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#i feel like he could run a cult

katakaluptastrophy · 2 months

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I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #Is Ianthe's “going to see a man about a queen” seeing to the political situation back home in Ida?#Which must have been devastated by her ascension and Corona's apparent death?

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emo-batboy · 8 months

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Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a “perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

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omgeto · 7 months

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☆ GHOSTING — GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: after being made aware of your long term ex boyfriends plans to 'fix' the world, you knew that you had to try and stop him. but seeing him for the first time in a decade; all the love, the hate, the heartbreak comes right back to you both and you realise you care about him a lot more than you thought.

wc: 4.7k (of pure goodness....)

cw: afab!reader, mdni, angst to fluff (kinda) cult leader ex boyfriend!geto, kinda sorta canon (its the day that geto yk...) he eats you out like its his last meal, half hate fucking, full making love, and a whole lot of geto being culty and cunty. this one has a plot people!!

authors note: guys yk I love a good exes to lovers fic so the argument in this one hits different and the whole idea of you and suguru breaking up just before he runs off to run his cult really gets to me, so I hope you enjoy this one.

geto suguru hasn’t seen you in years, in almost a decade, and is still reeling harshly from how you left him when he needed you. but somehow he finds himself rushing to meet you when he gets the four word text from your number—which is still saved in his phone under ‘my girl’— saying, ‘we need to talk.’

he knows exactly what you want to speak about, he could easily put together why today of all days you’d want to see —after vanishing him for just over a decade. he figured gojo probably gave word to you, as from when you’ve been young and growing up together, you’ve all known that if gojo couldn’t get through to him, you could.

he opens the door to your apartment, knowing that you wouldn’t have locked it—you always had a habit of leaving it open for him. and there you are, standing in the dimly lit room, waiting for his arrival. the years have etched subtle changes onto your face and in your demeanour, but the essence of who you are remains unchanged. time may have separated you, but in this moment, it feels as though it has never passed.

“you can't do this,” is the first thing you say, your voice steady despite the unexpected surge of emotions upon seeing him again. you didn't think seeing him after all this time would affect you, but it did. his hair is longer, his frame more imposing, but that unmistakable smirk remains, a haunting reminder of the man you once knew.

“wow right to the chase,” he chuckles bitterly, his presence taking up the room as he enters the room further, “i forgot you never really had a thing for beating around the bush.”

you meet his bitter chuckle with a steady gaze, your resolve unwavering. the years of separation have done nothing to diminish the intensity of your connection, the push and pull between you two.

"it's not the time for games, suguru," you reply, your tone serious. "you know why i called you here."

he sighs, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. the weight of his plans, the burden he carries, is evident in the lines etched on his face. "i figured you'd call sooner or later."

the room seems to shrink as the gravity of the situation hangs between you. the man you once knew, the one who could make your heart race with a smile, now stands before you, shrouded in darkness.

"i won't let you go through with this," you say firmly, your eyes never leaving his. "there's another way, suguru. there has to be."

for a moment, his façade cracks, and you catch a glimpse of the person he used to be, the one who believed in a better world. but then the hardness returns to his eyes, and he steps closer, his presence overwhelming.

"you always were too idealistic," he mutters, almost to himself. "but i can't turn back now. the world needs this change."

"what happened to you?" you snap out, your words laced with a bitter edge that hangs heavily in the air. it's a question that carries the weight of your years of frustration, anger, and confusion. but you knew what happened to him; everyone knew.

his reaction is immediate, and the room seems to tremble with his anger. his gaze narrows, and the atmosphere becomes charged with tension. "you don't get to ask that," he spits out, his voice dripping with bitterness. "you left, remember? you abandoned me when i needed you the most."

“it wasn’t like that,” you argue, leaning forward, your body tense. “by the time i left you were already gone, being physically present in a relationship doesn’t mean anything if your mind is fucking checked out all the time. at that point i was just dating a shell of you.”

“is that how you justify it?" he retorts, his anger unabated. "you think leaving was the solution?”

you clench your fists, your own anger rising to meet his. "i did what i had to do to protect myself, suguru. you were spiralling, consumed by your own darkness. I couldn't save you"

his eyes blaze with a mixture of fury and hurt. "you think i needed saving?

“you still need saving,” you scoff gesturing to him standing right in front of you, “just because you couldn’t save—”

“don’t even go there,” he interrupts, his hand raising to stop you. he knew you were talking about riko, “i’ve made peace with that.”

“oh have you?” you accuse, “since it seems to me, you’ve been on a killing spree, ever since.”

“other people died y’know,” he hisses out, “remember haibara? he was your fucking friend, but you weren’t even there.”

“this isn’t about me,” you say disregarding his comment, regret seeping through you, “you think i haven’t kept tabs on you since i’ve been away. who have you become?”

he glares at you, his anger evident. "i've become what the world needs," he snaps, his voice heavy. "someone willing to do what it takes to change things."

"and is killing a village full of people the way to do that?" you challenge, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. "killing your..." You pause, overwhelmed by the thoughts and images of what he's done. "was killing your parents worth it?"

his expression hardens, and for a moment, you see a glimmer of regret in his eyes, but it's quickly masked by his resolve. "i had to make sacrifices," he says coldly. "it's a small price to pay for a greater cause."

“you can’t truly think that,” you say, taking a step closer to him, your fists still clenched at your sides. “how did it feel killing them then? to take away the lives of your own parents who were innocent?” you probe, you knew that there was some part of him that must feel bad.”

“you’re about… ten years too late to be trying to have this conversation with me,” he shrugs, the turmoil that geto felt when he first set out on his mission has ceased. the guilt he felt for killing his parents, even the grief he had for something that he caused, wasn’t a factor for him anymore.

your frustration boils over as you press him further. "so, you've become heartless, then?" you challenge. the room seems to tighten around you as you await his response. "a cold-blooded killer who's convinced himself that the ends justify the means?"

geto's gaze narrows, his patience dwindling. "it's not about being heartless. it's about doing what's necessary to achieve our goals."

"your goals," you emphasise, "not mine. and not the goals of the innocent people you've hurt along the way."

he sighs, exasperation creeping into his voice. "you always had a way of making everything so complicated, questioning every choice. you left because you couldn't handle the real world."

you shake your head, unwilling to accept his justifications. "no, i left because i couldn't stand by and watch you become a monster."

“so i’m just a monster, yeah?” he retorts, stepping towards you, his anger evident across his face, you could see your words triggered him, and as he gets closer you could feel your facade faltering.

your heart races as he approaches, and you raise a hand instinctively, palm out, to signal him to stop. "don't come any closer," you warn, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. there was no rational reason to be scared of him, you’ve known him for years, and despite everything that he’s done —what he’s become— there was still a part of you that believed that he wouldn’t hurt you.

but geto ignores your plea, his determination unwavering. he grabs your hand firmly, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of the moment. his dark eyes bore into yours, and he speaks in a low, taunting tone, "why? are you scared that with me being this close, you're going to realise that you loved a monster? that you're still in love with him?"

you grit your teeth, refusing to let him get under your skin. "suguru, you don't get to manipulate me with your twisted version of love," you retort, your voice laced with defiance. "i won't let you use my feelings against me.

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you're torn between the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. the memories of the love you once shared, the pain of his transformation into something unrecognisable, and the lingering attraction between you all crash together in this charged moment.

you try to pull your hand away, to regain control of the situation, but geto's grip tightens, preventing your escape. his face inches closer to yours, and despite your better judgement, your breath hitches. “manipulation, huh?” geto muses, his mouth so close to yours that you feel his breath faintly brush across your lips. you look up at him through your lowered eyelashes, and in that fleeting pause, so small that it’s almost imperceptible, you find yourself considering the gravity of your actions, if only for a moment.

the feeling of doubt is short lived, as you press your lips against geto’s, his mouth immediately moulding into yours. the kiss is searing, as you push your bodies against each other, he releases your hand from his grip, his hands move to cradle your head, holding it in place as he deepens the kiss, bruising your lips with his.

everything about geto is familiar, the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he consumes you. his tongue explores yours, wrestling for control as your arms scratch at him trying to tug off his robe. you wanted him to feel you, all of you—your touch, your lips, your hurt, your anger, the love that you still have that you thought was small. but after seeing him, kissing him, you realise is still an overwhelmingly large part of you.

you pull apart to catch your breath, staring hard at each other, but there’s barely a moment wasted before your back on eachother. kissing each other feverishly, as you rip off each other's clothes, he pushes you hard, your back slamming against the nearest piece of furniture as his mouth latches onto your neck. his kisses cascade down your body, stopping at your breasts as he unhooks your bra, tossing it aside.

“i missed these,” he murmurs, as his lips descend onto your tits, his face nuzzling at your chest as he sucks and pulls at your nipples with his teeth. “and i missed this,” he continues to mumble, his hands cupping your clothed pussy, his finger lightly caressing your slit.

you arch forward into his touch, wanting to feel him more and chuckles saying, “even after all these years, you still respond to my touch just the same.” his fingers plunge into your panties, brushing against your clit and he smirks as your lips part a stifled moan escaping your lips—proving his point.

“s-shut up,” you hiss out, as you slowly start to gyrate against his fingers. although it was obvious from the way you were already soaking your underwear, you didn’t want to admit how good he is actually making you feel—you just couldn’t give him the satisfaction. geto raises his eyebrows at you in amusement, as he watches you bite your lip trying to contain your moans, as his fingers inch into your inviting pussy.

geto’s body moves down yours as he removes his lips from your tits, continues to press kisses down your stomach, as he drops down to his knees —his eyes level with your cunt. he presses a kiss to your covered pussy, before sliding off your panties. his mouth is just about to latch onto you but he pauses looking up at you, his gaze unwavering, “you want this right?” you nod slowly, your anticipation brewing as your eyes lock onto his, “use your words.”

you release an exasperated huff, but he remains steadfast, his raised eyebrow a silent declaration that he won't act until you tell him what he wants to hear. the room seems to pulse with tension, the growing desire between you mounting with each heartbeat.

your hands slide it’s way into his hair, pushing your fingers through his scalp, as you grin, you voice is low and sultry as you say, “i want it.” his mouth envelopes your pussy and you push his head into you deeper, forcing your nose into your arousal. he inhales you, taking in your scent as he presses his face in your cunt.

“such a pretty pussy,” he mutters lowly, you could feel the vibrations spread through your pussy. his tongue strokes down your slit, before pushing into you, he twists and slurps at you trying to suck out all of your juices.

geto nibbles at your clit, tugging at it with his teeth before bringing his fingers back to cunt. shoving two fingers in roughly. you pull his hair harshly, the feeling of his mouth sucking on your clit leaving your mind blank. “ah f-fuck,” you cry out, as geto’s strokes grow more intense.

“c’mon let me hear you more,” geto prompts, pulling away slightly from your pussy, his lips plump and coated from your wetness. he grabs one of your legs and hikes it over his shoulder, the angle allowing him to force his fingers into you further, curling them up in your pussy as he goes back to shoving his face in your sobbing cunt.

you grind your pussy in his face, working with him in getting you off. both of your movements were frantic, geto is eating your pussy with such eagerness, hungrily trying to drink all of your cum. “i’m close s-sugu i’m—” you choke out, feeling yourself slipping down the wall you pressed against, but geto holds you upright, his large hand keeping your thigh hooked over his shoulder and roughly pushing you up against the wall.

geto grins against your cunt, your moans and cries is a sound he didn’t realise how much he missed until he heard them now. you laboured breathing, stammered sentences told him that you were reading cum, but he just had to push you further. so he adds one more finger, sending it straight to your spot, twisting and pushing it in your pussy so hard that tears brim your eyes. he was so relentless, you always loved that about him, how he knows your body in and out, he knew exactly where to touch, and just how far he should push to have you becoming a mess for him.

you couldn’t take him anymore, so you cum, hard. your pussy releasing ropes and ropes of cum, all over geto’s fingers and his face, and he laps at it, munching all your cum with excitement. “i know you can give me more than that,” he muses, pressing his thumb down on your clit, rubbing at it aggressively as you cum. your eyes roll back, as he repeatedly flicks at your cum, and before you know it, you're squirting all over his face.

geto’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t stop playing with your pussy, until you bow your head in submission, worn out from all the cum you’ve released over him. your hands slide out of his hair, as you try and catch your breath and geto peppers your cunt and your thighs with kisses finally letting your thigh come off his shoulders. “damn your pussy’s still as sweet as ever.”

“stop with the talking,” you mumble, as you pull him up to his feet, your lips forcing their way back onto him. your hands frantically explore each other's bodies as you drag him to your bedroom, pushing him on your bed. “i can’t fucking stand you,” you mutter to yourself, your denial evident, as you straddle him, pulling his dick out of his boxers.

you pause briefly at the sight, his thick, long dick staring at you. you hear geto chuckle at your reaction, your eyes meet his with a challenging look exchanged between you, he raises his eyebrow at you, a silent dare on whether you’ll actually be able to get the control that you’re aiming to have.

you hover over his dick, your pussy still dripping, geto bites his lip in anticipation as you tease him, slowly edging yourself down onto him. your pussy greedily, takes in his dick as you force yourself down on him as immediately fills you, stretching out your cunt with one push. you start to ride him, hard and fast, rocking your body forward as you bounce up and down on him, your hand pressing down on his stomach to keep you steady.

geto sits up, stifling a moan as he feels your cunt clench around his dick with everyone of your movements. he tries to thrust up into you, but he just can’t match the relentless rhythm you had, “f-fuck,” he exhales, a moan escaping his mouth, and you smirk —you have him just where you wanted him.

“you alright there suguru?” you mock, the grin spread across your face unmissable as you grind yourself down against him, tightening your pussy around his pole as you slid up and down. the bite on his lip hardens as he pulls it further between his teeth to suppress another moan.

but geto doesn’t submit for long, his hand slaps you across your tits and his fingers pinch your nipples, twisting and tugging them, causing you to arch your back as you wail. “d’you r-really think you run shit here?” he groans, flicking at your nipples with every word, “you’ll never be in control, not with me,” he taunts.

“oh really?” you retort, as you still continue to move your ass, meeting his hips. you can feel him start to pick up his pace, trying to match yours, his hips slightly thrusting upwards, his dick pushing into you deeper.

