back to Miguel's chest. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and even your pictures still stir something within him. 

“Wow! This is awesome!” Miles beams, pointing to one of the screens 

Miguel, being too lost in your pictures, hasn’t realized what the teens are yammering about until they all start shaking him back and forth in excitement. Then he finally hears it.

“You can see her at your High School reunion! It's coming up in a couple of weeks!” 

Miguel turns his head to the invitation Layla had pulled up. “You got this a month ago but didn’t think you would be interested…. It looks like you will be attending now, though!” 

Before he can protest, she is RSVPing, and all the teens are hollering in laughter and giving high-fives. Everything is happening so fast that all Miguel can do is stand there in something akin to a trance. That's until Pav comes up to him with a giddy smile, 

“It’s like density!” 

Miguel groans…he wants everyone to get back to work…

They really got him here….How the hell did he let them convince him to come here? They even managed to get him to dress up…

Hair in its usually slick back style, slate gray button down that did little to hide his bulk, and black trousers that he thought appeared too tight but Layla had insisted upon.  

Miguel stands uncomfortably off to the side as people he used to know all gather together, chit-chatting about their lives and reminiscing on the good old days… All while Miguel stays sulking in the corner…Maybe things from high school haven’t changed that much. Well, despite the whole genetic splicing that made him a superhero… Instead of still being the captain of the Mathletes team, he's now the CEO of Aleamax. However, one thing remains the same: When he is in a room filled with all these people from school, his eyes still roam around, trying to find you…

High school had not been kind to a nerd like him. He was 9 inches shorter, and the most important things to him were keeping all A’s, getting into his dream college, keeping up with his favorite comic series, avoiding bullying, and wanting so badly to kiss his crush. 

Miguel vividly recalls all those times in chemistry when you two worked so closely together. Miguel shyly mutters the mixing process while you lean in with stars in your eyes, taking it all in. Miguel never knew if you were interested in what he was saying or if you were trying to get a good grade, but he didn’t care. You still made his cheeks flush and heart race all the same. 

“Then…When-when you add fluid B to A, you will get a fizzing reaction…” 

A shaking Younger Miguel tries to steadily pour in the fluids while you watch, leaning in so close he could smell your sweet perfume and look at your glittery glossed lips. 

“Wow! Miggy, you’re so smart.” Your voice would be like sweet honey praising him, and the mere closeness of you to him would make his body feel like it was going to melt. 

“I keep telling my friends I have the best lab partner…” Miguel feels his throat dry as your hand slowly curls over his forearm. Then the bell rings, and Miguel is flustered, packing his things as you smile sweetly and wave goodbye. 

God, you must have been just messing with him, toying with him, knowing he was like a love-sick puppy for you. The worst part, if this was the case, he would have let you…Miguel would have let you toy and bat away at his heart until you felt content with it fully unraveling to you. Pathic…is that what you thought? Well, if it wasn’t what you thought of him before, it must be what you thought after his pitiful confession…

Miguel thinks back to that night when he last saw you…that all too familiar warmth threatens to take him over, so as he stares down at his drink, he slips back to that moment…

The ceremony had ended, everyone had exited the stadium, and Miguel was taking a second to calm himself in the dark hallway. High school was over, and his life was beginning. He was thinking back on all his decisions for this new chapter. Miguel fidgets with his graduation cap and feels about what awaits him. Then he thinks about the things he missed out on…

Then your face comes to mind…he had vowed to confess; even if you laughed and rejected him, he wanted to get his feelings off his chest. But when it came down to it, he let his shyness get the better of him and let you slip through his fingers without telling you. This was high school? He was sure to like other girls…but why was this eating away at him so much? Why did he feel so sick to his stomach for not doing this… 

The sound of clicking heels fills the corridor, and like fate, you are walking through the hallway back toward him. Miguel adjusts his glasses, unsure if this is some kind of halustion brought on by self-pity, but no… it was you…

As soon as your eyes locked to his, your lips curled to that all too familiar smile, the one that was so sweet. Then your voice rang that teasing nickname you graciously bestowed upon him.  

“Miggy, what are you doing, silly? Hanging out in the dark…Don’t you want to go celebrate?” 

“Oh…... I didn’t plan to go to any parties… just going to go home and get started on some summer reading…”

The smile that curled on your lips was additive as you stepped closer to his slouching form, “hm…Miggy…always so prepared… I’m going to miss seeing you around so much. I’m sure you're the only reason I passed chem!”  

“No…I am sure you will have more interesting people to talk to than a nerd like me…” 

“Maybe I like talking to nerds like you.” 

The statement made Miguel look up to see you so close to him mischive filling your eyes. Leaning in so close to him, he feels like he can’t breathe when he looks at you so close like this…

“You don’t mean that…” he chuckles softly.

Then your index finger lifts his chin, and you look at him with sweet eyes, but your tone is stern, “Don’t tell me what I mean…” 

Miguel feels his heartbeat quicken, and his palms begin to sweat. Before he can return to rational thought, he leans into you. 

He so gently cups your cheek with his nervous hands. Brushing his nose against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your sparkly glossed lips. Then, when your lips finally meet, he isn’t sure who fills the gap. 

The kiss was so sweet, and he held you so gently, but he knew you could feel the shaking of his hands and the heat rushing to his face. Everything around you two seemed to fade.

Eyes shut tightly from falling into the depths of the kiss, he pulls away to breathe. Peeking open his eyes, Miguels sees you are breathless, and your face is burning with a deep blush. You look so surprised... and he doesn't know what to say or how to explain. 

“I’m sorry…I just had to do that once…”

Then he ran off… leaving you alone in that dark hallway, scared of what you would say next…

“Miggy!” 

“Miggy!”

“Miguel?” 

Lost in his thoughts, Miguel failed to notice that one of his ex-classmates had been trying to get his attention. One of them must have finally recognized him. Looking up from his cup, Miguel expects to see one of his old mathlete teammates, but as he finally meets their eyes, he feels his heart stop at the sight. 

Looking up at him with that same sweet smile, you look just like he remembers: completely radiant. Your pictures showed you were still beautiful, but in person, you are the thing he remembers most about you: breathtaking.

“Miguel, that's gotta be you… Do you remember me?” -How could he not remember you?

Miguel feels himself staring at his thoughts, running everywhere; what does he say? What does he do? 

“I…I, of course, remember m-my lab partner.” -Okay, a little shaky…But with your face seeming to light up when he says he remembers and your eyes roaming over him, he can’t chastise himself too much for stuttering now. Miguel feels his hands starting to become clammy, and his stomach feels full of butterflies…shit…this feels like high school all over again. 

“I can not believe how different you look!”

“Yeah, late growth spurt and I uh… I started going…to the gym a lot….You though! You still look so beati- uh nice…good you look outstanding…” His mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t believe how he is acting right now! He's Spider-Man, and he’s acting so nervous?

Smirking, you look as if you could read his mind about how nervous he is, though to anyone with working eyes, it was obvious. 

“You think I look good?” you ask, playful, making Miguel's eyes take in just how tight your dress is. “I was hoping for beautiful…” you smile, giving him a wink. His blood rushes in his veins, and he swallows his suddenly dry throat. 

You could eat him alive…and he would let you…

“Beautiful then, you - uh… you have always looked beautiful…” 

“Thank you, Miguel, you look very handsome.” Miguel feels his heart racing as you step closer. Your eyes stay on his confident smile on your glossy lips. It teeters on cocky, and Miguel can’t bring himself to hate it…he loves it…

“Though Miguel, I do have to say…I miss the glasses; they were really cute.” 

“I still have some that I wear sometimes,” he says a bit too eagerly. 

Your smirk widens, “Really? Does your girlfriend like them?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

The smirk on your lips borders on sinful “Good…” You purr 

Miguel feels a wave of electricity shakes through him. Are you flirting? Miguel can’t help the smile and blush that's now reached to the tips of his ears. Miguel came here thinking that you wouldn’t be here, and if you were, you would be avoiding him, but he didn’t expect this. Do you even remember it? Well, of course, you would! Who forgets getting kissed, and then the person runs? He needs to apologize before he never sees you again. 

“So Umm…I am glad I got to see you, well other than it’s just nice seeing you…but I want to apologize…” 

“You’re talking about graduation.” Your cheerful voice cuts him off and utterly confuses him. Furrowing his brow, he’s lost and hoping you can explain. 

“Miguel, I like the kiss…I wish you wouldn’t have run away…” 

Miguel is sure he’s died, and there is no possible way you're saying this to him. Sweet, perfect you, like when he kissed you. Nerdy awkward him? Gently, Miguel feels your hands touching his chest, slowly dancing your fingertips over his muscles. Miguel hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat is racing right now. 

“You know, now that I really think about it…you owe me an apology or something. It was very rude of you to kiss me suddenly and then run away like that, teasing me. Then, when I went to reach out to you, you didn't have any socials. That's not very nice to do, you know…”  

Your hand slightly grazes his jaw, and he feels like he could melt. Rising to your tiptoes, you try to whisper in his ear as you lean into his chest, your chest rubbing against him. Miguel can feel himself starting to break a sweat. 

“I thought you were sweet…” 

Miguel feels you start to pull away, and in a moment of bravery or desperation, he carefully places his hands on your waist. Leaning down, he whispers back to you. 

“Could I make it up to you somehow?” 

“I have an idea…if you're up for it?”

Gathering his confidence, when he sees your smile, he squeezes your sides slightly, “Anything you want.” 

Without any hesitation, you grab his large hand from your waist and pull him along with you to slip out of the reception room into a dark hallway. The irony is not lost on either of you as you grin and pull each other close. Your lips are so close to his as you lean into his chest. 

“You're not going to run away this time. I want you to do this properly this time…”

Part of Miguel feels like he could be dreaming; your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, smiling at him so sweetly. Your eyes are one of pure hunger, and your voice is so transparent with your want. It’s perfect. 

Miguel brushes his thumb over your tempting lips, slightly dragging the bottom down while he tries to archer himself back to reality. Moving his hand to your neck as he leans in and kisses you. Your lips are soft and perfectly guiding against his. Miguel's hands fall to your hips; he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin, making you gasp into his mouth with a moan. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed you, and he wants to make sure you know how much he wants you… trying his hardest to impress you. 

The fingers in his hair tighten to a fist as you guide him to part his plush lips, then slip in your tongue to get a taste of him. It’s gentle at first but quickly heats up from your eager influence. Then you start straddling his thick thighs, grinding slightly against him. Both your bodies feel like you’ve been set on fire in a blazing flame of want. 

“Miggy, I always like you…just-”

Before you can finish your words, Miguel drives his tongue back into your mouth, eager to taste those words he had always wanted to hear. His hands cup your ass as he drives his knee deeper between your legs, letting you use him more. Breaking the kiss, you let out the most perfect moans as your body tingles and shivers. Miguel hasn’t had enough of you yet as he keeps his mouth kissing against your flushed skin. His tongue rolls over your rapid pulse as you keep grinding and mewing for more. 

“Fuck, miggy~”

Miguel licks a long strip up your neck before grunting in your ear, “I… I only came here… to see you…t-talk to you…” 

His rough words make you grind against him more, and right as Miguel starts to feel your slick soaking through his pants, you pull his hair, successfully pulling a whimper from him, which is quickly cut off by your soft lips to his again. Then, as you pull away, you bite his bottom lip, which makes him shiver. 

“Can…can I take you home…” Miguel asks breathlessly, his hands still squeezing your ass. 

A small giggle leaves your kiss-bitten lips as you take a second to fix his now-disheveled hair, thanks to you. 

“Take me to your place, Miggy; you still owe me…” 

Miguel feels a rush of excitement run through him, making his length throb at your words. You really are going to eat him alive…

It's the perfect sight he’s only ever dreamed of seeing, you sitting on his large bed completely naked, a sweet smile on your face, soft legs crossed over each other, waiting patiently for him. Miguel adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose…you had insisted, and he’s finding he can’t deny you…

Miguel slips off his underwear, kicking them away. Your eyes widen as you see his massive length slap against his abdomen, then hanging heavily. Your eyes rake over his immaculate form; the sight of you licking your licks isn’t lost on him. 

“Strip for me, Miggy,” you taunted as you dropped your dress with little effort, waiting for him to follow. Of course, he did. He would follow anything your sweet voice commands. Just please…let him touch you…

Running his hand through his hair, Miguel approaches you, but your sweet voice turns to him in disapproval, and he pauses. 

“No walking, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees…please? Miggy~” 

Every time you use that old nickname, he feels his cock twitch. Keeping his now blazing eyes on you as he slowly sinks to his knees and begins to crawl to you obediently. The action is meant to make him look submissive, but you find that even now, he looks like a predator getting ready to devour its prey… The shiver that shoots down your spine goes right to your sex, making you drip down on his sheets. 

As Miguel crawls closer, you unfold your legs, stretching one out slowly toward him. His large hand immediately catches your ankle. Hungry eyes look up at you, blazing with want, as his hand slowly creases up your leg. Miguel's lips kiss softly against your calf while he whispers faint words under his breath after every kiss. His eyes watch you as he slowly raises your legs, the back of your thighs being pressed against his broad shoulders.  

Miguel's hands grab your hips, making you slip a moan. His eyes turn softer as he hears you moan, his lips coming away from the fresh mark he's left on your inner thigh. Miguel's lips part to apologize, but you're quick to interrupt before he can. 

Leaning forward, you push his glasses back into their proper place and crease his cheek. “You're doing so well for me, Miguel…though…It does feel like you're trying to make me beg… Are you trying to tease me?” 

Miguel's lips curl into a smile as he lowers his face to lick his tongue against your clit. You throw your head back at the hot contact, Miguel groaning at the sweet taste of your cyprine. 

“I wouldn’t dream of teasing you…” Miguel's lips lower down to your clit before he gives it a quick lick. 

Unable to help yourself, you grab a fist full of his hair, making him let out a soft groan, “Then devore me, Miggy; you still owe me, remember? And I-Ah!~” 

Before you can finish your taunting, Miguel is driving his face into your wet sex to selfishly devore more of you. Long slow licks of his warm tongue send waves of pleasure to flood your body as your toes curl from every push of his nose to your clit. 

His breaths for air huffing against your quivering sex, the tip of his tongue darting back to lick against your soft folds, making you whine. Looking down at him, his glasses crooked and hazy and his groans continue to vibrate through your pussy. Then the sensation of his tongue probing you open makes you close your thighs against his head and grab this thick hair, pulling hard enough for a grunt to slip through his chest. Getting the message, Miguel moves his tongue to lick your sensitive clit as his finger slips into you. Your grip on his hair gets tighter as you squirm, grinding your hips against his face, mouth hanging open as your chest heaves moan after moan. Your body starts shaking at the addition of another finger, making you feel jolts of pleasure that make you need to roll your hips onto his face more. 