“yeah,” he says confidently through gritted teeth, one of his hands pulling away from your nipples and onto your ass, harshly grabbing one of your cheeks to steady himself as he drills into you further, “because you’re still my girl.”

you still at his words, you knew he didn’t mean it but you couldn’t help but react to the name that he always used to refer to you as. geto could see your eyes become vacant, as you think back to the memories when you were truly his girl. you used to revel in that —the feeling of being his. he takes advantage of your pause, your rhythm halted as he takes over, now setting the pace as he charges his dick into you, stuffing you further.

“suguru f-fuck you’re so—” you sob out, as he breaks down your wall, his strokes hitting your spot perfectly. your body buckles, crumbling at the force that geto was using as he repeatedly thrusts into you, his hand pushing you in further so his dick can get an even better angle in you.

“i’m so what?” he retorts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to string an answer together from the way he is fucking you dumb. geto couldn’t deny that he is getting some joy out seeing you all drunk on his dick, reduced to nothing but moans and incoherent sentences, he liked being the one to break you down. “am i still a monster, someone you can’t stand being around?”

you sloppily nod your head, trying to keep some resolve, but your efforts are pointless since all the insults and accusations you were spouting earlier are now futile, you lost your care in getting him to do the right thing, all you want now is for him to stay like this — inside of you.

“s-shit i can’t take it a-anymore im gonna cu—” you force out, clenching yourself around little his dick hard as you feel your orgasm building up. but geto’s movements stop for a second as he pulls his dick out of you, flipping you over, your back landing hard on your bed. he leans over you, his focus fixed on you, but at this point, his eyes don’t hold the same heartache, and hurt that they did when he first stepped into your house. the geto that is looking at you now, is the one who’d always look at you everyday, ten years ago —with love and longing.

he strokes his dick down your aching pussy, teasing you with it, but just before he puts it in, his hand caresses your face cupping your chin as he says, “when i said you were still my girl, i meant it y’know?” and your lips part in surprise at his admission. “although it hurt me, when you left me, you just never stopped being my girl.”

“suguru i-i don’t know what to say,” you stammer, and you didn’t realise until he swipes under your eye, that you were crying. there was so much more to your relationship with geto than just some highschool romance, you loved another, and no one could tell you otherwise.

“tell me that you are,” he prompts, now pressing kisses to your tear stained face, his lips moving down to yours, “tell me that you are still my girl,” he finishes in between kisses. his hopeful eyes still remain on yours, and you could feel him slowly inching his dick into you.

you wrap your legs around his back, your arms hooking around his neck as you pull his head next to yours, your mouth near his ear as you whisper, “i am still yours.” he pushes his dick back into you, his strokes deep and slow. it was different from before, there was no competition or hate between you as you fucked, you didn’t have a point to prove other than the fact that you still loved each other.

geto’s moans are loud, he has nothing to hold back as he growls lowly in your ear. the way he holds you, and takes his time kisses you and fucking you as if he was accounting for this potentially being his last ever time doing so. “i’ll never get enough of this.”

“then don’t go,” you whine, and your words hold a deeper meaning that you both knew but won’t acknowledge knowing it is pointless to discuss any further. you pull him into you deeper, your thighs clenching around him as your hold tightens.

the feeling of you pulling him in, has him clenching his eyes as your pussy takes him in, his mouth takes yours in a powerful kiss, before he mumbles “you gonna let me cum in you, leave you with every last bit of me.” you don’t even respond, just deepening the kiss, your head shaking in agreement.

you both cum together, geto spraying your walls as he sinks his face into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into your exposed flesh as he continues to shoot ropes of cum inside of you. you claw at his back as you feel all of him enter you, your cum mixing with his as you cry out in full pleasure.

his forehead rests against yours, as the last bits of his cum enter you and neither of you say anything, all that can be heard is just heavy breaths coming from the both of you. you didn’t know what was to happen now, there was still so much left unsaid, unresolved and things have changed now that geto is literally stuffed inside of you.

geto is about to pull out of you finally, but you stop him muttering a faint, “stay,” and he does. he knows he had somewhere to be, things to do that are bigger than the both of you, but he just couldn’t leave when you ask him to stay. he manoeuvres your body so that you now lay atop him, comfortably cockwarming him as he thumb brushes gentle strokes down your arm.

“y’know i’ve got these two girls, who i think would love you,” he muses.

“what? did you manage to become a father whilst i was away?” you tease.

“something like that, yeah,” he mumbles, a small smile forming on his face as thoughts of nanako and mimiko flash through his mind — they’re a bittersweet reminder of the new life he’s built without you, one that you wouldn’t be able to fit in. it wasn’t that long ago that you’d have thoughts about geto fathering your own kids, dreams of somewhat of a domestic life that you’d now never get to have with him.

“well maybe i can meet them,” you say non-committedly.

“yeah maybe…” his voice falters, as you both know that it would never happen.

“do you enjoy it then?” you ask, “this ‘new’ life of yours.” you could tell just by the brief mention of nanako and mimiko and the way he carries himself that he does enjoy his life, but you were hoping that he’d still answer no.

geto hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he contemplates your question, “i…” he begins, his gaze returning to yours, “i won’t lie. it’s different, and there’s moments i find true solace in it, this has been my life for a long time now, so it’s just something i’ve really gotten used to.”

“and you’re happy to go back to it, after this?” your question is loaded, and you feel dumb for even asking but when you did call him over to get him to not go through with his plans, of course your motivations have slightly changed, but your goal is still the same.

“i don’t think you should ask me to make a choice, knowing that im not going to choose you,” he grits out, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but

“you’re not gonna win you know, satoru wouldn’t let it happen,” you couldn’t help yourself, the rejection he just gave you stung, and you wanted him to feel what you felt.

but geto doesn’t bite, he knows you’re hurting—that he’s the cause of it, so he lets you hurt, his hold tightening comfortably as you sulk in his arms. geto places a kiss on your temple, ignoring your comment as he concludes, “let’s just not, okay?”

geto stays with you until your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, and you don’t notice him slipping out of you. he cleans you up and tucks you into your bedsheets, giving you one final stare as if he’s trying to keep a mental image of how you look when he’s last seen you. his lips meet yours in a final, chaste kiss and he mutters a promise that he didn’t think you’d hear, but you do, stirring awake as his lips leave yours, “i’ll see you again… eventually.”

you wake up to an empty room, the warmth of geto's presence replaced by a stark emptiness. the realisation hits you like a wave of cold water – he's gone, leaving nothing behind but soiled sheets and a hollow ache in your chest. there's no note, no message, no trace of his ever being there, except for the lingering scent of him that clings to the air. you know that someone will eventually inform you of the outcome of the night, but deep down, you already suspect that his last promise to you will end up being broken.

AN: first like proper proper real juicy fic that ive written in a long time imo and its just like this took me so long since im soooo sensitive about my geto fics and im just like overly critical about my angsty and fluff and plot fics and my smut and JUST EVERYTHING but I managed to get it all done and I think some parts of this really hit hard. the ending is ofc bittersweet since if we go by canon, he goes and yuta beats his fuckinggg ass and he dies wtf but... the true ending is really up to your imagination. (not really) like dont even think about the ending just focus on the fact that they NEVER TELL EACHOTHER THAT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER BECAUSE UR SO IN LOVE THAT YOU ADMITTING THAT UR STILL 'HIS GIRL' IS ALL THE CONFIRMATION HE NEEDS. my finished an are sooo long why because I FUCKING CAN SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY, PLEASE LMK UR THOUGHTS AND SLAY ALL DAY also thank you @kazushawty and @biscuitsngravie for reading and supporting me 🥹🥹

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk angst #geto angst #jjk fic #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru #jujustsu kaisen x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen angst

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sttoru · 3 months

Note

I was listening to 7 rings earlier and saw that post and my head immediately went to older bf suguru or satoru 😋

why not both hehe

tags; older bf!satoru/suguru x female reader (seperately). age gap (reader early 20’s, them early 30’s). suggestive. cult leader suguru yum. reader is depicted as innocent. nicknames ‘princess, sweetheart’.

GOJO SATORU

“satoru, are you. . sure? i mean it’s a lot of money and stuff,” you pout at your lover as he sits down on the comfortable chair in front of the fitting rooms. you’ve tried out a couple things by now—all which satoru has approved of. he recommends you to buy them all, but you’d feel guilty for agreeing. it’ll cost him a fortune.

satoru chuckles and leans back, manspreading with his hands limply resting on his thighs. he looks you up and down without an ounce of shame, “mhm. i’m completely serious when i’m telling ya to get ‘em all, princess.”

your shopping bags are piling up more and more. satoru bought you all the things you said you liked. or if he thinks a piece of clothing suits you nicely, he takes the initiative to buy it. the older man doesn’t look twice when handing the employee his black card.

“c’mere,” satoru gestures for you to come closer once the employee leaves to pack your purchases. he pulls you onto his lap the moment you’re close enough.

his hands run up and down your curves—feeling up the material of the dress you’re currently wearing. the sorcerer cannot wait until you’re home with him. he’ll have you give him a special fashion show with all the pretty lingerie he bought you.

satoru grins at the thought. your little squirms and whines of being ‘too sensitive’ makes him want to tease you even more. he doesn’t care if he’s in public or if anyone sees you; you’re all he focuses on.

“i jus’ wanna spoil my sweet girl—take care of her like she deserves,” the white-haired sorcerer whispers. a lingering kiss on your shoulder makes your breath hitch. he chuckles at your adorable reaction.

satoru holds you down on his thighs, hands firmly placed on your waist whilst he leaves kisses on your exposed skin. he’s got all the money and time in the world—all which he’s spending on his lovely girl.

“everything is yours. tell me what you want and i’ll buy it for you, baby. there’s no limit, ‘kay?”

GETO SUGURU

gentle fingers play with the strands of your hair. you lean into the touch, not really caring that people are staring right at you and your lover.

“your hair looks gorgeous like this, sweetheart,” suguru smiles sweetly. his legs are trapping you against him. your back and his chest touch—your head leaning on his shoulder. he’s completely got you under his spell with the way he’s holding you.

suguru had given you his card earlier and told you to spend it however you see fit. he would have gone shopping with you, though he unfortunately has to help a couple people who swear that they’re cursed.

he was still busy when you returned from your little trip. you didn’t want to bother him when he was working, but suguru excitedly invited you into the room once he spotted you. he wasted no time settling you on his lap and asking you all about your recent purchases.

“s-sir, could you please respond?” the shaky voice of a man snaps you out of your bubble. your gaze moves towards the poor citizen who’s groveling before suguru, the clear presence of a curse gnawing at his back.

suguru’s sweet attitude drops the moment that lowlife interrupted his time with you. his eyes darken and his grip on your hand tightens, showing just how much he’s holding back from murdering that man in cold blood.

he doesn’t want to scare you—no, he’d never kill someone in front of your eyes. he doesn’t want to taint your innocence like that.

“silence,” suguru’s sharp voice causes the man to shriek before he quiets down. a second passes before you feel your lover’s hand on your jaw, guiding your face back to his. the tender look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips instantly returns.

suguru’s other hand slowly traces the diamond necklace around your neck, “where were we again. . . ah, yes—tell me what else you got, darling. i want to hear it all.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #geto x you #jjk fluff

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Wayne didn't trust you, until one night.

Warnings: angst, fluff, nightmares

Wayne Munson just wanted to protect his boy. And that's why he was so reluctant towards you.

It wasn't that he didn't like you, it was that he didn't trust you: after all the years Eddie had spent almost alone in school, you came in the picture. You, saying you cared about him, saying you were interested in the music he listened to and the books he read, saying you loved him.

It all seemed too perfect and Wayne just knew there was something wrong.

Not because he was a bad person, Wayne absolutely wasn't, but because he was afraid you were playing with Eddie's feelings. He was afraid that one day you'd laugh in his face and tell him there was no way a girl like you could ever love someone like him. An outcast. A cult-leader. A freak.

The worst part was that Eddie, on the other hand, was really in love with you. He could see it by the way he talked about you when you weren't around, by his loving gaze when you visited him at the trailer, by the smile that appeared on his lips whenever he mentioned you in a conversation.

Wayne was afraid Eddie would suffer when you left him.

Because he knew you would. It was just a matter of time.

After what had happened in the upside down, after Eddie had almost died (because yes, he knew the whole truth even if he had a hard time believing it at first) he often woke up due to nightmares.

Often he heard the bed creak as if Eddie was tossing and turning in pain, sometimes he heard him talking but never understood what exactly he was saying. He was probably calling your name, the name of girl he was in love with, poor naive boy.

Once, he opened the door to his room slightly, slowly and asked if everything was all right, watching the figure curled up on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest in a defensive position.

Even in the dark he could clearly see that Eddie was shaking.

It was pretty obvious that no, he wasn't all right. He was far from it.

Eddie told him to go away, that he was fine. Wayne pressed for a while but Eddie didn't seem to want to talk to him. Finally he closed the door and went back to his room, hoping that giving him the space he wanted would help.

He wasn't sure if it had really helped him when he started hearing muffled sobs coming from his room.

He really didn't know what to do. Eddie should have talked to someone about it, vented in some way but he didn't seem to want to do it with him.

He didn't seem to want to talk about it even with you, his "girlfriend". Wayne had expected this too: You wouldn't be there for his boy when he needed it.

After that night, Eddie had locked the door to his room, so even if Wayne wanted to go inside to check, he couldn't.

One night though, Wayne woke up to a noise coming from the room next to his, from Eddie's room.

He sighed running a hand over his face, tired, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night and that Eddie would too.

Thar time though, he heard the door to Eddie's bedroom open and the sound of bare feet making their way down the hallway where the phone was hanging on the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

Wayne got out of bed and headed for the door to his room but, when he was about to open it, he heard Eddie's voice on the other side of the door and stopped.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but that didn't stop him.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Wayne realized Eddie called you. At two in the morning.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Eddie whispered, almost as that was all the voice he could get out at the moment.

"Yeah, don't worry. I just... I think I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry, I'm sure I woke you up. Yeah, I told you I'm fine." Eddie muttered, if his words were to sound convincing, he was failing miserably.

He sounded like a kid scared by a thunderstorm, in moments like that Wayne wished Eddie's mom was still there with him, some things really would've been easier.

“No, that's stupid, I shouldn't even have called, you probably just want to sleep and not worry about my dumb problems. It's just…I'm tired, Y/N. I'm so tired and the nightmares won't stop and I… I don't know what to do. Every time, every night I'm there again and there are the bats and the lightning and- and It's hard to sleep without you. I'm scared Y/N. I'm scared they'll never stop, that I'll never be okay." Eddie sniffed.

Was he crying?

"But it's okay. I mean, yeah, I- don't worry and-" he probably stopped to hear what you were saying.

Were you telling him to go fuck himself for calling in the middle of the night? Were you trying to console him? Wayne couldn't know but either way, he didn't trust you. He had never done that.

"No. You don't have to. No, Y/N, no please, really, I-" Eddie stammered before silence fell on the other side of the door.

You hung up the phone. You hung up the phone on Eddie's face when he needed someone to listen to him and when he trusted you enough to call you and talk about how he was feeling.

Wayne knew it would end like this. You never loved Eddie like you said you did, you didn't even care about him or you wouldn't have hung up the phone. Maybe it was a joke all along, "make the freak your boyfriend, make him fall in love and trust you and then leave him when he needs it most and break his heart."

He knew how mean teenagers could be, they always managed to hit where it hurt the most. And, of course that's what you did with Eddie, you played with his heart that had already been broken too many times for someone so young.

He heard Eddie pacing nervously down the short hallway a couple of times, and just as Wayne was about to walk out of the room despite having no idea what to say, he heard the trailer door open and close.

Eddie went out. And Wayne wasn't going to let him spend the night in the cold or whatever that boy was up to.

The older Munson finally came out of his room and made his way to the door Eddie had disappeared through.

He opened it slightly and looked out, finding himself faced with the most unexpected scene he had imagined.

There you were, your car parked in front of the trailer, the door still open, and you were striding towards Eddie.

The sky was dark and moonless, only a few stars were visible, a nearby street lamp allowed the man to see what was happening.

Wayne leaned against the door frame, watching the scene a few feet away from him.

As soon as you reached Eddie you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him towards you, he immediately wrapped his arms around your body in a hug Wayne wondered if it could actually break any bones.

Eddie held on to you as if his life depended on it, squeezing the fabric of your shirt with his hands and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he hugged you, as if having you there in that moment solved all his problems, as if Eddie was okay again just because of your presence.

"I'm here. It's okay, I got you." You said holding him, your voice soft and sincere.

That was the moment Wayne realized he was completely wrong about you, all along.

"You didn't have to come." Eddie whispered, not letting you go.

"But I wanted to." You responded by stepping away from him slightly, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs on his cheeks.

"I swear, you are something else." Eddie said with a slight smile. "Thank you for coming, really."

And Wayne, seeing you looking at Eddie as if he was the most precious thing in the world, wondered what had been on his mind every time he doubted your sincerity, every time he thought you didn't really care about Eddie.

You went there in the middle of the night because you knew he needed it, and he didn't even ask you. That was all it took to know that you were a good person. That you were there for his boy.

"I love you." He murmured before bringing his lips to yours in a light but affectionate kiss. Wayne had to look down, feeling he was slipping into a too intimate a moment.

"I love you too." You responded leaning your forehead against his. "And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, you know that."

"Do you- think you can stay the night? I understand if you can't- if you don't want to- I mean-"

"Eddie, I've come to stay. I wouldn't leave even if you begged me, right now." You reassured him.

He nodded, leaving a kiss on top of your head. "I love you so much."

You smiled grabbing his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers ready to reenter the trailer.

Your eyes met Wayne's still in the doorway.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours tighter as you reached for him.

"She's spending the night here whether you like it or not." Eddie announced to his uncle.

Wayne looked between you and Eddie, then back to you as you started to talk.

"I'm sorry I showed up here in the middle of the night but I can't leave now, I-"

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you." He finally admitted.

A surprised expression came onto your face.

"I was wrong about you, I was wrong from the start." He said leading you into the trailer.

Eddie smiled at his uncle's words.

"It's okay, I understand where all your resilience came from. Really, don't worry about it." You answered with conviction.

Wayne patted your shoulder. "You are a good kid, thank you for being here."

You smiled again. "You don't have to thank me. None of you have to."

Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, up against his Metallica shirt he used to sleep in.

"We're going to sleep, uncle Wayne." Eddie said before heading to his room, dragging you with him.

You turned one last time to Wayne before disappearing behind Eddie's bedroom door. "Good night."

The man's gaze softened even more. "Goodnight kids."

Eddie was in good hands now, he always had been even when Wayne didn't know it.

You were always there, even when Wayne didn't know it. You were family.

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #wayne munson #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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ymechi · 6 months

Text

The hidden creator

I had a plot bunny idea

TW: usual cult stuff, hints of yandere

-gn reader (I tried making it gender-neutral if there is a comment that is off please tell me and I will fix it)

EDIT: 14/11/2023 (changed some wording and other stuff nothing major)

Creator Reader Pov:

-You were just a regular person who one day woke up in Teyvat out of all places

-You realized you still had all your game features and figured it was one of the perks of being isekaied like in other isekai stories

-The whole thing is weird and why you were here, you had no idea

-After the novelty wears off you take some time mourning the loss of your previous life and the people you knew

-After that you try to get a semblance of a normal life like getting a job and trying to be independent

-Despite having a game system you do not want to be an adventurer or learn how to fight it's not for you

-You were previously an average civilian and raised as one it would be hard to become a fighter now

-Instead you gravitated towards creating things, you found an apprentice position in a clockwork shop in Fontaine

-It is fun and you get to tinker with gears and clocks, learning how various machines work and how to create your own items

-overall you are content

-Except weird people occasionally come by the shop you work at including the Iudex of Fontaine which had both you and the shopkeeper sweating the first few times

-Yet the man who insisted you call him by his name Neuvilette is really polite and nice to talk to, soon you warmed up to him

-You could not help the feeling as if you knew him from before, as if you forgot something, you were unusually fond of him.

-Your other "clients" if you could call them that were more intimidating, you had no idea what they were doing in this shop and it scared you

-The Fatui Harbringers occasionally stopped by the shop to buy a trinket or two before leaving, it honestly scared you and the thaught of running away to another nation had crossed your mind once or twice yet you liked your job and your boss and you made some good friends here so it was hard to leave

-Overall you were doing okay

-Except it seems the people here almost in a cult-like manner worship a creator that was never in the game lore

-It is said they resided in Celestia and not many people actually got to see them, not that it mattered for a nobody like you

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

Tsaritsa Pov:

-The Tsaritsa knew their so called creator was fake

-She knew she had to get rid of the fake creator as they and Celestia had caused irreparable damage

-Even if she had to stain her hands

-One day it happened something shifted in the earth, air, water- no the whole of Teyvat

-It happened so softly like a small snowflake landing on the ground

-She was hypnotized as if a siren was beckoning her she found you.

-You were their true creator

-You were wearing apprenticeship clothes tinkering with something in your hands and deeply concentrated

-She wondered if that is how you created the universe with careful and steady hands guiding and shaping it to your will.

-She wanted to take you away from this. . . small shop, yet she knew begrudgingly you were safe here, if anyone were to find out a sliver of your existence. . .

-You were safer hidden among mortals

-It left a bitter taste in her mouth

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

Neuvilette Pov

-It just happened one day, out of the blue, he could feel it in the shift of the waters

-The way Furina shifted and turned her head unable to sit still confirmed he was not the only one feeling this

-Something happened and he had no idea what exactly happened

-There was this familiar presence this comforting feeling, ancient old instincts waking up

-He followed it without thought until he came upon an in inconspicuous clockwork shop

-He was confused but did not hesitate to step inside

-Then he saw you and everything clicked

-It was you his creator his universe his everything

-You were back

-It seems in this incarnation you were just a human

-That was fine he was oaky with that as long as you were here

-His heart ached seeing you

-He wanted to hug and ask you to never leave again to always stay by his side, for you to comfort him after what had happened and console him

-He should take you way somewhere safer somewhere better not here-

-But weren't you safer hiding among mortals, a part of his mind whispered, no one would suspect you being here even the fake (he cursed them) would not think of finding you here, if he brought you back with him it would create more attention on you

-Attention that would cause you trouble

-He left with defeat on his steps

-It was later he would met the Tsaritsa and a deal was struck

-All for your sake

#genshin impact #sagau #self aware au #self aware genshin #neuvillette #the tsaritsa #fatui harbringers #fatui #cult au #slight yandere #I am too lazy to proofread it right now sorry for any mistakes #this was just some random idea tbh #the creator reader has no idea they are the creator they just wana tinker with clockworks #neuvilette genshin #when will we get more Tsaritsa lore mihoyo plz-#would you guys think that Pantalone would buy out the whole stock whenever it is his turn to visit?

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chococolte · 6 days

Note

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted.

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience.

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas.

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers.

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant.

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so.

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears.

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light.

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks.

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat.

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless.

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering.

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth.

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him.

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you.

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?”

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant.

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation.

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #sagau #cult au #sagau zhongli #yandere zhongli #cult au zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere male #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #self aware genshin au #self aware genshin #gender neutral reader

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andvys · 9 days

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck

Warnings: mentions of smut, mentions of heartbreak and unrequited feelings, mentions of bad parenting, allusions to depression, lots of fluff -- and, angst at the end

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve gives you a glimpse of a future you could have with him -- if only things were so simple.

Word count: 13.5k+

Author's note: I'm not really proud of this chapter, but I hope you guys are gonna love this ♡ @hellfire--cult thanks for helping me, lovelyyyy

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Sunlight peeks through the curtains of Steve’s bedroom, illuminating the room ever so slightly. The weight on his chest warms him up, the scent that lingers on your hair, and your body is his own, you used his shampoo and bodywash the night before. To know that you smell like him, causes something in his chest to stir.

As he opens his eyes, a smile appears on his face.

Your cheek is squished against his bare chest, your eyes shut tightly as you’re still sleeping deeply. Your arm is wrapped around his waist, your whole body covering his own like a blanket.

His own arms are wrapped around you, his left hand hidden underneath your – his shirt, fingers drumming against your soft skin.

Steve blinks his sleepiness away and he raises his hand up towards your hair, smoothing it out, he runs his fingers through it as he watches you.

This isn’t anything new, you woke up beside him, on him, countless times before, and yet, it still feels so surreal sometimes.

You are still his Blondie.

He is still Steve.

And yet, something has changed, something has shifted.

A sigh falls from your lips, and you only snuggle deeper into his chest, scrunching up your nose a little, before your features relax again.

He brushes some of your hair out of your face, his fingertips graze your cheek and your temple. He begins to twirl your strand around his finger, still smiling as his eyes stay on you.

Memories from the night before start flashing in his mind, causing his smile to grow bigger as he thinks of how you kissed him, how you touched him, how you let him touch you, how you clung to his body.

You got out of his car on shaky feet, your knees nearly buckled when you tried to walk, so he rushed towards you and steadied you with hands on your waist, before he leaned down and hooked his arm around the back of your knees and threw you over his shoulder, you squealed at his actions and hugged his waist tightly, as though he would let you fall. He couldn’t even help himself when he slapped your ass, the whimper that fell from your lips only made him feel more smug, just as the shakiness in your legs did.

You shared another first together, last night. And that feels special and… intimate. It isn’t something that he wants you to do with someone else – he doesn’t want to imagine you with anyone else, at all.

He only wants this, you finding pleasure in him and no one else.

He wants to feel special, he wants to feel needed, and so far, you have been good at making him feel such things.

And he tells himself that this is all it is – pleasure. That the gnawing feeling in his chest, the night before, wasn’t jealousy. That it was only possessiveness that he had felt because he wants you all to himself.

But as he lies in his bed, with you in his arms, snuggled up against him, sleeping on top of him, the way a casual hookup shouldn’t be, and he holds you tightly, even tighter than he held one girl before, his hand freezes in your hair and he stops twirling it, his heart jumps in his chest, and his eyes widen as the panic in him, rushes through him so quickly that it halts his breath in his throat.

And yet, the warmth in his chest feels so alarming, a flame that he thought had died, sparking – even if weakly.

No. No. No.

His mind chants the same word over and over again. But then you stir in your sleep, and he feels your bare legs on his, which are hidden beneath the blanket that covers you both. Your fingernails graze his skin, your lips touch his chest as you turn your head, and then, you lay your palm on the spot, right over his poor heart. An innocent move that makes the spark a tiniest bit brighter, stronger, and his heart beat faster.

‘Well shit’. Steve thinks.

He wants to groan, he wants to roll his eyes at himself and get angry at the weakness that lingers in him, but he can’t, he can’t even be mad at himself, not when he takes a deeper, longer look at you.

What would King Steve think of this?

His opinions don’t matter, they haven’t mattered once, since he let him die. But there was always a part of himself that he hated when he was still very much alive. He hated the thoughts in his head and how his own eyes strayed, even when he didn’t want them to. How his mind took him to where he told himself he didn’t want to be.

King Steve doesn’t matter, his opinions don’t matter – and yet, he can’t help but wonder what his teenage self would think of him now if he saw you in his arms, like this, so closely, so intimately.

He won’t ever find out, but he feels… troubled.

“What time is it?” Your groggy voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his eyes focus again as they meet your tired ones.

You prop yourself up on his chest, and cover your mouth with your hand as you turn away with a yawn.

Steve’s hand leaves your hair, and he runs it down your back instead as he watches you, the smile never fading. No makeup on your skin, your hair in its natural state, his shirt on your frame, and your features marked with tiredness. You’re adorable like this.

You blink the sleep away, and rub your eyes as you take a look at the alarm on his nightstand. It’s 10 am.

“Good morning, Blondie,” Steve whispers.

“Morning, Steve.”

You roll off of him, much to his dismay. You stretch your arms out and try to do the same to your legs when the soreness hits you, and you register the strong ache between your thighs. A pained whimper falls from your lips and you scrunch your eyes shut again.

“Ouch.”

Steve’s eyes flash with concern as he pushes himself up, he eyes your body and watches the way you press your hand against your inner thigh, whimpering at the pain he caused, the night before.

“I’m going to kill you, Harrington.”

Relief is quick to follow in his eyes, he relaxes as a smirk tugs at his lips.

“It’s a good kind of pain, right Blondie?”

When you open your eyes, you meet his gaze with a glare, causing him to chuckle.

“Shut up, I don’t even know if I can stand,” you mumble as you press your palms against the mattress and sit up slowly.

Steve chuckles again, pride swelling inside of him, knowing that he was the cause of it. He gets up and walks around his room in nothing but boxers, opening one of his drawers to grab a shirt.

“I’ll prepare a bath for you to soak in then,” he says, glancing at you, “it’ll relax your muscles a little.”

Your heart skips a beat as your eyes widen.