Miguel could carless at the apparent use of his face for your pleasure; it's all he craves right now, your cum to dip all over his eager tongue. For your hips grind onto his face for hours. He would stay on his knees worshiping you like this until you're calling out from too much pleasure, and even then, he doesn’t know how he could pull himself away from your delicious taste. 

You feel him groan into you, the vibrations rushing through you to cause you to gasp and shiver as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of you, desperate for your sweetness. You want more, need more, you crave it with every roll of your hips; you want him in you deeply. Unclenching your thighs from his head, you pull his hair, forcing his face from you with a wet pop. 

Miguel's eyes are blown as he keeps them steady on yours, his full lips parted and panting. The sight of his face glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal is sinful and complete perfection. His poor glasses are resting on his face, still lopsided from his ravenous pursuit to taste your cunt. Leaving forward, you keep a smile as you hold his cheek; he immediately melts into it. Grabbing his glasses from his head, you toss them to his nightstand; before he can say anything to you, you're leaning forward to bring him into a kiss. His lips and tongue are laced with you, and you can’t help but want to giggle as he groans and leans his whole body onto you, so needy for more. 

With a gentle push to his massive chest, you can change the positions as you now straddle his hips effortlessly. You are slowly running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling his hair decorating his skin, making your mouth water. As you shift yourself up, you feel his swollen length hanging heavily as you nudge against it. The tip is hot and already pebbling with glistening pre-cum, straining for you to envelope around him. Reaching down, you flick your eyes from his eyes to his length. 

Miguel sure has changed over the years, but his face is so breathless and furrowing with every strained pleasure as you slide your thumb over his cocks slit. Whining so softly, sounding like the sweet nerd you remember. On the other hand, Miguel is witnessing you in a way only his mind had fantasized about. Your smile is no longer so sweet but devious; He wants to push his cock into you so deeply and have you shudder and scream while you gush all over him, But this teasing and taunting… it's mouth-watering. 

Touching his length, you feel the sheer heat of it as you carefully trace over the soft skin, feeling every vein. Tracing over the red weeping tip, you feel him shudder and mumble something under his breath as you grasp him to hold against you, seeing that he measures to your stomach. You can't help but bite your lip in anticipation of the stretch. 

Your eyes flick back to Miguels, “Think it will fit?” you tease.

“I will make it fit…” his rough voice sends a shiver down your spine. 

Lifting to your knees, you line up his tip to brush on your clit, making you gasp as you slip him through your folds. Then finally, you slip him in slowly, feeling his cock stretch your fluttering hole; the stretch is intense and makes you roll your eyes as your back arches. Miguel grabs your ass tightly, bucking his hips to sink in a bit faster; he pants a sorry as you let out a moan and squeeze your hands on his chest for support. Looking down at his beautifully blushing face, you only smile as you sink deeper. 

“So eager, Miggy~” 

All Miguel can manage is a smile as he works hard to keep himself from bottoming out immediately. He so badly just wants to shove it in deeply and rut into you like a damn animal. A groan builds in his throat as he tries to keep himself from whimpering as you continue to sink so slowly. His cock throbbing and stretching your walls as it heats your insides. Before he can manage a whine, you sink all the way down, taking every inch; before either of you can moan, you lean down to catch his lips in a needy kiss, taking control you guide him, your tongue pushes past his lips to taste his groans. While his tongue eagerly does the same. Pulling away from the kiss, you grind against him, relishing in the feeling of his cock pushing in deeper and his trimmed hairs tickling your sensitive skin; you can’t help but bite his bottom lip to compensate for the mind-numbing feeling. 

Miguel's hands squeeze harder, making you release his lip as your cunt to clenchs on him, the moan of his name dropping from your lips as your hips start to grind on him at a slow pace. Using your hands, you slightly push yourself up and rock your hips back and forth, letting his cock slide to bully your gummy insides, brushing your cervix with every nudge. Miguels is mesmerized as he roams his hands over your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his careful fingertips brushing and rubbing you so tenderly. His hands come to your breast, where he takes a minute to squeeze and pinch your nipples, your whimper in response, and grind harder against his cock, pushing him to rub harder against your cervix.

“You look s-so fucking beautiful…your body, your…tatse…I’ve never stopped thi-thinking of you…” Miguel mutters through pants of hot breaths. 

The words spur you on, and you start to pick up your pace, making him moan out and guide your hips to rock back and forth faster, “Always so sweet…” you coo to him…the words are less taunting but just true; he has always been sweet to you…

“Only for you…” he muses, and you can’t help but smile, 

“Good…” 

You feel yourself starting to sip from having a clear head that's now blurring in a haze of lust as you continue to pursue your pleasure on his girth. Pushing in and out on him quicker. Your hands grab onto him tighter as you ravish your tight pussy with his throbbing cock. Begging for both his and your release. Fucking so deep in you, now your jaw falls slack as his cock keeps pushing against your velvety sweet spot, making jolts of pleasure pulse through your body with every bounce. 

The sweat that has built on your bodies works hard to try and cool your fevered states, but with every push into your cunt and with every clench around his length rousing him to go deeper makes it all in vain. There is no cooling as you two approach your white hot release, bodies only growing more hot and sensitive with every whine and every mind-numbing push. So close to tipping the other to ecstasy…

With a couple of aided thrust from Miguel fucking up into you, your muscles tenase and your mouth falls open in a pitched scream of his name as your danm burst making you clench and shudder on his cock, coming undone on top of him. You're quivering on his length as he carefully grinds you through your drenching pleasure, the feeling of his cock slipping deeper as you eagerly ride him through your high. 

With the way you clench so tightly and grind faster, Miguel couldn't help but feel himself throb and spurt right into your cervix. The feeling of it spurting so thickly, his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so heavy in you with each twitch. This cum is hot and fills you so that it's leaking down mixing with your arousal, creating a sticky mess. You can't help yourself when you side on more and more feeling your cunt want to stick to his skin. 

Haze starting to clear you fall forward on him, you try to catch your breath in between placing frantic kisses to Miguel's chest and neck. Your orgasm leaves you utterly satisfied, but Miguels is not done…

With a quick turning over your body, you're lying on your back now as Miguel situates himself between your legs. He takes time to look over your flushed form, his massive hands dragging over your sensitive body, and you shiver and buck your hips up. Miguel takes your legs, pushing them up to your chest, making your mew from his touch, your pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel feels his breath catch as his cum leaks out of your trembling puffy cunt in milky drops. Miguel releases one of your legs to fall to his shoulder so he can plam his cock, still erect and ready for more. His red eyes flick back to your blisted-out face, and though you're at the point of overstimulation, you still ache for more. 

“M-Miggy…” you're the one to tremble shyly for him now, and the switch of the roles makes him fold. He’s helpless for you…

Leaning down carefully, Miguel cages you between his massive arms as he places a gentle, sweet kiss on your begging lips. Breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear so softly, “More? Can you give me more? Perfect girl…let me feel you again…please…” 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his damp skin, you buck your hips up in your whine of, “More, Please, Miggy ah—I need more of you, always. You are so good to me.” 

He catches your hips in a quick grip as he lifts them up, smiling; it's everything he has ever wanted to hear from your sweet lips. And he is always eager to satisfy you. 