You sit up further, still holding onto the sheets as you watch him put a shirt on his body.

“You’re preparing a bath for me?”

“Would you prefer a wheelchair?” He laughs, not noticing the stunned look on your face, as you open and close your mouth a few times. “I’ll be right back, Blondie,” he shoots you a smile before he opens the door, letting light seep into the room from the bright hallway, he takes another glance at you over his shoulder before he steps out and makes his way into the bathroom.

You listen to his movements, ears perking up at the sound of water flowing the bathtub, moments later.

He is really drawing you a bath.

He had never done anything like this before, the most you got was a change of clothes, him letting you use his shower and the spare toothbrush he had in his drawer, but never this.

This is him taking care of you and you can’t stop the smile from appearing on your face. Your heart flutters at the normalcy of all of this, despite how abnormal it is.

Surely, this has nothing to do with feelings, but with him wanting to make it up to you for making your body ache – not that you are complaining, last night was one of the best ones that you had shared with each other.

Despite the soreness in your body, you can’t help but feel heat pooling in your lower stomach, awakening the desire for him that always lingers.

You throw the blanket off yourself and scoot closer to the edge of the bed, furrowing your brows, you try not to groan at the pain in your legs when your feet hit the ground.

You have never experienced anything like this before.

You have never struggled to get up the next morning.

Your legs feel like jelly, and you can’t even squeeze your thighs together, but you push through the soreness. Your knees nearly buckle when you take the first step.

“Jesus…” You murmur, shaking your head.

You never spent much time wondering what kind of lover Steve would be, until he started showing signs of interest towards you. It felt wrong to think of him in such ways when he so clearly hated you.

But if you had to guess, you would’ve thought of him as someone sweet and caring, loving and gentle – and you are sure that he is, just not with you. And it’s okay, it really is. You like the way he touches you, you like how he marks you up, how he manhandles you, how rough and intense he can be. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

And yet, you can’t help but feel saddened to know that you will never experience another side of him – to know what it’s like to be loved by him.

You walk into the large bathroom, to find him testing the water with his hand. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingers in the air, the bathtub is filled up high, even with bubbles.

You lean against the doorframe and watch him for a moment, a teasing smile appearing on your face, “huh, who would’ve thought that Steve Harrington likes to take bubble baths – scented ones too.”

Steve scoffs at your words in amusement.

He turns around to face you after closing the tap.

“It’s my mom’s stuff, Blondie,” he chuckles as he takes in the sight of you. Letting his eyes roam your body, the marks on your neck, the shirt that belongs to him, the softness of your skin that he wants to feel on his lips again. The urge to take care of you, now growing stronger than ever.

You have stayed over countless times before, just as he did at your house.

But neither of you ever stayed for long enough, you woke up, you got dressed and the most you have provided for each other was a cup of coffee and small talk.

This is something new, a bubble bath – he had never done this for anyone before, despite how much he dreamed of having someone to take care of and spoil.

“C’mere, Blondie,” he murmurs as he walks towards you, reaching his hand out for your own, he pulls you into him and places his other hand on your waist, “I promise, this will make you feel better.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart yet skipping another beat – if only he knew that it’s always aching for him.

He takes your shirt off, exposing your bare body to him. The spot beneath his touch glowing with heat as he now holds your naked waist with both hands.

Steve licks his lips as he looks down at you, his eyes blinking as they flash with something other than lust. There is a softness in them that you haven’t seen directed at you, ever before, and it makes your breathing stutter.

As the morning sun peeks through the blinds, the golden light kissing every inch of your exposed skin, he takes in the sight of how softly your hair lies on your shoulders, how flustered you look beneath his gaze, how puffy your lips are, how the marks on your neck are more than what you think they are.

His hands leave your waist, though they don’t stray away from you just yet. The tips of his fingers graze your skin. Whether the goosebumps are his cause or the coldness of the bathroom, his lips twitch at that. You look at him with wide eyes and parted lips, he is aware of the fluttering in his chest when he locks eyes with you.

You caught him staring, but for some reason it doesn’t make him want to step back or hide.

You are so devastatingly beautiful.

So beautiful that he can’t help but want to keep staring.

He is stuck in a world between the heavens and the earth, a world where it’s only you and him, where nothing else matters but the string that ties him to you, the string that he always wanted to deny, no matter how abnormally strong it was.

And even now, he is still in denial, he still isn’t there, but it’s slowly becoming harder to stay away from you in a much more intimate way.

“Steve,” you whisper, slowly pulling him back on solid ground.

He blinks, his eyelashes kissing his skin as he slowly awakens from his trance like state. The beating of his heart becomes stronger when he notices the softness in your eyes.

“Yes?” He whispers, squeezing your elbow as he feels the urge to shower your body with nothing but kisses, your bare skin looking so delicate to him.

“I-I’m cold.”

“R-Right,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

Steve steps to the side, and his hands leave your body, but he offers his hand out for you as you step closer to the bathtub. You take it, grasping it tightly as you lift your leg, pushing through the soreness, you get inside and let the warmth embrace your aching body. You sink down into the water, sighing in contentment at the comforting feeling. You slowly let go of his hand, and bring it up to your hair.

“Oh wait, you probably don’t want to get it wet again,” Steve mumbles, as he looks around the room, knowing that you left your hair clip here after your shower last night. He finds it on the counter and reaches for it.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, turning your head, you eye the claw clip in his hand and lift your hand up to take it from him, but Steve only shakes his head.

“Let me,” he whispers as he kneels down behind the bathtub, he gathers your hair and runs his fingers through it, making sure to get all of it, his fingertips touch your cheeks as he reaches for the front pieces as well, only for them to fall back in place.

You swallow harshly as your heart nearly leaps to your throat, his actions making the water feel ten times hotter, goosebumps growing on your skin even beneath it.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, his breath hitting your bare shoulder as he puts your hair up and secures it with the clip – effortlessly.

You’re a little caught off guard by… well everything.

“I-I…” You stutter, unable to form a word, let alone a sentence.

“I’ll go make you something,” he announces, squeezing your shoulders as he gets up again. He looks down at you, lips curling into a smile. You’re still sitting with your back straight, your body now hidden beneath the bubbles, the front pieces of your hair hanging loosely in front of your face, framing it perfectly. You are staring at him, eyes filled with surprise and nervousness. The latter emotion matches his own, he had never done these things for anyone before, not even Nancy.

She was his high school sweetheart, they were barely eighteen when they dated. She wasn’t allowed to stay over, and the few times she sneaked out of her house to do so, she went back home early in the mornings so she wouldn’t get caught, but he could count these few times on one hand.

He never prepared baths for her, he never did her hair, he never made her breakfast, he never touched and kissed her the way he did with you.

And despite the nervousness that is deep inside, he can’t help but feel a little giddy too. Heat rushes to his cheeks the longer he stares at you.

“Okay,” you whisper, blushing as you look up at him with a shy smile, “thank you, Steve.”

He nods at you, his own cheeks glowing with color, “you’re welcome, Blondie,” he winks at you, before he forces himself away from you. He turns around and walks out of the bathroom.

You stare at the door he just closed, your mouth ajar, your eyes wide.

Are you truly awake?

When he held you in his car last night, and he treated you so gently, you were already so caught off guard, but this, this is something else, this is something new, and you don’t know what to think of it.

You don’t want to get your hopes up, but you also don’t want to ruin the moment by overthinking, and hurting your own feelings.

So despite the gnawing feeling in your chest, you take a deep breath and close your eyes, you relax your shoulders and lean back, trying to enjoy this moment without your doubts getting in the way.

You breathe in the sweet scent and sink deeper into the hot water, relaxing as best as you can as you let your mind rest. You let the minutes pass, and enjoy only this moment, not letting your negativenss take over.

Your teenage self would jump and scream in joy if she saw you now.

Not only does he somewhat like you now, he also does things only a boyfriend would and should do, and you can’t help but love every second of it, even when the dark sadness tries to cast shadows over the golden lights that take over, every time you let yourself feel what you desire, deep down.

The water feels nice on your skin, and on your sore body, you almost don’t want to get out, but after a while, your tiredness seeps back in, and you begrudgingly push yourself out of the water, you wrap a towel around your body, and dry yourself off. You drain the bathtub and slide open the window to let some fresh air in, the fog from the heat lingering in the room and on the large mirror.

When you step out into the hallway, your mouth waters and you instantly feel the hollowness in your stomach when the smell of waffles reaches you. You haven’t eaten since your late lunch, the day before, and Steve had worn you out. You are starving.

You quickly make your way into his bedroom, surprised to see the bed already made.

He laid out some clothes for you, another one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. A smile tugs at your lips, you hold the towel tightly against your chest as you make your way over to his bed. You remove the claw clip from your hair, and throw it on the mattress as you reach for his shirt.

It smells nice, clean, like fresh laundry detergent and still like him. Your heart always skips a beat when you wear something that belongs to him. Removing the towel, you put his shirt on and then his boxers, adjusting them a little so they fit you better. You walk over to his mirror, and take a look at yourself, a gasp nearly falling from your lips as you eye the marks on your neck, somehow they have gotten even darker. You will have trouble covering that up.

You fix your hair and smooth it out, before you leave the room and make your way towards the stairs. You truly underestimated the ache in your legs though, the moment you take the first step down, your knee nearly buckles, causing you to hold onto the railing a little tighter.

You don’t know how you make it to the kitchen, but after walking down in slow motion, you step into the large room slowly.

Steve is standing with his back to you, a plate of waffles before him as he pours batter into the waffle maker. He changed into a pair of gray sweatpants.

Your stomach growls at the sight and the smell of your favorite breakfast food.

He turns around when he sees you from his peripheral vision, a chuckle falling from his lips when he notices the pained look on your face.

“I need a break of two days,” you grumble as you make your way over to the kitchen table, “I’m not even going to suck your dick, your hand will suffice.”

Steve chuckles even louder than before, the smugness in his eyes fading away when he takes in the sight of his clothes on your body.

You groan loudly as you take a seat.

“Two days?” He asks, tilting his head at you, “you’re killing me here, Blondie.”

You raise your head and meet his gaze, glaring at him playfully, “my pussy feels like it’s going to fall off, Harrington.”

He looks down, hiding the smirk on his face, “she had a good time.”

You can’t help but snort.

You crane your neck, looking at the plate before him, excitement flashes in your eyes, “I love waffles.”

“I know you do,” he says, smiling. “What do you want with them, berries and syrup?”

You try to hide the blush that creeps up on your face, you try to swallow the feelings that take control of your body.

"Yes, please."

He nods at you, before he points at the coffee pot, “want some?”

“Mhmm. Creamer and two sugars–”

“I know how you like your coffee, Blondie.”

He doesn’t wait for your reaction, he turns his back to you, and he opens the cupboard, taking out the mug he for some reason always chooses for you, he places it on the counter and starts preparing your coffee.

You blink.

Straightening your back, you place your hands on the counter, fiddling with your fingers as you watch him.

He memorized how you like your coffee?

The fluttering in your chest starts driving you crazy, it’s nothing you’re not used to, but his kindness and the gentleness he treats you with this morning takes everything beyond what you had felt before.

A part of you wants to ask him if he hit his head, if he is mistaking you for someone else, or if the sex was so good that he somehow developed more than just lust for you.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment and risk losing this.

If you were a different girl, you could have this every day.

But you’re you, and you only get this now, maybe it’s a one time thing, or maybe it’s something new in your ‘relationship’, and if it is, you will cherish any moment he will give you, for as long as he is willing to have you.

Steve places the mug in front of you, blessing you with a sweet smile before he returns to finish the rest of the waffles as he pours the last of the batter into the maker.

“Thanks,” you mumble, wrapping your hands around the warm mug, you raise it up to your lips and take a sip.

Steve grabs a plate and begins to fill it up with fruit he already washed and prepared. He places the fresh waffles on the plate and grabs the bottle of syrup, he makes his way over to you, and places the plate in front of you.

You put the mug down and raise your head to look at him, “that looks so good,” you smile, pulling the plate closer and reaching for the fork.

Steve smiles back at you, his chest bubbling with something at the excitement in your features.

He places the syrup in front of you, and returns to the counter to fill up his own plate with berries and waffles. He grabs it and reaches for a jar in his cupboard before he makes his way back to you and joins you at the round table.

“That’s all for you, Blondie.” He points at the stacked up waffles he left on the counter.

“All for me?” You chuckle, before you take the first bite, eying the jar of nutella he placed on the table.

“Gotta get the energy back in you,” he smirks, watching your reaction as you start chewing. He licks his lip, smiling when your eyes widen.

“Oh my god, Steve.” You hold your hand in front of your mouth after swallowing the first bite, looking at him in awe.

“That’s how you sounded last night,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

You shake your head as you look into his hazel eyes, smirking at him despite the flustered look on your face, “I think the waffles are better.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, “oh?”

You nod, taking another bite.

He chuckles at you as he grabs the nutella, he opens the lid and picks up his butterknife. Scooping out some of the chocolate, he starts spreading it on his waffle.

“You eat your waffles with nutella?”

“Yeah, it tastes amazing, Blondie.”

“Does it?” You ask, tilting your head as you pop a berry into your mouth, you watch him. His brows furrow in concentration and his tongue pokes out between his lips. His hair is messy, slightly wavy even. He looks so cute like this. “I’ve never tried that before.”

He raises his head, looking at you in surprise, “you haven’t?”

You shake your head, “no, I don’t even remember the last time I had nutella, Eddie ate like the whole jar I had in my kitchen, he used it as a dip for his pretzels,” you chuckle, “and then he ate the rest with a spoon… I don’t know how he didn’t get sick.”

“Eddie could eat straight sugar, and he wouldn’t get sick, don’t know how he’s still healthy,” Steve chuckles as he cuts a piece of his waffle, he places a raspberry on top of it before he picks it up with a fork and surprises you yet again, when he offers you the bite, bringing the fork up to your mouth.

You nearly choke on the berry you just swallowed.

“Try it.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your heart nearly shoots out from its place.

He surely had never done anything like this before.

Ordering food and offering snacks after sex? Sure. Feeding you food from his plate? Never.

He looks at you expectedly, not even noticing just how flustered you are by such a small and simple action.

You blink, shaking off the nervousness that still lingers deep, you part your lips and lean closer to take the bite, you still look at his eyes and watch how he stares at your lips.

The sweetness of the waffle, the chocolate and the freshness of the berry, burst in your mouth, creating the perfect combination. Your eyes widen, and you sit back as you hold your hand in front of your mouth after releasing the fork from your lips. You moan at the taste and take your time savoring the flavors.

Steve’s lips curl into a smile, his soft eyes stare at you as he brings the fork back to his place, taking a bite of his food as well, he keeps his eyes locked on you, enjoying your presence more than ever, this morning.

Steve always eats his breakfast by himself, it has always been that way.

The few times his parents were home, they didn’t even bother to have family breakfasts, or dinner’s for that matter.

They would go out to have dinner at Enzo’s, and would leave a few dollar bills for him, so he could order takeout – as though he didn’t learn to cook for himself as a teenage boy, but his parents never knew that, and they still don’t. He hadn’t seen them in a while, and the last phone call must’ve been months back.

But he likes this, he likes having you around, he likes sitting at the kitchen table with you, like it’s the most normal thing for the both of you.

“Not to feed your ego, but these waffles are better than the ones at the diner… or even the ones my sister makes.”

He smiles at you, “really?”

“Mhmm,” you nod as you take a sip of your coffee.

“I uh, I tried a few different recipes, took me some time to find the perfect one,” he says, his smile now turning into a shy one, “one time, El showed up, she was all upset about something Mike said or did, poor girl was crying her eyes out. I was confused why she came here out of all places and I honestly didn’t know how to comfort a heartbroken teenage girl, but uh, all it took was some waffles to cheer her up,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

Your eyes soften, and your heart nearly bursts.

The teens have found a brother in him, and he takes care of them without hesitating to.

He is there for them when they need him, and despite the annoyance he feigns sometimes, he cares so much about them and would do anything to protect them from any kind of harm.

“That’s so sweet,” you whisper, smiling softly.

Steve blushes at your words, his own lips pulling into a soft smile.

“You’re such a mom,” you tease him, nudging your foot against his under the table.

“Last time I checked, I didn’t have a vagina. I think you know that fact pretty well.”

You giggle, and look down at your plate again, picking up the fork, you continue to eat your waffle, unaware of the softness in his eyes.

Steve’s lip twitches, he tries not to look at you for too long, but it gets difficult to keep his eyes off of you, because something in his chest, something in the very sacred spot he had been trying to keep safe opens just the slightest bit, light and warmth seeps into it, filling it with life again, making it move in a pace he had grown unfamiliar to.

The sun shines brightly into the window, light rays hit your skin perfectly, making your skin glow and your hair shine, the color in your eyes shining even brighter.

You sit across from him comfortably, eating the breakfast he made for you, happily. You look content, you look happy to be here, you look like you belong here, with him.

This feels comforting, this feels normal.

But it isn’t, this isn’t normal, and he can’t help but feel disappointed by the truth.

He looks down with a soft sigh, and continues eating too, trying to keep the negative thoughts and emotions at bay, not wanting anything to ruin the moment.

Steve keeps stealing glances at you, not noticing that you are doing the same, not feeling your eyes that always linger.

When you’re both done eating, you push yourself up from the chair, ignoring his confused looks, you gather the empty dishes and stack them up.

“Whoa, no no, put that down,” Steve shakes his head at you, he gets up as well, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor, “you’re my guest, you don’t have to clean.”

“Pfft.” You wave him off, carrying the plates over to the sink, you push through the soreness in your legs, “I want to help.”

Steve sighs behind you, “I can do it myself, you should rest your legs.”

“I’m fine, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes, putting his hands on his hips as he watches you.

You get the sponge and dish soap, and Steve nearly starts laughing when you tilt your head away and handle the lever carefully, opening the water slowly, clearly not wanting a repeat of the last time you washed the dishes here.

“I fixed the lever, don’t worry,” he chuckles.

“If you’re lying to me and I’m about to get wet again, I’m gonna fight you.”

Steve laughs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I got different methods of getting you wet now.”

You look back at him over your shoulder, giving him a glare.

He continues laughing, tearing his eyes away from you, he starts cleaning up the table, a smile lingering on his lips.

Comfortable silence hangs over the room, as you both move around the kitchen and clean up together.

You savor every moment with him, not knowing that he is doing the same now too.

“I owe you breakfast,” you speak up, after a while.

Steve wipes down the counter, glancing at you with raised brows, “I won’t say no to that, but you don’t owe me anything, I wanted to do this.”

You press your lips together, leaning against the counter behind you, “yeah, but still.”

He shakes his head with a smile, “nah, let me impress you with all my cooking skills first,” he smirks, making his way over to you, he throws the dish towel over his shoulder, “I can blow your mind with more than just sex.”

You furrow your brows, laughing at his words.

“Oh?” You tilt your head, “and where’d you learn how to cook?”

“My grandpa taught me some Italian dishes when he was still alive. And uh, my parents were never home and I got sick of eating pizza and burgers all the time, so I got myself a cookbook and uh, turns out I’m a pretty decent cook,” he chuckles, shrugging, “it’s the italian in me,” he jokes.

Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter as you walk towards him.

“You’re italian?”

He chuckles at the surprised look on your face.

“My dad’s side of the family is,” he explains.

“Huh, that’s where the charm comes from,” you joke, “can you speak Italian?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but the only thing Italian about me are my relatives,” he laughs.

“And your cooking skills,” you point out.

“And my cooking skills,” he smiles, nodding. “I’m gonna knock you off your feet, the next time you stay over, I’ll cook you the best pasta you ever had.”

Excitement bubbles in your stomach and your eyes light up. You can’t even push away the feelings inside of you.

“I’d like that,” you smile.

Steve’s eyes light up, his own smile growing.

“Yeah?”

You nod, swallowing the nervousness inside of you. You know that you shouldn’t get too close, that there are things that you shouldn’t do with him, knowing how it’ll end for you, but you can’t help it, you’re drawn to him, in every way and form.

“Cool, I can finally cook for someone other than the teens then,” he chuckles, as he steps closer to you, his hands now inching closer to yours on the counter.

“What about your parents? Do you cook for them when they’re home?”

Steve scoffs, and he rolls his eyes at the mention of them.

“No, even when they’re home, they aren’t really… home. That one time I tried to cook dinner for them, they ended up leaving on me, gave me some weak apology and told me that they had made plans with friends already.”

Your smile falls at his words. Your eyes soften and the aching in your chest returns, not for yourself this time, but for him.

You can’t imagine what it’s like to have parents that couldn’t care less about you. You don’t have yours anymore either, but only because they were taken from you, they always gave you love, they always cared for you. Steve’s parents are alive, and they want nothing to do with him, they don’t even know half of the things he’s been through.

“I haven’t seen them in a while, it’s nothing new, really. And things are different now, for me at least. But, I felt really alone in this house as a teen,” he explains, looking down. “Sometimes… they were gone for so long, that I even forgot what their voices sound like.”

You look into his eyes, into the sadness that lingers deep in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you whisper, wanting nothing more than to hug him, to hold him, to show him that there is someone who he means everything to. Your own sadness casts a shadow over you, but also the anger that you feel for the people who hurt him, that left him. How could they? How could they leave and abandon him? How could they not love him, when he is so easy to love?

You would give him everything if you could.

He scrunches his brows together, forcing a smile onto his lips as he shakes his head at you, “it’s okay,” he murmurs. “I-I accepted that they don’t care about me. I just uh, my dad’s words still hurt sometimes but uh, I’m pretty good at handling my emotions around him now,” he admits, feeling the weight on his shoulders falling off when he says these words out loud, “he’s good at making me feel like I’m nothing though,” he chuckles even though there is nothing amusing about that.

Your blood boils in your veins, your heart no longer beats softly in your chest. You feel the anger rushing through you, as you stare at the man in front of you, a man who was once a boy, left behind to fend for himself, left behind in this huge house that provided no comfort when he needed it, no love, no warmth, no one to hug him and tell him just how loved he is, how strong and brave he is for going through darkness.

He stepped into an empty house after fighting against evil.

He stepped into an empty house after getting his heart broken.

He had no one to come home to.

He had no one to greet him with open arms and a warm meal, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen.

And when they were there for once, he probably thought that walking into an empty house would’ve been better.

He is surprised to see the anger in your eyes, the downturned lips and the frown on your pretty face.

“It’s not okay,” you shake your head stubbornly, “they shouldn’t have left you, and they shouldn’t have treated you like that, they– they don’t deserve you,” you mumble and tilt your head down to hide the truth in your face, too scared that he will see right through you in this moment of weakness. “Your dad doesn’t deserve you, none of the people who hurt you do.”

Steve’s hazel eyes soften, his lips part, but no words come out.

He knows that your words are mainly about his family, but also about someone else who hurt him deeply, who left a huge wound in his heart, a mark that hasn’t faded yet.

There is a sense of vulnerability behind your voice, something that he only heard once, when you opened up to him, that one night. He watches the way you hide your face by keeping your eyes on the ground, but even then, he can see just how angry you are, and it makes him furrow his brows in confusion.

Why would you be so upset by him getting hurt?

Why would you care so much when you’re nothing but friends now?

“You’re–” you pause, as a shaky breath falls from your lips, and you slowly look up at him, staring into his soft eyes. You feel nervous to even utter the words that are about to come out of your mouth, but this doesn’t have to give away anything, this is you being a caring friend. “You’re too good for them, Steve, and you deserve so much better than what you’ve been given.”

His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes begin to burn as he takes in your words, he blinks and swallows harshly, trying to keep his calmness, when your eyes meet his again and he sees nothing but the truth in them. You weren’t just saying this to make him feel better, you weren’t trying to give him false comfort.

Now he is the one to hide his face from you, not wanting to show just how much you have touched his feelings. Your words cast a light over the deep lingering pain in his chest, he knows it won’t stay there forever, the light, but it’s enough to make his walls crumble.

In this very moment, Steve’s feelings go beyond desire, and he feels a longing of a different kind, one that he had never felt before, and it scares him, because it’s you, it’s still you. And yet, he can’t help but want to let himself fall into your arms, feeling like it could be a place of comfort and more.

And he wants to, he really wants to, but he can’t.

This isn’t a part of the deal.

He can’t hold you, he can’t find comfort in your arms, this isn’t what it’s supposed to be.

So, despite the longing in his chest, the deep feeling in him, the want and need to do something, he blinks out of his stupor, shaking away all the thoughts and feelings, he pulls his hand away from yours that he almost touched, he looks at you again, and gives you a small smile.

“Thank you, Blondie,” he whispers, “I appreciate that.”

I appreciate you.

“Don’t need to thank me, Steve,” you whisper.

You look over his shoulder, the clock on his wall almost startling you when you read the time.

“Oh wow, I uh, I should go home,” you mumble, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to stay longer and risking losing your dignity by revealing more than just your anger for the people who harmed his feelings.

You don’t notice the way his shoulders slump, the way he almost looks sad at your words.

“Yeah uh, I’ll drive you.”

“It’s fine, I can walk–”

He snorts and tilts his head at you, eyes flashing with amusement again, “can you?”

A laugh falls from your lips, you step away from him, rolling your eyes as you shake your head.

“Come on,” he places his hand on your shoulder, and he leads you out into the hallway.

“Are you still hosting movie night?”

“Uh huh. So, I guess you’re staying another night here,” he winks at you, squeezing your arm.

“I told you, I need some time to recover.”

“We don’t have to fuck, Blondie. You can let me eat your pussy though, it’ll help her recover.”

You scrunch your face up at his words, slapping his chest, you take a step away from him, “I never thought that you’d be such a perv.”

He chuckles behind you.

You look around his hallway, tucking your hair behind your ears, you furrow your brows, “wait, I don’t have shoes.”

“Yeah, we left them in the car last night,” Steve mumbles as he puts on his Nike's, “don’t think they’d suit that outfit very well anyways,” he laughs, pointing at his clothes on your body.

You pout as you turn around to face him, looking down at yourself, “wow, this is the real walk of shame.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he laughs again. He picks up his keys, and walks towards you, turning his back to you, he bends down, “hop on, princess.”

You purse your lips and stare at him with widened eyes.

The nickname might’ve been a mocking one, and yet it did everything to make your cheeks heat up and your stomach to make summersaults.

“Well, come on,” Steve waves his hand at you, motioning for you to get on his back.

You swallow and step closer, you slowly bring your hands up to his shoulders, sliding your palms down his chest, you make a little jump and bite back the groan that threatens to fall from your lips, the soreness in your legs seemingly getting worse and worse.

Steve grabs your thighs and rises back to full height, his lips curl into a smile when you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Good?” He asks, squeezing your thigh.

“Mhmm.”

“Good,” he nods.

He opens the door, and steps out, keeping his left hand on your thigh, he reaches his right hand out to shut the door.

“I got it,” you mumble, reaching for the doorknob, you close it as you keep your hold on him.

The summer breeze feels welcoming on your skin, the smell of flowers and grass lingers in the air. You look up and find no cloud in the sky, only the blue and bright sun.

Goosebumps arise on his skin where your breath hits his neck, his stomach fluttering when you tighten your legs around him.

He almost doesn’t want to let you go, but the journey to his car is a short one. He walks over to the drivers side first, unlocking it with his key before he makes his way over to the passenger side, he opens the door for you.

“Can’t remember the last time I gave someone a piggyback ride,” he chuckles, “probably when I was twelve, my little cousin would beg me for them.”

You giggle, squeezing his shoulder as he kneels down and steps closer to his car, so your feet won’t have to touch the rough ground.

“Well, I’m glad to be the first after so long,” you chuckle, you let go of him and place your hand on the head rest.

“Careful with your head,” Steve says with a soft voice as he puts you down.

You pull your legs back and scoot back, placing your feet down into the car.

“Okay, I’m good, thank you.”

Steve turns to face you, “ready to go?”

You nod.

“Alright, Blondie,” he gives you a tight lipped smile and taps the roof of his car before he closes the door.

You reach for the seatbelt, buckling it in as you take a deep breath, though instead of exhaling again, you freeze and your eyes widen. The smell of sex still lingers deeply in the car.

Blood rushes to your cheeks, the anger you felt in the kitchen only moments ago, now fading and transforming into embarrassment as you grow flustered.

You turn around and take a look at the backseats, the mess that you both left behind, only making you blush even deeper.

Steve gets into the driver's seat, jingling with the keys, he puts them into the ignition and fastens his seatbelt, before he glances at you.

You play with your fingers, coughing awkwardly as you look at anything but him. You are blushing.

It doesn’t take him long to realize why you are so flustered, and he can’t help but smirk at you. He grabs the steering wheel, and leans closer to you.

“Getting shy on me now?”