Miguel slips his cock into you with a groan; you're already so sensitive as he pushes down to the base, filling you so quickly that your body already starts quivering around him. Pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, he rolls his hips slow and deep. He is taking his time with you. Every thrust is hot and tingling, and you feel that familiar tense starting to build up again from the consistent pace he's set. Managing to open your eyes through moans and rolls, you see Miguel with beautifully flushed cheeks, eyes filled with want as he softly pants and whimpers with each clench of your wet cunt. 

As his pace quickens, you feel him throb, giving you new resolve to meet your hips with each thrust, and your core starts to burn deliciously. Your nails find their place, digging into his broad back. Every slap of his balls to your overly sensitive skin makes you moan and throw your head back. Miguel takes the opportunity to kiss and lick against your neck, his hot breath rushing over you. With a final clench and strained moan, you feel that white-hot wave of pleasure burn through you; his body shudders at the feeling of your cunt, so desperate to cum against him to milk him dry again. His groan borders on a whine as his hips are still, and you feel that familiar throbbing against your cervix as his thick cum fills you up. Looking up at him, you watch his face contort to be in complete pleasure; the sight of it is completely addicting. 

Staying in you till you are both down from your highs, he slowly pulls out his softening cock. The pooling of both of your cum completely ruins the sheets underneath you, but Miguel doesn’t worry about that. He brushes stray hairs from your face and whispers he will be right back. You're too exhausted to move, and you can only twitch slightly as you feel a cool cloth cleaning you up so gently. 

After cleaning you up, you feel the bed sink beside you and the feeling of an arm around you, bringing you closer to his warm body, his other hand brushing through your hair so carefully. You gather your energy to curl into Miguel with a broad smile. You two lay there, slowly drifting away in each other's comfort. 

Clearing his throat, Miguel tries to be as unawkward as possible, and it only manages to make you smile more; you two just had amazing sex, and he’s still nervous; some things die hard, you guess. Looking up at him, you see he’s trying to gather up the best way to approach his next words; this night has been everything he hoped, and he doesn’t want to blow it now, but he needs to know the answer to his question, 

“Can-can I…take you out on a date?” 

His face is completely sincere and flushed; you have to bite back your giggle before you answer. 

“Miggy, about time you asked…” 

You two set the date up for the next night; Miguel, of course, wore his glasses…

#across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel 2099 #miguel smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #miguel spiderman #atsv smut #miguel atsv #atsv #atsv fanfiction #spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x afab!reader #spiderman across the verse

[partially-controlled-chaos]

My mother has absolutely fallen in love with Gale and it’s the single funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.

So for some context:

My mom is in her late 60’s and can’t live alone so she lives with me. She enjoys watching video games as an alternative to tv (this woman played the hell out of the PS1 so I’m not surprised). She always gives me her reviews on the games I play and loves some more than others. With that being said…

She hates Baldur’s Gate 3. Hates it. Despises it. “Worst game you’ve played by far.” She doesn’t like fantasy genres and doesn’t like a whole lot of combat. Now admittedly she didn’t start watching the game until Act 2 (health issues) so she missed the entire opening and Act 1 and had NO idea what was going on. I tried explaining as best I could but she didn’t fully understand.

Now she doesn’t like anything remotely spooky so the shadow lands was a nightmare for her to watch. Hated it. Hated the characters.

Astarion was too mean. Didn’t like Wyll’s horns and red eye. Karlach was too loud and didn’t like the horns. Shadowheart was too gloomy. Lae’zel was too creepy looking and mean (still haven’t won her over in Lae’zel). Halsin was “creepy looking” (I don’t get it either). Hadn’t met Jaheria or Minsc yet.

Now admittedly I hardly used Gale in my first play through so she never saw him or knew he existed until Act 3. But the second she saw him? Heart eyes. Put on her glasses to look at him better. Rizzard of Waterdeep got her GOOD.

Loved him to the point where she asked if I’d play it again JUST to romance Gale so I agreed because I was going to romance him at some point anyway. And when I tell you that woman is SMITTEN.

Every day I get home from work and it’s “when are you going to play your game? I want to see Gale.” “Kiss Gale. Do a kiss. There’s different kisses? Do them all I want to see the kisses.” “HE HAS A CAT??”

Very quick to tell me on what romance dialogue options to pick. I have no say in the matter they’re all her choices.

Oh and Mystra? Hates her. Can’t stand her. “Blast Mystra with your fireball thingy.” “Can you kill her? You should kill her.” “Gale better be praising you and not Mystra.”

I mean it’s a complete turn around and this is now her favorite game simply because of Gale Dekarios.

And if you’re curious, here’s her ranking of most to least favorite characters.

Gale (and Tara by extension)

Karlach

Astarion

Wyll (was very upset when I had to reject post dance kiss)

Halsin

Boo (not Minsc, just Boo)

Jaheria

Shadowheart

Lae’zel

Withers (genuinely afraid of him)

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #Gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale romance #Astarion #karlach #wyll ravengard #Halsin #shadowheart #lae'zel #withers #rizzard of waterdeep

[ellemj]

Making Sure: 12 Days of Smut #3 - Sex Pollen

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: Bucky is exposed to a sex pollen while the two of you are snowed in, stuck in a cabin in the Swiss Alps after finishing up a mission. Oh, and of course, you happen to be his ex-girlfriend.

Warnings: profanity, dubcon (sex pollen), possessive!Bucky, breeding kink, unprotected sex, mutual pining of sorts, some use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: My laptop decided it didn't want to turn on today, and then when it finally turned on it didn't want to run any apps so 12 Days of Smut almost became 11 Days of Smut. But anyway, let me know if you guys like this one! For once, it doesn't involve anyone hating anyone or an obscene amount of unbearable tension (which I severely miss).

            It’s not all that hard to work with your ex, not when you ended on decent terms. Well, as decent as they could have been. When Bucky broke up with you three months ago, it wasn’t completely out of the blue. You hadn’t been having any problems, you never had any fights, but you knew he was never as into the relationship as you were. He had said from the very beginning that he didn’t think he ever wanted a lifelong commitment. The majority of his life had been spent without having true freedom to make his own decisions. It’s safe to say the man only had about six years of making decisions for himself, between turning eighteen and joining the army. Then the army had a say in everything he did until he was taken by HYDRA. HYDRA controlled him for so long, and honestly, they still have some form of control over him if you consider his nightmares and insomnia issues. So, when things started to feel a little too serious between you two, when Bucky started to realize that he actually loved you, that’s when he called it off.

            You’d both agreed to keep the relationship between yourselves, remaining professional at work and around the others. Even Sam had never figured it out. Bucky was so good at keeping it hidden, staying completely stoic unless he was positive you were both alone. When things ended between you two, he became stoic all the time. There have been a few times where you’ve felt a bit angry with how easily he can just shut himself off and pretend like you never had anything between you. You think you might’ve been in love with him. How can you be stoic around him when you loved him? You can’t be. So, instead of being stoic, you’re just a little more quiet than usual. You get your job done, you speak to him as professionally as you can, and then you get away from him.

            Unfortunately though, there’s no getting away from him tonight. Technically, your mission is already over. You broke into HYDRA’s only remaining functional lab, you stole at least one sample of each of the various compounds that they were working on, and then you got the hell out of there. You made it all the way back to the safehouse, a small rustic cabin a little ways up in the Swiss Alps. It had been snowing for the last twenty-four hours that you’d been here, but the winter weather came to a head to today on your drive back from the break-in. By the time you got all of the samples safely inside the cabin, there was no way either of you could make the drive back down the mountain to reach the quinjet. You’re stuck here for the night.