With narrowed eyes, you turn towards him as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Couldn’t you have taken five minutes to clean up a bit?”

His smirk only widens, eyes flashing with pride.

“You needed a shower and a bed, priorities Blondie,” he shrugs.

“Uh huh…” You turn around again, daring to take another glance at the mess, “also, my thong should be somewhere around here… You literally dragged me inside, full commando.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find your thong,” he chuckles, starting the car, he rolls down the window.

“You better, Lego Head.”

You relax into the seat, and turn your head away from him, looking out the window, you appreciate the warm feeling of the sun on your skin, and the sound of music filling the space between you.

Hungry like the wolf starts playing, and you almost want to chuckle at the irony – the song resembles the part of Steve you met last night.

“Always some Duran Duran song in your car.”

Steve nods, placing his hand on the back of your headrest, he looks over his shoulder as he backs out of his driveway. He glances at you with a grin, “yep, they’re great.”

He gives you a wink as he turns up the volume, he grabs the gearstick, and starts driving down the road, puckering his lips slightly as he starts headbanging along to the music, not bothering to move the hair out of his face when it falls in front of his eyes.

You can’t help but giggle when he starts singing along to the music.

Your heart flutters wildly, and you bite down on your lip as you watch him.

You realize something in this moment – his guard is down, right here, right now, he lets you have a glimpse of what he is like, when he’s relaxed, when he’s not hiding himself away from the world, when he isn’t too ashamed to show this side of him. He is willing to show a part of himself to you – someone he couldn’t even bare to be around, only months back.

And you cherish this moment, smiling brightly at the person you adore with all your heart.

You know that you will remember this, you just hope that it won’t be a painful memory.

You don’t want to get out of the car when he parks it in front of your house, you would love to keep driving around town with him, even without talking, you just want to be near him, you want to be with him, any moment he gives you with him.

But you have to go, and knowing that you will see him again later, brings you peace.

You see the way he looks at your lips when you say goodbye, you see the way his eyes flash with something your mind cannot comprehend yet, you see the way he lifts his hand up before he hesitates and wraps it around the steering wheel again. You see it all, and yet, you are still so blind about it.

He offers you another piggyback ride to your house, but you decline with a smile and give him one last goodbye before you get out of his car, and your bare feet touch the cobblestone. You bite back the groan, ignoring the pain in your legs, you shut the door and start walking, not feeling, not seeing his amused eyes as they follow your limping legs.

You make your way up to your porch, and unlock the door. You step inside and turn around.

Steve’s car is still parked in your driveway, his left arm hanging out of the window, he lifts his hand up, waving at you.

A smile tugs at your lips, he waited for you to get inside. You lift your hand up as well, waving back.

The moment he starts backing out of your driveway, you close the door and lean your back against it, not noticing the breath you are holding.

You press your palm against your racing heart, and let all your emotions run through you, as your mind races with thoughts about everything that happened this morning and the night before.

You’re caught in a storm of your own feelings, you don’t even know what to feel, at this very moment.

There are so many things to process.

Steve’s jealousy and how he reacted to Jacob.

The possessiveness he had felt over you, and how eager he was to prove to you that he is the only one that you need.

The gentleness that followed after, that followed into this morning, even.

He trusted you enough to talk about his parents, to open up about his loneliness and the sadness that still lingers.

You bury your face in your hands, and let out a loud sigh as you feel sadness and anger combining themselves inside of you.

You throw your head back against the door, and you take another deep breath.

You need to rest, not only your mind, but also your aching body, so you push yourself away from the door, and take a look at the stairs, frowning at the many steps you would have to take to get to your bedroom.

You choose the closer room, and make your way into the living room instead.

The big couch looks welcoming, the comforting pillows luring you in for a nap. You glance at the clock on the wall, it’s only 3pm, you still have time before you need to start getting ready.

Grabbing the remote, you turn on the TV, and plop down on the couch, sinking into the pillows and hoping for your mind to give you some rest, at least until you see him again.

You put on some show to watch, but your eyes don’t stay focused for long, sleep begins to lull you in, putting both your mind and body at rest as your eyes slowly close.

You end up running late, because of your stupid decision not to set an alarm – and because you may or may not have used your sweet time getting ready, always wanting to look perfect for him, always wanting to smell good and your skin to be smooth.

You also needed some time to figure out how to cover the marks up on your neck, which turned out to be a challenge. Foundation and concealer lies on your skin now, and yet you can still see through it.

Steve greets you with a smug smile and a wink, he eyes you up and down hungrily before he lets you in, not even questioning why you’re an hour late, the tiredness in your eyes is a dead giveaway.

The smell of smoke lingers in his house, the door to his backyard is wide open, and you find Eddie standing behind Steve’s grill, talking to Jonathan and Nancy.

You hear Robin’s and Argyle’s voices coming from the kitchen, but the sight of the teens is missing.

“What happened to movie night?” You ask, and turn to face him, “and where are the teens?”

“They canceled on us,” Steve chuckles, looking around the empty hallway, before he steps closer to you, “some movie came out that they really wanted to see.”

“Oh–”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, surprising you by pulling you into his chest, he slides his palm down your lower back.

Your eyes widen a little as you look into his, the smell of his cologne lingering on him and his clothes, his hair is perfectly styled again – perfect to be ruined by your hands.

“Steve,” you whisper as your cheeks heat up.

“Are you feeling okay, Blondie?” He asks, hand coming to a rest over the pockets on your jean shorts.

No, no you don’t feel okay when he does things like this.

“Mhmm,” you nod.

The look in his eyes is a smug one, his lips are curled into a satisfied smirk when he takes a look at your neck – his touches and glances are already setting your skin on fire, and you have only arrived.

His hand leaves your body, and he steps away from you when the sound of footsteps near the hallway.

You clear your throat, and turn your face away from him, just as Robin comes out of the kitchen, plates and glasses. Her eyes light up at the sight of you.

“Oh, hey!” She grins at you, “are you feeling better today?”

You nod, feeling bad about lying to your friends – but when have you ever been honest?

“Much better.”

“Good, I’m glad,” she nods, “we decided to do a barbecue instead of movie night, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“Very, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Steve smiles beside you – something that Robin doesn’t notice, despite the very deep curiosity that still lingers inside of her when it comes to Steve’s secret.

“Come on, we set everything up already,” Steve says with a soft voice as he gestures to the backyard.

“Yeah, Argyle is attempting to make cocktails.”

You give them both an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry I didn’t help, I passed out on the couch earlier and forgot to set an alarm.”

“Nah, it’s fine, Blondie. You needed your rest,” Steve mumbles, giving you a sly smirk that he hides from his best friend.

“Yeah, and we had enough hands to help out!” Robin smiles, “it was spontaneous anyways!”

She is so unaware of the meaning behind Steve’s words, and you are glad that she is.

“I’ll make sure to make it up with some dessert next time,” you chuckle.

You all step out into his backyard, the evening sun is hidden behind all the trees surrounding his backyard. The round table is almost fully set up with food, the mouth watering smell of barbecue makes your stomach growl.

Robin places the drinks on the table.

Steve taps your shoulder, and he leans closer to you, “take a seat, your legs are still shaky,” he teases, giving you a wink before he steps away from you, “I’m gonna get the drinks, I’ll be right back.”

You breathe in shakily.

You already know that Steve will tease the life out of you tonight.

And you don’t know if you have the strength to tease him back at all.

“Oh hello there, sweetheart.” Eddie grins at you, making his way over as he carries the tray of grilled meat, he walks past you and places it on the table, before he turns back to you.

“Hey, Eddie,” you smile as you eye his hair, he put it up today.

“How are you?” He asks, tilting his head.

You don’t know what it is, but something about his smile and the look on his face, is almost a little unsettling.

“I’m uh… I’m good, how are you?”

“Mhmm, I’m good too. You know, I was kinda worried about you, last night. You just disappeared.”

Guilt settles into the pit of your stomach, and you break eye contact, hating that you have to lie to your best friend just to keep him.

“Yeah uh, I’m sorry,” you mumble, scrunching your nose, “I-I was feeling sick, Steve drove me home.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “ah Steve, huh?”

You swallow, the nervousness inside of you growing.

“Yeah,” you nod, and look back at him.

A knowing look resides in his dark eyes, he squints them a little, like he always does when he tries to look into your mind.

And there is something else, something that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, you don’t know what it is, but it does nothing to ease the nervousness inside of you.

Maybe you’re looking too deeply into something that isn’t even there.

Maybe you just try to focus on something other than your troubled feelings.

Or maybe, you’re just overthinking because you are so scared of getting caught, knowing that things will end, the moment everything is out in the open.

But, Eddie eases your mind a little, when the playfulness returns in his eyes, “I just don’t want Steve to steal my best friend.”

You nearly breathe out a sigh of relief, you laugh and shake your head, “don’t worry, Lego head’s got nothing on you.”

“Exactly, we’re best friends forever,” he grins, throwing his arm around you, “we should get matching bracelets.”

You snort.

“So everyone knows that I got the coolest best friend.”

“Sure, Eddie,” you chuckle, patting his back as he leads you to the table, and you both join Robin, taking the seats beside her.

She’s holding a bottle of ketchup, a concentrated look resting in her eyes as she reads through the ingredient list.

“Wow, do you guys wanna know what’s in this?” She asks, looking between you and Eddie.

He furrows his brows, and scratches the back of his neck, “uh, not really,” he mumbles, giving her a weird look, before he glances at you, causing you to chuckle again.

Nancy and Jonathan greet you, she gives you a kind smile, while Jonathan gives you a lazy one and a very slurred ‘hello’.

Your eyes follow Steve’s, once he and Argyle step out of the house, and join you all at the table.

Steve takes the seat next to Eddie, and you can’t help but turn your head to look at him, though your eyes get stuck on something else – the bright pink scrunchie that holds Eddie’s curls together. It looks like one of yours, one that has gone missing, only days after you bought it on your first shopping trip with Nancy.

She has the same one, only a different color, but hers is in her hair, and yours is… in Eddie’s hair.

“You stole my scrunchie!” You gasp, frowning at Eddie, who’s in the middle of filling his plate with food.

He glances at you with an amused look in his eyes.

“Oops,” he shrugs, grinning.

“You thief!”

“Well, you have my bandana! I get to have something of yours!”

“My pink polka dot scrunchie? That’s what you chose!?”

He chuckles and nods, “yes, and it gives an edge to my outfit, don’t you think?”

Your lips curl into a smile, you roll your eyes at your best friend.

“Uh oh, first fight between the best friends!” Argyle jokes, “gotta bring out the palmtree delight, my friends!” He picks out a joint from his pocket.

Steve laughs at Argyle, and at your interaction with Eddie. He leans back to look at the pink scrunchie in his hair, furrowing his brows, he shrugs at him, “I think it suits you.”

“Thanks Harrington, I’m glad that one of my friends thinks so.”

Robin clears her throat, tilting her head at him, “Eddie, it’s– it’s pink and well–”

Eddie presses his palm against his chest, glancing at her with offense on his face, “are you telling me that I can’t wear pink, Buckley?” He gasps, closing his eyes, “that is absolute discrimination.”

You laugh at his dramatic words, you lean closer to him and place your hand on his shoulder, “it’s okay, Eddie. You can keep it.”

He drops his act, and opens his eyes again, giving you a smile, “well thanks, sweetheart, I promise, I won’t leave it laying around somewhere.” He winks at you, and glances at Steve, for a very brief moment.

The night goes on, the way it normally does, you fall into conversations, you eat and drink, you laugh and share stories.

The longing feeling in your chest always stays, and your eyes keep moving back to him, it isn’t anything you aren’t used to, and sometimes it’s even a pleasant feeling when you find him looking back at you.

But you also cherish these moments, spending time with people you can now call friends. A circle you never thought, would even be possible for you to have.

The Upside Down is now in the past, the events from the horrific night, now long gone – and yet, you all still stick to the weekly group hangouts.

It has become something very important to all of you – this friend group has become something so special. And you love it, but it scares you, it scares you so very deeply, because of the someone that holds your heart in the palm of his hand.

You know that you will lose them, that you will lose this, that you won’t have this group of friends forever, no matter how much you would like it to stay a part of your life.

The moment this thing between you and Steve will be over, you won’t only lose him, you will also lose them, and that realization feels like a punch to your gut.

You have no family, you’ve been alone for years now, and it has been the worst years of your life, you were lonely and hurting deep inside, but the past few weeks, have been one of the best ones, you have never felt more alive, more happy, despite the sadness that always looms over your heart.

But the happiness isn’t here to stay, it’s only temporary, it’s only here for the moment, it’s only here for as long as he is willing to keep you.

The moment he closes the door, you will be left a worse mess than ever before.

Eddie watches you.

Eddie watches as you move around Steve’s kitchen as though it’s your own, cleaning plates and putting them away, while Steve is wiping down the table outside.

Everyone has left, everyone except for you and him.

He is sipping on his coke, his eyes not straying away from you as he watches curiously.

Steve walks back inside, he shuts the sliding door and turns off the lights in the backyard, before he joins you both in the kitchen. He glances at him as he brushes past him, carrying the last two glasses, he places his hand on your shoulder as he puts them into the skin.

“Eddie, you uh, you don’t have to stay back and clean,” Steve mumbles, turning back to him.

Eddie chuckles.

“Clean? Just want to stay a bit longer with my friends,” he shrugs, looking back at you, “with my best friend in particular.”

He sees the way you freeze, the way you slowly turn back to him with a frown on your face.

“What?”

He puts down his drink, and gets up from the barstool.

Without a single word, he motions for you both to follow him, unable to keep things to himself any longer.

You both hesitate, but follow him, after a moment, giving each other confused looks when he leads you upstairs and into Steve’s bedroom.

He stops in the middle of the dark room, Steve switches the light on, and he shakes his head at the metalhead, pure confusion takes over his face when Eddie smiles smugly at the both of you.

“See… I lied a little bit before,” he starts, taking a deep breath, “I didn’t steal your scrunchie.”

Eddie almost wants to laugh at the comical frown on your face, and how you throw your hand up to point at his hair, while Steve looks at you.

“What the fuck do you mean!? It’s in your hair, Eddie!”

He nods, scoffing slightly as he starts to take it out, letting his hair fall loose around his face, “well you see, I didn’t steal it, rather, I found it. Right–” He pauses as he walks over further into Steve’s room, turning away from the both of you, he slams the scrunchie on the dresser and turns back, the smile now missing, “--Here.”