            “I want them kept at a pretty low temperature overnight, well below thirty degrees.” Bruce has been watching you over a video call as you’ve been cataloging the samples and packing them safely into a padded case. “It’d probably be best to leave them all in the trunk of the car, since it’s so cold out there.” Bucky’s sitting in the living area while you’re working at the kitchen table, but he’s still listening in. He’s listened for the last half hour as you labeled the samples and hummed a little Christmas tune to yourself. Truthfully, he almost forgot that Christmas is in a few days until he heard you humming that song that you love so much. What was it? He can never remember the name, but he recognizes it from last Christmas. You sang it often and he was lucky enough to still be yours then, to still get the privilege of listening to you flit around the tower so festively, infecting everyone around with your cheerful spirit.

            “They all fit in the case except for one, but it should be fine. I’ll just stick it in the trunk next to the case and slip it into my bag tomorrow before we drive out.” You say, holding up the thin glass flask containing a very watery, clear liquid. It looks the least terrifying, out of all of the chemicals you retrieved from the lab today.

            “Good work today, we’ll see you guys back here tomorrow, if the weather permits.” Bruce gives a little wave before ending the video call. Just as you’re closing the heavy black case of samples, Bucky rises from his seat on the couch and joins you in the kitchen.

            “I’ll take them out.” He offers, staying a few feet away from you but at least making eye contact with you. He doesn’t seem to look at you very often since you broke up, but you can’t complain about it. It makes it a little easier to get over him when you’re not drowning in his blue eyes. You give him a curt nod before sliding the case across the table and then setting the sealed flask of clear liquid on top of it.

            “Try not to jostle them around too much, carry it with two hands.”

            “Got it, two hands.” Bucky repeats. You watch as he lifts the case, leaving the glass flask resting on the lid. You think about carrying the lone chemical out there in your own hands, worrying that Bucky might tip the case a little too far and let the flask fall to the ground outside, but you brush off the worry. He’s never been clumsy, and he sure as hell hasn’t ever been careless. It’ll be fine. It’s just a short walk from the front door to the back of the car.

            In retrospect, you should’ve listened to your instincts.

            When Bucky rushes in the front door only a minute after he’s stepped outside with the chemicals, a sickening feeling settles deep in your stomach. You quickly turn to the source of commotion as he slams the door shut behind him and starts nearly jogging across the cabin, heading straight for the bathroom at the end of the hall.

            “Bucky? What happened?” You call out, your feet carrying you down the hall after him. Bucky strips off his coat, dropping it on the floor in the hall before throwing the bathroom door open and ripping off his shirt. He doesn’t even close the bathroom door. You step over his coat and come to a stop in the doorway as he leans down and turns on the shower.

            “Stay back.” He warns, giving you a sideways glance that makes your stomach flip. “I slipped on a patch of ice and the little glass thing on top of the case fell and shattered. Whatever was in it evaporated quick, but I inhaled a lot of it. I don’t know if I got any on me.”

            Shit. This is not good. Bucky starts unbuckling his belt, but stops himself after he gets it undone, finally turning and looking you straight in the eye. Right. You’re not together anymore.

            “Only rinse, don’t use soap. We don’t know what the chemical was or what might interact with it.” You say, forcing your voice to sound calmer than you feel. Bucky nods, and then shuts the door between the two of you. Shit. You knew you should’ve carried that damn flask yourself.

---

            Half an hour later, after Bucky’s finished showering and is resting on the couch per yours and Bruce’s orders, he begins to feel something. He wanted to go to bed, just sleep it off and see how he felt in the morning, but you and Bruce insisted that he stay in the living room and awake so you could monitor him for any weird signs or symptoms. You miss the first few symptoms that Bucky begins to feel. First, his heart rate began picking up. It was so miniscule at first that even he didn’t notice it, but it increased more and more until he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, even in the chilly little cabin with a near-blizzard raging outside, Bucky began to feel hot. Hot to the point of wanting to take off everything he was wearing and go lay in the snow. Now he sits on the couch, breathing a little quicker than he was earlier, with beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. It’s his increased respiratory rate that you notice first. Then, as you begin looking him over from your far away seat at the kitchen table, you see the way his cheeks are flushed and the way his dark gray t-shirt is beginning to stick to the sweat coming off of his back. Shit. Whatever it was that he was exposed to, it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

            You’re just about to ask Bucky what he’s feeling when he abruptly stands from the couch and looks right at you, his gaze wild and pupils blown.

            “Bucky—” You start, but he cuts you off in an instant.

            “I don’t know what was in that flask, but I’ll be fine. I’m not going to sit out here all night.” Bucky’s trying to play it off. He has no fucking idea if he’ll actually be fine, but the newest physiological response his body is having to the chemical isn’t one he wants you to become aware of. He’s aroused. His cock is harder than it’s ever been, and he’d rather sleep outside on the icy road and get run over by Santa’s fucking sleigh then stay this close to you. He worries he won’t be able to control himself if he has to look at you one more time tonight, if he even hears another breath leave your lips, he’ll be done for.  

            “Bucky, tell me what you’re feeling.” You say softly, pushing your chair away from the table and standing, but not daring to move any closer to where he stands in the living room. He scrunches his eyes closed and presses his vibranium hand to the back of his neck in an attempt to cool the skin there.

            “Y/n, I’m going to bed.” He sounds so frustrated. It’s a tone of voice you actually recognize. This is how he used to sound when you’d tease him at the worst times, when you were somewhere that restricted him from being able to touch you, to fuck you.

            “Is it what I think it is?” You ask, your voice impossibly quieter than before. Bucky’s eyes snap open now and he studies you. Looking at you makes his dick throb and his balls feel so fucking full and heavy. He closes his eyes again as quickly as he opened them and then, you’re sure. It was a fucking sex pollen.

            You don’t dare make a move to stop Bucky when he hurries down the hall and locks himself in his bedroom. You stand frozen in the kitchen for the next two minutes, trying to figure out what the hell you should be doing in a situation like this. You end up doing what you do best: researching. You sit yourself right back down at the table and open your laptop, quickly accessing the online archive of SHIELD research files. You type in every word you can possibly think of to find what you need. Luckily, the first article that pops up is exactly what you needed.

            You skim through it at lightning speed, your eyes picking up on the important details. Heightened senses, increases sexual drive ten-fold, may result in permanent disability or death if state of intense arousal is not rectified. Shit, this is bad. You’re wondering how the hell one is supposed to rectify the intense arousal when your eyes land on the most key piece of information in the entire article. Human trials have revealed that allowed the specimen to engage in sexual intercourse is the only successful way to return to a normotensive physiological state.

            You have to fuck. You have to convince him to have sex with you. You have to convince the man who broke up with you three months ago to have sex with you. You’ve suddenly decided that you fucking hate your job.

            However, you’re not going to sit around while Bucky becomes permanently disabled or lets himself die of exposure to a damn HYDRA sex pollen. So, you slam your laptop shut and march right down the hall. You tap your knuckles against his bedroom door three times, until you hear the bed creak slightly, so you at least know he’s alive. He doesn’t make a single move to answer the door. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard that it’ll probably never spring back into shape. His sense of hearing is heightened so much that he can hear every breath you take. He thinks he can even hear the sound of your eyelashes fluttering as you blink.