You freeze, completely.

You don’t even feel the fear rushing through you, or the shock that grips at your body, you stare at Eddie dumbfounded.

The feelings inside of you earlier, weren’t for nothing, after all.

He knows.

He knows everything.

He found out about you both, he found out because you weren’t careful, because you were dumb, because you made a stupid mistake.

Steve blinks.

Blood rushes to his cheeks and raises his hands up at Eddie, shaking his head, “okay listen, this isn’t–”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him, and somehow that’s enough to make Steve shut up – for a second.

Steve huffs, lowering his hands to his hips, he takes a deep breath.

“We are not – look, this is just coincidence.”

“Right!” Eddie spits in a rough voice, nearly yelling as he glares at the both of you, “like the coincidence of you two not being able to hang out at the same time on some nights where we are all together? Coincidence of you–” he points an angry finger at you, “having hickeys all over you, and you–” he moves his attention on Steve, “having scratches on your fucking arms and back!”

He shakes his head again, and glances at you, “coincidence like last night, when I thought that you left with Jacob only to find out that you left with Steve – oh, oh! And not because you were feeling sick! You two have been screwing around and coming up with the shittiest dumbest lies, I mean Heidi and Chandler, are you fucking serious?”

You look down, hiding your face from your best friend.

You feel ashamed for lying to him.

You feel scared to lose him now.

Steve is quiet beside you, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at Eddie.

“You are both so goddamn obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t figure this shit out before!” He laughs in disbelief. “You always look like you’re ready to jump each other’s bones – jesus christ.”

“Dude,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it’s just, we uh, we wanted to keep this a secret but uh… guess we should’ve been more careful.”

Eddie throws his arms up, looking between you bewildered, “uh huh, so you went from hating each other to being lovesick, horny idiots?” He snort, not quite believing what he’s seeing, what he’s hearing, “so, are you two gonna keep lying, or finally admit to me that you are dating?”

Your eyes widen, and your head snaps up, your lips parting in surprise.

“Dating?” Steve scoffs, chuckling a little as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Fuck no, it’s just sex.”

Eddie opens his mouth again, but his words get caught in his throat when he glances at you, and sees the look on your face, the pained frown, the sadness in your eyes and the way the tension in your shoulders falls. You lower your head, and stare blankly at the floor, not saying a single word.

He had seen you like this before.

He had seen this sadness before – that night when Steve had lost his temper, and he hit you with harsh words.

I would be surprised if anyone ever loved you at all.

Oh.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, the realization that floods through him, isn’t easy on him when he sees just how hurt you are by Steve’s words.

There is only one lovesick person in this room, and it isn’t Steve.

He nearly wants to growl at him, slam him against the wall and tell him to stay away from you.

“Look, we’re just having fun, and we didn’t want this to get in the way of things… so… it’s just between Blondie and I,” Steve shrugs, unaware of the anger that boils inside of the man before him. “We’re causing no harm.”

Right, no harm at all.

It’s only your heart that he’s breaking.

Eddie doesn’t even need the confirmation, he can read you like an open book.

“Right?” Steve nudges your shoulder.

You nod, “right.”

“So uh… I think it should stay between us,” Steve points between you and himself, not seeing the look on your face, not seeing the look on Eddie’s face. “And uh, it’d be nice if you kept this to yourself.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie nods, clenching his jaw.

He can tell that you don’t want to be here anymore, that you’re getting restless as you begin to bounce your knee and to blink quickly.

You want to go, and Eddie does too – or else he will do something that he will come to regret.

“Yeah well, you keep doing your thing then,” Eddie mumbles, unable to look at him for longer than a second, before the anger worsens, “I don’t know how I feel about this, but uh, it’s none of my business. Just please stop lying to me.”

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, sighing, “yeah, sure.”

“I should go now,” Eddie mumbles, and he glances at you again, pointing his finger at your face, “and you’re coming with me.”

He gives you a stern look, one that stops Steve from asking any questions, from asking you to stay.

Eddie doesn’t want to leave you with the guy, that is clearly hurting you. He might not know it, but Eddie isn’t blind, and he knows that you staying here won't end well tonight, because the pain in your features is way too visible, and he can tell that you don’t want Steve to see, by the way you're hiding your face from him.

Eddie blinks, not realizing that he is still glaring at Steve, his protectiveness growing stronger in him.

“Alright, let’s go,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” you sigh, turning around, you keep your head low, “bye Steve.”

He watches you both closely, the way you quickly make your way out of his room and into the hallway, hurrying down the stairs like you’re running away from something – like you’re running away from him.

And Steve, he opens his mouth as his eyes follow you, but he shuts it again, his throat bobs as he swallows. His shoulders fall and a sigh falls from his lips.

Eddie steps closer to him, and Steve turns to face him, he raises his brows at the warning look in Eddie’s deep brown eyes.

“I’m going to kick your ass if you hurt her, Harrington.”

Steve has never been afraid of Eddie – well, maybe those two times when he slammed him against the wall.

“It’s just sex, Munson,” he says, with an unsure tone in his voice, and a bitter taste on his tongue, that he swallows harshly. “Nothing more.”

If Eddie wasn’t so focused on your feelings and on the anger in him, he would’ve seen something other than lies in Steve’s eyes.

“Mhmm, right.” Eddie nods, and steps away from him. “Well, good night.”

He wants to stay longer, to interrogate him further and find out more, but talking to you is more important to him now, so he follows you, hoping that you didn’t make a quick escape already.

But he finds you in the driveway, with your arms crossed over your chest, you lean against your car as you wait for him.

Eddie approaches you slowly, not needing to make up his mind about what question to ask first – it already lies on the tip of his tongue.

You drum your fingers against your elbow, your knee still bounces, your chest heaves up and down heavily.

No words are spoken when he finally halts in front of you, the only sound between you both is your breathing, the wind rustling in the trees and the crickets.

You look at Eddie through your lashes, nervous to even say a single word.

He pities you in this very moment, because he knows how you feel.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“What?” You ask in a small voice.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re in love with Steve?”

You draw back, and your eyes widen.

You knew that he would confront you, but you didn’t expect him to confront you like this.

Your heart drops to your stomach, as the lump in your throat grows.

“I-I…” You stutter, shaking your head at him as you search for words in your mind, for lies to feed him, so your heart can rest, but your mind is empty, the lies are gone, and all you can do is panic as your eyes start burning, “I don’t… I’m not…” You can’t even utter those words, you can’t even lie to save yourself, you can’t even say that you aren’t in love with him, because saying that, would hurt more than this reality.

And yet, you still want to deny, but all you can do is shake your head.

Eddie’s eyes soften, he sighs when he sees just how much pain there is in your glassy eyes.

Eddie knows that there is more, much more.

These feelings aren’t newfound, these feelings are so very deep, these feelings are years old.

He licks his lips, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s why you jumped into the lake with no doubt, that’s why you grabbed him at the hospital, that’s who you got all dressed up for at Hopper’s and Joyce’s party,” he pauses as his face saddens, “that’s why you looked like the world fucking collided when he said it’s just sex.”

A tear falls from your eyes, and slips down your cheek.

Your bottom lip begins to quiver in fear, knowing that this very fragile thing between you and Steve, is now even more frail than before.

You’re a little shocked by how perceptive Eddie is of you, just how Billy was.

He takes a step closer to you, bringing his hand up to your shoulder, hoping to bring you comfort.

“Eddie,” you whisper with a trembling voice as you look into his eyes through your blurred vision, “p-please don’t tell anyone… I-I will lose him if the others find out. And this is the only way I can have him.”

Eddie’s heart breaks for you, the desperation in your eyes and your voice, your words showing him just how deep your feelings are.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he sighs, tilting his head, “for how long?”

You hesitate, not knowing how to save yourself from this humiliation.

But, Eddie’s eyes are filled with kindness, you know that he won’t judge you.

You breathe in shakily, another tear rolls down your cheek, but you quickly raise your hand up to your face, and wipe it away.

“Since we were teens…”

Eddie’s eyes widen, his lips part in shock.

The revelation isn’t something he expected at all.

He knows how Steve treated you, he knows how awful his words were, sometimes. – He knows that King Steve never once bit his tongue, the presence of his friends only made his words more cruel.

He fell victim to it, and you did too.

Neither of you hesitated to bite back though, and Eddie always tried to brush his words off, you always acted like you did too. – He wasn’t your friend in high school, but he was no stranger to seeing you bicker with King Steve during classes or in the hallway. He was always impressed by your witty words, and your funny insults.

He could’ve never guessed that you were wearing a mask, that those words were only weapons to defend yourself with, to hide behind them, to keep your true feelings a secret.

You were so good at acting like you didn’t care, like Steve was someone you hated, like your heart didn’t break, every time you faced him.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, sadly.

You shake your head, and huff at yourself. You raise your hand towards your face, waving it as a pained chuckle falls from your lips, “you must think I’m pathetic,” you murmur, rolling your eyes, the tears still deeply visible, “falling for a guy who fucking hated me for years? That’s just… I’m setting myself up for failure.”

Eddie can tell that you are trying not to break down while you’re still here, still in Steve’s driveway, where he could see you at any given moment.

“You’re not pathetic,” he frowns, squeezing your shoulder, “we don’t choose the people we fall in love with, it’s not in our control.”

And if it was, you still would’ve chosen him.

That makes you pathetic.

“I am pathetic. If I had some dignity, I wouldn’t do this with him. I shouldn’t do this with him, I know how it will end, Eddie.”

“Don’t talk down on yourself,” he mumbles, glaring at you. “Shit, I don’t even blame you, I would’ve done the same thing if I was in that situation.”

You breathe in shakily, blinking fastly as you feel your breakdown approaching.

“I-I just, I wanna go home, right now. I can’t–”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers softly. His kind eyes and his presence being the only comfort for you now. “Want me to go with you? You can talk to me, sweets. You know that.”

“Yes please,” you whisper, not wanting to be alone now after all of this.

“Do you feel okay to drive?” He asks.

You nod.

“Okay, let’s go then.”

Eddie steps away from you, he gives you a small smile before he walks away and towards his car.

You hesitate, and look back towards Steve’s house, looking into the window where the light is on. Your heart feels heavy, it longs for him, but there is so much sadness inside of you.

You’re not stupid, you knew how he felt about you, you knew what this was to him, you knew he never wanted more, he will never want more.

You know how this will end.

You know it.

But he blessed you with a glimpse of hope, this morning, only to crush it again by night.

You knew the moment of happiness was short, but you didn’t think that it would be this short.

You didn’t think that this night would be so much different from the one before.

You didn’t think that it would end with you sobbing into your best friend’s chest.

You didn’t know yet, that it wouldn’t be the last time that you would do that.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @sherrylyn628 @munson-mjstan @maroon-cardigan @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @ibellcipem @corrodedcorpses @agirlwholovesrockstars

#dwoht -- chapter thirteen #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things angst

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blueywrites · 14 days

Text

u-haul 'cause I might let you move in it (1/2)

dom dealer!eddie x sub fem!reader Inspired by @2jihiir0's fanart 'make it quick... baby's sleeping'. leave them some love! read part two here.

2.5k

cw (both parts): 18+. smut, drug use (weed), situationship becoming something more (???), shame kink, praise & degradation, pet names, exhibitionism-adjacent, no y/n, no physical descriptors, eddie's still a fairly soft dom bc I'm just not hard like that 😭

an: this is just the start of the filth, y'all - most of it occurs in part two 😌 shout out to @munson-blurbs @hellfire--cult @word-wytch and @the-unforgivenn for their feral support and @fracturedarkness bc this wouldn't exist without her.

enjoy part one! 🩵

The afternoon sun hangs heavy in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow through the dusty blinds of the trailer. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoke and stale beer, a heady mixture that clings to the walls. It’s the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes, your hair, your skin. It should leave you feeling slightly suffocated, especially considering the oppressive humidity also clinging to every surface, but somehow, there's a measure of comfort in the acrid scent.

You’re sitting on the threadbare couch, the fabric worn with age creaking as you shift restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the heat. The fabric scratches your soles as you prop your feet up, leaning against the couch arm, fanning the neck of your thin tank top to peel the dampness from your chest. Beneath the old coffee table, your flip-flops lay forgotten, abandoned on the threadbare carpet. A beer bottle sits nearby, sweating rings onto the surface of the table, a testament to the lazy haze of the afternoon.

On the other side of the couch, your dealer lounges against the cushions, his movements fluid and practiced as he rolls a joint with deft, inked fingers. You look over at Eddie as he watches the TV, his head lolled back against the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded, relaxed. He looks good. You can’t help but spend a long moment staring at him: the angles of his face, his big brown eyes and puffy lips, his long, shaggy curls that frame his high cheekbones. He’s pretty, and he’d look downright innocent if it wasn’t for the long nick of white scar tissue kissing the edge of his lip and the scruff darkening his cheeks and jaw. Your gaze dips lower over his tight black jeans, lingering where they meet his rust-colored tank. The shirt is caught up around his hip, revealing a strip of pale skin and a tattoo that you can just see the bottom of. You want to run your tongue over it, then keep mapping all his ink until your mouth has touched each bit of darkness on him.

This thing with Eddie started when you broke up with Trevor and lost your go-to source for getting high. When you’d asked around, a friend of a friend recommended Eddie Munson, saying he was the best you could come by in the area: decent product, reasonable prices, and not a total creep. The first couple times were quick transactions, and then you started hanging around because the girl who hooked you up also told you Eddie would likely offer to smoke you out if you did. He let you hang around because he didn't much care either way, and he didn't find you hard to look at. That led quickly to casual sex whenever you saw each other, usually when you'd come by a couple times a month to restock your supply. And the sex is great– better than the weed, and Eddie's weed is always high quality. He just has this ability to make you feel special in the moment without having any expectations about whatever-you-and-he-were as soon as you pull your panties back on, leaving you free to date whoever you wanted when you left his trailer.

It’s ecstasy to have all of his attention focused on you in those moments because, though Eddie looks like a mean bastard, he gets off on your pleasure. He's not one to make you feel used or neglected; he's a thorough lover. And he has a knack for straddling the perfect line between sweet and sour. He'd praise you then humiliate you in the next breath, and it drove you wild. Kept you coming back even though he never expressed interest in taking you out or doing anything with you other than just getting high, watching TV, and fucking you 'til you screamed.