            “Bucky, I did some research.” God, just the sound of your voice might be enough to make him cum in his sweats. Bucky bites his bottom lip and looks down at where his erection is fighting to escape the confines of his sweats. “If this is a sex pollen, which I think we both know it is, it can kill you. The only way to fix this is to…” Your voice trails off, but you don’t have to finish your sentence for Bucky to know what the solution is here. But he won’t ask that of you. He refuses to ask you to sleep with him. He knows he broke your heart three months ago, and he’d be the world’s biggest asshole if he used you for relief now. So, he stays silent. “We could…”

            You can’t seem to finish any of your sentences. Why is it so hard for you to say we could fuck. Oh, right. Because you’ve missed the way he fucks for months. Because you know that if he wasn’t under the influence of this chemical right now, he sure as hell wouldn’t be turned on around you. You’d happily have sex with him right now, but he’d only be doing it because he has to do it to survive.

            “I know I’m probably the last person that you’d want to be offering this, but I’m offering. I don’t want you to sit in there and die.” You say softly, your voice cracking a little bit on the final word. The last person he’d want to be offering this? Fuck, you have no idea how he really feels, do you? Bucky screws his eyes shut and fights back the urge to throw the door open and tell you how much he fucking loves you, how much he’s missed you. It’s why he broke up with you in the first place. What if something happened one day that turned him right back into the Winter Soldier? What if he ended up on ice again and by the time he came out of cryo, you were dead and gone? He had to break up with you, because he felt like his future was always too unclear to promise it to someone.

            “I’m here, Bucky, if you need me.” You whisper, with your forehead pressed against the cool wood of the door. He can tell that you’re hurting for him. It’s why, against his rational mind, he finds himself crossing the room and tugging the door open. When he sees you standing there in the light of the hallway, he can hear that little Christmas tune that you love so much playing in his head. Fuck it.

            You’ve barely had a second to realize that Bucky’s just opened the door for you before you feel his hand fist in your hair and he yanks you forward against his chest. His mouth captures yours in a heated kiss. Bucky sucks your bottom lip between his and wastes no time in using his hold on your hair to tilt your head to the side and slide his tongue into your mouth. You act on muscle memory, kissing him the same way you used to every single day. You let his tongue dance around your mouth, but when he begins to pull back you suck on it lightly, earning a groan from him. He tastes just like you remember, and suddenly you want him so badly that for all you know you could have some sex pollen coursing through your veins.

            “The last person I’d want to be offering this?” Bucky rasps against your lips, briefly looking into your eyes as he repeats your words in question. “You’re the only person I’d want to be offering this.” He pulls on your hair again, tilting your head further to the side and sucking on the skin right below your ear. Your eyes close as you try to calm your racing heart, reminding yourself that as perfect as this might feel right now, it won’t last.

            It takes mere seconds for Bucky to pull you into his room and practically throw you onto his bed. When he crawls over you a second later, it’s like he’s suddenly realized you both still have your clothes on. He stands back up beside the bed and strips quickly, exposing every bit of his fucking heavenly body to you. You don’t even try to choke back the whimper that leaves your lips. Bucky freezes when he hears it. He’s heard it before. He’s heard it in his dreams, ever since you broke up. It’s sort of funny. He never had dreams before, only nightmares. Until he broke up with you, and then he started having dreams about you every night. They’ve replaced nearly every nightmare. Instead of HYDRA being the reason he’s up at night, it’s all you.

            You start shimmying out of your pants right there on the bed as you look at Bucky, too impatient to stand up and take everything off like he did. He strokes his cock slowly in one hand, but every time his palm glides over the tip he makes a face like he’s in pain. You know from your brief research that touching himself won’t give him an ounce of relief, it’ll only make things worse. So, once you have your pants off, you reach up and grab his wrist, stopping his stroking, and pulling him closer to the bed. He gets the hint and positions himself on top of you again, spreading your legs apart with his knee before settling between them.

            “I’ve missed you.” Bucky coos against the side of your neck, right as you feel the head of his cock brushing against your clit through your already soaked panties. He didn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t want to make the break up any harder for you, but fuck. He’s missed having you under him like this, though in the past you never kept your panties and shirt on when you were under him.

            “I’ve been right here.” You respond quietly, letting your hands coast down his sides until you feel the way his back muscles are rigid underneath your palms. He’s restraining himself. “Bucky, you don’t have to hold back.” He sighs deeply and grinds his cock against you, hard. It draws a moan from your lips that’s so needy, Bucky can’t wait any longer. He knows he’s only waited a minute at this point, but he just can’t anymore. He reaches down between the two of you and snags a finger in your panties, deftly pulling them to the side and guiding his cock straight into you without warning. The cry that escapes you isn’t one of pain or surprise, it’s one of pure lust. It might’ve been three months since the last time you had sex, but your body accepts his cock like it never left. There’s no pain, there’s only pleasure as he starts fucking into you slowly. He builds the pace up in mere seconds, speeding up more and more until he’s fucking you so hard and fast that the headboard is snapping against the wall and scratching the paint.

            “God, you’re still so fucking tight for me.” He groans, burying himself balls deep inside you. He stays still for a moment, letting your pussy grip his cock like a vice.

            “It’s still yours.” You whisper the words against his jawline. When his eyes snap open and stare straight into yours, you know you probably shouldn’t have said it. His pupils are already overly dilated, but they expand a little more as possessiveness flares in his chest. He always loved when you let him know who your pussy belonged to. He fucking loved it.

            Wait. The realization hits you both at the same time. He isn’t wearing a condom. As he looks into your eyes, his face falls and your eyes widen. He never once fucked you without a condom on. It was part of his whole no-long-term-commitment thing. He didn’t want to risk an unintentional pregnancy, so he never let himself fuck you raw. When he starts to pull out, you’re quick to wrap your legs around him and lock him in place.

            “Don’t.” You plead. You want this. You’ve always wanted this. Bucky bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes, trying to find a single rational thought in his mind. He knows he shouldn’t do this, he knows he should pull out and find a fucking condom. But will he?

             The answer is no. He uses what little space you give him between your legs to start thrusting into you again, slower this time, but still every bit as deep as before.

            “If you don’t let me pull out…” He starts, but you pull his face down to yours and silence him with a kiss. After a few seconds, he picks up his pace and begins fucking you relentlessly once again, further ruining the paintjob on the bedroom wall behind the headboard.

            “I always wanted you to fuck me like this.” You sigh against his lips. You feel Bucky’s entire body tense up as he nears his release, your words egging him on.

            “Oh, baby, I always wanted to fuck you like this.” He admits, snapping his hips into yours and getting you that much closer to the edge. As your orgasm threatens to tear through you, something weighs heavy on Bucky’s mind. He wants to cum inside you. He loves you but he’s always told himself he can’t have you, because his future is so unclear, he can’t make promises to you and possibly break them. But…he’s a good guy. If he were to knock you up, he’d do the right thing. The traditional thing. He’d marry you and take such good care of you, of the little family you’d have together. Maybe that’s what he should do. He thinks that maybe if he gets you pregnant right now, it would force him to give you his future, no matter how much it scares him. He’d be so much more concerned with doing the right thing in the present, rather than worrying about what might happen in the future. “Let me cum inside you.”

            “You can, Bucky. You can cum inside me.” You moan out, locking your ankles together behind him and pulling him harder against you. He groans and presses another kiss to your lips, but a gentler one this time.

            “You’ll have a baby for me.” He doesn’t even phrase it as a question, no, he’s telling you what you’ll do. “You’ll let me get you pregnant, and then you’ll be mine.”

            “Fuck…” The curse falls from your lips as bliss surges through you. You can’t even find the words to say what you want to say, which is fuck yes. So, you lay there submissively, with your legs wrapped around him as he fucks every drop of cum that he has into you. Then, you catch your breath while he pulls his cock out of you and slides your panties back over your sore cunt. You even let him pile the pillows beneath your hips and legs, elevating your pelvis to make sure his cum won’t drip back out of you.

            Fuck. He really wants to make sure you’re pregnant after this.

TAG LIST (if your user has a line through it, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you):

@gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @crist1216  @twlkdead

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #12 days of smut

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Vox proposed a deal of sorts. Your soul in exchange for keeping you safe. At the time, you didn't feel like you had any choice other than to accept. So, you did. You pawned your freedom over to the man who hated your husband most in this world. What could go wrong?

☒ Warnings: gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, angst! established relationship between reader and alastor, lots of cursing and hard feelings, not a happy ending, vox has a strong attatchment to the reader, one kiss (between alastor and reader), lots of tears

☒ Word Count: 2,158

☒ Part Two Part Three

Ever since the day Alastor disappeared, life has been a living nightmare. Your lover left without a word. Which placed a gigantic target on your back as his spouse. You hoped that Alastor had a solid reason to go without telling you. But more than anything, you wished that wherever he was, he was safe. 

It would be a miracle if trouble didn't find you. But there were no such things as miracles down in hell. 

It didn't take long for Vox to find you. The surveillance cameras spread around the outskirts of hell were undoubtedly against you. You couldn't say you were surprised when being shoved into a van. Leading you directly to Vox Tec Headquarters. 

Vox proposed a deal of sorts. Your soul in exchange for keeping you safe. At the time, you didn't feel like you had any choice other than to accept. So, you did. You pawned your freedom over to the man who hated your husband most in this world. What could go wrong?

Well, your new living situation was difficult to adjust to. The other Vee's were cutthroat and heartless. Trying your hardest to get along with them proved to be useless. They didn't care to know you in the slightest. Not Velvette nor Valentino. However, Vox was an entirely different story. 

The man was uncharacteristically kind to you. Vox set you up with a private room specifically tailored for you. How he knew your favorite soaps and scents was beyond you. You figured it was best if you didn't know how exactly Vox came to know you like the back of his palm.

Vox always held a chipper tone with you. Going as far as disagreeing with the others to defend you when they spoke ill of you. You hardly understood why. What was his motive? A stranger's guess was as good as yours. 

As the years flew by, his kindness only grew. Vox made sure to check up on you at least once a day. He took pride in remembering the little details about you. Going so far as to bring you gifts after his outings, 'Just because.'

As much as you hated to admit it, you began to let your guard down with Vox. You started to accept his kind gestures with a smile on your face. Agreeing to hang out in his office while he worked. It became almost comforting to be in his presence. 

You hated yourself for it. You knew it was wrong. Alastor was your lover. But he also left you without a word, which caused a hint of resentment to grow within your heart. How could he drop you after everything? For a while, you hoped it was for a good reason. But seven years came and went, and not a single word from Alastor.

That was until you overheard a spat between Vox and Val. It was hard not to hear Vox's voice booming through the building. Your heart sunk into your stomach when you heard that your long-lost lover, Alastor, had been lodging up with the Princess of Hell for months now. 

He's been back for months. Months, and he hasn't had any concern to look for you. It stung worse than any other pain you've ever felt in life and death. How dare he discard you like a piece of trash? The resentment only flourished further in your bleeding heart. 

The moment Vox stormed out of Val's room after hearing the bad news, he was met with your teary-eyed countenance. His harsh glare softened the moment he saw your distressed state. In an instant, Vox surrounded your senses. His large palms rubbed your back in a comforting nature as he cooed at you. Vox whispered soft apologies into your hair as he allowed you to sob into his chest.

Your tears of sorrow quickly turned into tears of vexation. You begged Vox to get a car ready for you. You had to go to the Hazbin Hotel immediately. You just had to. It took lots of pleading to get Vox to agree. Your reminder of being on his leash eased his mind somewhat. Alastor may have owned your heart, but that was meaningless now that Vox proclaimed your soul.

The deal was no Vox Tech allowed on your person when you confronted Alastor. Vox grumbled in irritation from your stipulation, but he ultimately caved. It's not like you could flee from him even if you tried. 

Your hands shook as your knuckles came up to bang on the hotel door. Within a matter of seconds, the door flung open. You were greeted by the Princess of Hell herself. She had seemingly mistaken you for a demon who wished to be redeemed. Your frustration grew as she pulled you into the foyer, babbling nonsense. 

That's when a familiar voice rang through the open space. "Holy fuckin' shit. There's no way it's really you." Husk exclaimed before taking another swig of his cheap liquor. You immediately stormed toward the bar, ignoring the pretty fellow sitting on one of the stools. "Husk, where is he." Your voice was low and laced with malice. 

Charlie was so confused as she asked how you two knew each other. As was the spider demon that asked you who you were talking about. That's when you heard it. The familiar radio static crackle, calling your name. Something in your heart ached at the sound of Alastor calling out to you. It once brought you so much joy, but all that was left now was bitterness. 

"Uhh... how the fuck do they know, mister fancy talk creepy voice?" The effeminate fellow whispered over to Husk, who just shrugged him off. Not wanting to get involved in the slightest. You stormed over to Alastor, who stood at the base of the hotel steps. Before your mind could catch up, your body was quick to act. 

Your hand came up to strike across Alastor's face. But to no one's surprise, he caught your wrist before your palm collided with his cheek. "Careful now, my dear! That's no way to greet your husband after all this time!" An audible gasp filled the room. You heard the little whispers from behind you. But all you could focus on was the rage that bubbled up inside you. 

"You fucking asshole! How could you disappear without a word?" Your other hand balled into a fist before slamming against his sturdy chest. A small grunt escaped your husband from the harsh contact, but his crimson gaze never left yours. He slowly released your wrist, allowing you to beat your frustrations out on his chest until the adrenaline wore off. Quickly, that anger morphed into complete and utter sadness. 

Your balled-up fists shook as your body slumped forward. Your head sunk down, forehead colliding with Alastor's shoulder. "I waited for you, I..." A sharp sob wracked through your body. Your vision blurred as the tears spilled freely. Everything else melted away in that moment for you. The years of loneliness, anguish, and bitterness all came crashing over you at once. 

"Why don't we take this conversation elsewhere, my dear." Before you knew it, Alastor's shadows enveloped you. The scenery changed right before your eyes. Now, you were greeted by a large hotel room. Half of the space was overtaken by a beautiful woodland. The sound of the crickets chirping flooded your head. 

"I deserve an explanation, Al." You spoke through gritted teeth. Hastily wiping your tears. Alastor let out a deep sigh as he turned to face you. His signature smile wavered slightly as his eyes averted from yours. "It's rather complicated, my darling." He muttered, approaching you cautiously. 

Your eyebrows knit in frustration as you scoffed. "Really? That's your sorry excuse? You left me for dead. The least you could do was send a fucking postcard." You chuckled bitterly, crossing your arms. Alastor stepped closer, large palms grasping your shoulders. "I did not have a choice! Do you truly believe I haven't thought of you every second of every day since we last saw one another?" 

Alastor's voice was rigid as he met you at eye level. His look was pleading as he continued on. "I'm bound by my constraints. Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't! I still can't!" His radio static fizzled out toward the end of his sentence. The look of stress spread across his face sent a pang of pain in your heart. 

You couldn't help but soften. You knew Alastor was being genuine, and it killed you to know something terrible had happened to him. Your shaky hands rose to your husband's cheeks as tears brimmed at your lash line. "Oh, my love... I should have had more faith, but-" The blood in your veins ran cold as you cut yourself off. The recollection of selling your soul to Vox suddenly flashed through your mind.

Alastor knew something was wrong. He slowly brought his hands down to rub your sides soothingly. "But...? What's troubling you, my dear." You could hardly look at him. Shame coursed through your veins as a sob escaped you. Alastor's crimson orbs swirled with worry as he awaited your response with bated breath. 

"I did something terrible..." You confessed, sniffling before you continued. "I... I made a deal with Vox. My soul in exchange for protection." Alastor's lips twitched, nearly foiling his smile. His grasp on your waist tightened as he took in a deep breath. "This is all my doing. He only targeted you to get under my skin..." Alastor muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. 

More tears trickled down your regretful face. There was no getting out of this. You knew Vox would never let you go. At that very moment, you heard a call of your name. Coming from the window. You read the clock, dread flooding your chest as you realized your time was up. 

"I-I have to go. Vox put me on a curfew." You stuttered, slowly retracting your hands from your husband's face. You smoothed out your clothing and wiped away the last remaining tears. Trying to mentally prepare yourself for the ride back to Vox Tec Headquarters. 

"Please, I beg of you- don't go..." Alastor pleaded, clutching your hand with his. Your lips trembled as he continued on. "I just got you back. I don't plan on giving you up this easily." Your heart ached. You hated yourself for making a deal with Vox, for letting your guard down, for ever doubting Alastor. 

Your eyes fluttered open as Alastor's lips collided against yours. The kiss was desperate, pleading as your husband tried his hardest to convey just how much you meant to him through the embrace. He pulled back slowly, admiring your face from close up. "You're just as exceptional as the day I left you, my darling. Chin up, my dear. I'll get you out of this deal no matter what!" 

All you could do was nod in agreement as a call of your name repeated. A bit more pointed this time around. You slowly pulled away from your lover, giving him one last look. "I love you, Al," You whispered as your back faced him. Your confession was barely audible, but your husband heard it. Loud and clear. 

"I love you, my dear. More than anything."

You ignored the hotel patrons as you quickly took your leave. You emitted a shaky breath before opening the car door. Vox welcomed you with a smile as you sat beside him. The chauffeur wasted no time pulling away from the run-down place. You meekly peered out of the car, catching a glimpse of Alastor from the second-floor window. 

Your heart shattered into a million pieces from the rare sight of your husband frowning as he watched you descend down the bleary road with a man he had not a care in the world for. 

"Well? What did that nobody have to say for himself?" Vox chuckled, grasping your hand with his. Your head whipped in his direction. It took everything in you not to yank your hand from his grasp. You had to play it smart, or you would be sorry. 

"Excuses on top of excuses... this was a mistake. I never want to see that liar again." It pained you to utter those words. You just hoped your act would be believable enough. Vox captured your chin with his thumb and forefinger. A wide grin spread across his monitor. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart. I'll do everything in my power to make sure Alastor never crosses your path, for the rest of your afterlife." 

A cold sweat blanketed your skin from his words. Anxiety spiking in your veins. Vox pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you into a hug, soothing his large palm over your back. 

"That fucker needs to understand that you belong to me now."

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #vox x reader #vox x you #vox x reader x alastor #vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #vox imagine

[monzabee]

mr. big (social media au) - cs55

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, your boyfriend, Carlos.

Pairing: carlos sainz x romance writer!reader (model used: random people i found on pinterest)

Warnings: none other than some cursing? carlos being an old money dream as always

Request: "For a smau, would love to see romance writer!reader with Carlos (he is just Disney prince vibes) where fans aren’t quite sure how they got together but the influence him on her work is greatly appreciated" by my lovely @percervall

Author note: OKAY JUST REALISED I AM A CARRIE AND BIG APOLOGIST, WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT (i might be freaking out about them, but i will always be a charlotte girl)!!! (might honestly turn it into a series because who doesn't love a satc x old money crossover???)

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, readersdigest and 438,927 others.

yourusername: busy, busy, busy bee.

user: thank you mother for feeding us with another hot billionaire novel

yourusername: you are more than welcome

user: how is she not only one of the best romance authors, but also a fashion icon??

user: can't wait to read what carlos inspired this time!!

carlossainz55: you are not wearing you glasses again, cariño

yourusername: why don't you come put them on yourself??

user: oh, they are so cute it's sickening

user: GIVE US THE MANUSCRIPT AND END OUR SUFFERING

view all 2,387 comments.

user: how did they get together again??

user: i think he ran into her at one of her book signings in madrid?

user: i thought it was when she went to the paddock for some good old r&d?

user: i heard somewhere that a friend set them up

yourusername posted a new story!

carlossainz55 posted a story!

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, goodreads and 682,928 others.

yourusername: life lately & "between love and loathing" out june 23rd.

user: we love the romantic getaway, and a new book!!

user: we're being fed in more ways than one, and i am not complaining at all!!

user: oh shit, we're about to read the best romance novel of all time

view all 13,726 comments.

carlossainz55: i'm so proud of you, you have no idea

yourusername: way to make me cry

yourusername: i love you though

carlossainz55: te quiero más

user: I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ARE THE OLD MONEY COUPLE WE NEEDED ALL ALONG AND WE DON'T KNOW HOW THEY STARTED DATING

user: it will remain forever a mystery

user: but at least we have content to keep us going through these hard times

carlossainz55

Liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 977,520 others.

carlossainz55: one of us made the pancakes, and one of us stood there looking pretty.

yourusername: hey, it was your turn to make breakfast

carlossainz55: and i loved every second of it

yourusername: even doing the dishes?

carlossainz55: especially doing the dishes

user: this is by far the most romance book thing this man has done

user: i still don't understand how they started dating, but good for them i guess

view all 35,726 comments.

landonorris: hey, i didn't get any pancakes, did you? @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: didn't even know we were having pancakes, where are our pancakes @carlossainz55

landonorris: and cooking in a towel?? how is that sanitary??

charles_leclerc: he's breaking at least a dozen health codes

carlossainz55: i hate you both

yourusername: you are all a pr nightmare

scuderiaferrari: i agree

user: damn he got lucky

yourusername

Liked by f1wagss, carlossainz55, sarahjessicaparker and 736,928 others.

yourusername: and there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, carlos sainz.

user: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

user: what kind of an iconic cunt slay is this

user: and just like that... they became the coolest couple on the internet

user: NEW NOVEL IDEA, SEX AND THE CITY RETELL WITH CARLOS

user: girl wtf

yourusername: no let her cook

yourusername: you might be onto something here

user: don't know if i want to be her or be carlos

view all 44,736 comments.

user: everybody say thank you mom for blessing us

carlossainz55: amor

yourusername: amor x2

user: oh she's working overtime god bless you

#monzabee #formula 1 x reader #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #formula one x reader #carlos sainz social media au

[mockerycrow]

UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

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