And then, at some point, you find yourself declining guys' offers for dinner or drinks. You just don’t feel like going out anymore, because trying to find Mr. Right was getting exhausting— at least, that's what you tell yourself. And Eddie starts calling you sometimes to let you know he had a new strain he thought you'd like, some of Rick's fancy shit. Soon enough, you go from seeing him twice a month to twice a week, sometimes more. And slowly but surely, you begin to notice a change in yourself. You start staring at all his tattoos and wondering what the stories are behind them. Feeling an odd flutter when you flop down next to him and he'd sling his arm around your shoulder without a thought. Laying tangled in his musty bedsheets, and when he leaves to go to the bathroom, secretly burying your nose against his pillow because the smell of him has suddenly become... comforting.

Things are changing for you, and you really hope they are for him, too. 'Cause if not, it seems your traitorous heart has determined you'll be in for a world of hurt.

"Y'want some of this?" Eddie's voice cuts through the haze, drawing your attention away from the television. You glance over to see him holding up the joint, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The glow of the joint illuminates his features, soft against the curve of his cheek.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your own lips as you shift closer to him. He pats his thigh, a silent invitation, and you don’t hesitate to straddle his lap, the heat of his body seeping through your pajama shorts. His jeans are rough against your tender inner thighs as you shift, grazing the hardening bulge pressing against his zipper; your stomach tightens with the first whispers of arousal as you feel it brush against you.

"Gimme a show then, kitten," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, making that arousal bloom fuller as you grow excited. It’s a playful taunt, a challenge, but beneath the teasing facade, you can sense something more—a hint of possessiveness, maybe even of longing. That could just be your wishful thinking, but nonetheless, your heart races at the prospect as you meet his gaze, accepting his challenge.

With a coy smile, you slip off the couch, settling on your knees and running your nails up his thighs on your way to his lap. You take your time unbuckling his belt, keeping your movements slow and unhurried, though you secretly throb as you begin to unwrap him. It’s crazy how quickly he turns you on— how all he has to do is smirk and pin you with a look, or murmur a few words in that low, husky tone, and you’re already wetting your panties for him.

Eddie waits just long enough for you to shimmy his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and then he catches you by the jaw with a broad, rough palm. You look up at him as he guides you back up with his light grip on your face. His eyes flick down to your mouth as he leans forward, curls swinging to kiss his jaw. You brighten, eager to feel his mouth on yours, wondering what kind of kiss he’ll reward you with— something slow and sweet, or wet and filthy. But he leaves just a peck on your lips before drawing back, tightening his hold on your jaw to keep you firmly in place when you instinctively go to chase him.

You fall immediately into a pout, slumping back on your heels as he breathes a chuckle at you. Eddie bends to lightly pat your cheek a few times in consolation before settling back into the cushions, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He must know the gesture would rile you up, and it does— you feel your disappointment churn in your belly, turning to petulance. In retaliation, you clamber up to your feet, abandoning your position kneeling before his boots. With narrowed eyes, you drop your shorts and panties together without ceremony, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, denying him the chance to enjoy watching you strip. You cross your arms when your bratting only makes him smirk even wider at you. He quirks an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?”

You resent how much you like his stupid face.

The couch creaks its protest as you climb up onto it, slinging a leg over his lap again, this time with nothing separating your skin from his, which is hot and slightly sticky with the humidity. His cock kicks subtly when your pussy grazes him, and you bite your lip, feeling an answering pulse of desire within yourself. When you mount him, reaching behind to grip him at the base and notch his fat head at your entrance, Eddie prepares for your performance: draping his arms casually over the backrest, fingers idly tapping against the worn fabric, his other arm hinging to bring the joint lazily to his lips.

He looks like such an asshole, waiting for you to service him. And you might've goaded him more because of it, but you forget about being bratty the second you sink down on his lap, taking him all the way into you.

A quiet moan sighs from between your cracked lips when you sit fully on his cock, your eyes slipping closed as you get lost in that initial stretch. He's not the only guy you've fucked— far from it— but there’s just something about the way he slots inside, nudging against the end of you, that always leaves you feeling more perfectly filled than anyone else. Eddie watches with a sly glint in his half-lidded eyes as you start to grind on him, letting yourself drift into the space he always brings you into. With him, you can be soft, sensual, and needy, but also desperate and pathetic. You can act out all your secret desires, know that Eddie will flay you open and force you to acknowledge them, and let the shame of it get you off all at once.

Eddie lets you be a freak, and better yet, he likes it.

Desperate to earn his approval, you run your hands up your body, dragging over your hips and up to your neck as you ride him. Your abdomen rolls as you grind with fluid, sensual movements, doing your best to put on the show he’d requested. You look at him through your lashes as your wandering fingers catch on the hem of your tank top, dragging it slowly up to reveal your soft belly. You hold it just below your breasts so Eddie can watch the way your curves bend and move while you work his cock.

In some respects, the dance is for you as much as it’s for him because the way Eddie watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring every inch of your body, really turns you on. You bite your lip, your clit swelling with anticipation as you tease him with a glimpse of the underside of your breasts. He hums approvingly, taking a leisurely hit from the joint. As the smoke curls around him in a tantalizing haze, you give in sooner than you’d been intending and ruck up your top to let your breasts fall out. You start to play with them, squeezing and kneading as you rock your hips harder, your own need mounting.

Gradually, your performance ceases being a performance. Your nipples begin to ache, begging to be touched, and a moan spills unbidden from your lips as you tweak and pinch them, sending pleasure zinging straight down within you. You close your eyes, a tiny frown forming as you try to concentrate on the low flame of your arousal, but it remains at a frustratingly low simmer. You rock faster, grind harder, pinch harsher, your movements a silent plea for the sweet relief only Eddie can give. You’ve built your own pleasure as much as you can on your own, and now, you need him. The coyness is wiped from your expression, replaced with a begging pinch in your brow, a needy, wet shine in your eyes as you blink unseeingly at him, all pretty and pathetic on his lap.

At the border between satisfaction and desperation— that’s where he wanted you.

A hand at your hip stills your movements, and as your eyes snap to focus on Eddie's face, you see he’s leaned forward, his nose scant inches from yours. His other elbow is planted on the couch arm, the joint poised tantalizingly nearby in his ringed fingers. Eddie squeezes your hip firmly, then again more gratuitously, and when you obediently fall still to sit motionless on his cock, he lets his palm slide up the curve of your waist in a drag that makes you gasp, you're so wired and ready for his touch. You watch, rapt, as he brings the joint toward his lips, salivating as a swipe of his tongue moistens them.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap up to his, captured completely by his unwavering gaze. As he inhales, those brown eyes glitter in the orange that flares bright at the joint’s end. And he keeps that point of contact between you as his broad palm travels up, up, up— over the supple heft of your breast, grazing the hard peak of your nipple, skimming the thrumming pulse in your neck, his thumb catching on the underside of your jaw as he cups your cheek. He closes those scant inches between you, and when the bulb of his nose nudges yours, your mouth falls open as your eyes slip closed.

He exhales, you inhale. When the warm rush of Eddie’s breath kisses your lips, you take it into you, your chest expanding as your lungs fill with smoke. The taste of him mingles with a heady rush of arousal, and you continue to take, even through the twinge of discomfort as your lungs stretch to accommodate it all. As Eddie gives you the last of his smoke, you close your mouth, keeping it all inside.

“Hold it,” he murmurs against your skin. His lips trail kisses along your jaw as you obey, fighting your diaphragm as it hitches, wanting to cough. You make a little noise in the back of your throat when he nips you, the brief sharp sting soothed soon after by the flat of his tongue. You hold as long as you can, and when you finally exhale, Eddie rewards you by taking hold of your hips, pulling you into a slow, sensual grind as he kisses you sloppy, wet lips wide and devouring. The friction and fervor crash over you in an intense wave of pleasure, one that has you whining, twisting your fingers in his hair, pressing your tits to his chest, ready to ignite—

The front door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist.

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

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dcxdpdabbles · 8 months

Text

DCxDP fic idea: Keep the God Kid Busy!

So the JL are messing around with magical artifacts that shouldn't be. Well, it's more like they stopped a considerable cult that was running around killing people across multiple countries, which made it hard to pin them down. Thankfully, they finally gather all of their ritual stuff and are now placing it in the storage on the watchtower to study and safeguard.

Someone accidentally activates something- I'm thinking Booster gold or maybe plastic man?-by touching it with a hand bleeding from a paper cut. They didn't think it was going to affect anything, but suddently the large slap of stone with unknown writing starts glowing glowing then its starts leaking oozing green goo and everyone panics. They call in Batman assuming he know what to do.

And he does.

He calls John Constantine who looks at the slab with a confused frown. It's not that he can't read it, but rather it's confusing to read.

""I'm here to protect but only if you text," John reads out loud. When the others give him looks, he raises his hands. "Word by word, I swear. But this is thousands of years old. Older than Göbekli Tepe, so I don't understand why this being knows the word text."

"Could they have meant text as in a ancient writing?" Batman asks.

"Not with the cellphone next to it" and now that Constantine points it out, the hieroglyph next to the writting, does look like a old cellphone- not a flip phone but a early design of blackberry.

"What is the slab of stone doing?"

"Summoning a Ancient" Constantine says

Wonder woman freezes "A God!? It's getting a God"

The ooze raises turning into a swirling portal right above the ground. A few of heros feel a odd sense of danger and comfort coming from it. Constantine sighs rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah and he's almost here. So we should think of what to say instead of oops it was a accident"

And just like that Danny Phantom, High King of the Dead, is standing above the stone looking around wide

The ooze raises turning into a swirling portal right above the ground. A few of heros feel a odd sense of danger and comfort coming from it. Constantine sighs rubbing his eyes.

And just like that, Danny Phantom, High King of the Dead, is standing above the stone, looking around with comprehensive eye

"Omg, is the world ending?! The Justice League summoned me cause the world is ending, right?! I'm ready! I'm so ready! LETS DO THIS"

It seems Danny Phantom is also a really excitable being. It's a bit unnerving how it reminds them of Klarion the Witch Boy

The justice league, in order to avoid offending the highest god just make up a random emergency at Constantine recommention because higher beings do not like being called for no reason.

They call in the rest of the league to keep up the lie in a controlled environment and soon are taking him across the world helping with "disasters."

Danny is meanwhile fanboying out because it's the JUSTICE LEAGUE. They called him! He was helping BATMAN :D!

He takes a selfie with the big bat in the background and texts it to Tucker and Sam, throwing peace sign.

His friends respond with lots of excited emojis.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Keep the God Kid Busy!#part 1 #Danny is just happy to be here

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Note

I imagine Mando is a virgin, do to his cult/religion.

What if fem/afab reader is Mando's partner on something and Din finds himself staring at their ass, their face, anything.

Reader notices and decides to lead Din through his first time?

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐑 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : The Mandalorian x F!Reader

» CONTENTS : exhibitionism, masturbation, p in v sex, unprotected sex (I can hear you all screaming from here, I KNOW), cute, shy Mando. 18+ you N A S T I E S.

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

It’s so fucking quiet on the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian had been suspiciously silent for the majority of your trip to Theed— made even worse by the knowledge that it was such a long journey. He had spent most of his time in the cockpit of the ship, pretending to be preoccupied with the coordinates that he hadn’t changed since setting off.

You didn’t think anything of it at first. The long drags of The Mandalorian's eyes that you could feel pull across your form, settling on your ass like a tractor beam had them glued to you. Of course, you’d just explained it away with exhaustion. For a moment, you even considered that you’d been afflicted with Hyper-Rapture, imagining things that weren’t there, inventing the gaze you felt skirting over your form.

No, you don’t think anything of it at all. Not until you walk into the cockpit of the Razor Crest one evening to find The Mandalorian thrusting into his palm and quietly whimpering out your name.

Mando hadn’t seen you, spilling into his palm and wheezing as though he’d been shot by a blaster in the side. His cum had run down the knuckles of his fingers, the two-tone gloves he consistently wore hanging off the controls.

Stars, you couldn’t shake the image from your minds-eye, nor could you ignore the echo of your whimpered name when you close your eyes at night.

It’s late. Mando has managed to settle the rambunctious Child into his cot, gently laying him amongst the blankets and closing the lid. It hisses softly, the mechanics locking with a quiet ‘click’.

You can hear his boots clang across the durasteel flooring, each footstep pronounced. Heat swallows your face as you stare at the Aurebesh lettering in your book, the lines all blurring into one when you feel him approach you.

Your name rings in your ears.

“He’s asleep,” Mando speaks softly, his husky tone soothing in its quiet volume. Looking up at him through your lashes, you carefully close the book you had pretended to preoccupy yourself with. Mando’s visor stares down at you blankly, an immovable object that makes your hands shake when you reach for him.

“… That’s perfect,” you whisper, voice cracking slightly when your palms touch the flight suit beneath the lip of his breastplate. You can feel his body flinch, his hip bones soft beneath the canvas.

“H-Hey,” he says cautiously, shocked by the sudden contact. You rub gentle circles with your thumb, chewing on the inside of your cheek in an attempt to ease your thumping heart.

“I heard you,” you break it to him gently, watching his body stiffen at your admission, “Why did you hide it from me?”

Mando doesn’t respond, your touch having stolen the breath from his lungs. He shudders, his cock hard already beneath the fabric of his suit. You see it twitch, responsive to your light touch.

You smile to yourself, careful as you unclip his utility belt.

“I can give you what you want?”

You insist upon fucking him in the pilot seat. Mando implores you to allow him to keep his armour on. Of course, you concede. This is outside of his comfort zone; he would want to cling to what makes him comfortable.

Straddling his lap, you feel the sting of cold from his tassets bite into the naked flesh of your thighs. The head of his cock rests against your clit, and your muscles buzz with a mixture of arousal and anticipation. You’re drunk on it, high on it.

“I haven’t-“ Mando speaks, his voice catching in his throat when you dip his cock through your soaking folds. It’s like he short circuits, choking on a thick syllable.

“Mhm?” You hum softly. You’ve taken control, your experience making it easier for Mando to relax into you. He leans forward, pressing the cold Beskar of his helmet against your collarbone.

“I haven’t… Done this,” he admits to you, his tone reserved- shy. Mando’s breath hitches in his chest when you settle the head of his cock against your entrance. He sinks inside you ever so slightly, a groan rattling his lungs at the promise of tight, wet heat.

“I know,” you whisper softly, easing down onto his length as you soothe him. Mando’s back arches against the leather of the pilot seat, a choked moan of your name escaping him— not unlike the ones you heard when you caught him fucking his hand.

You don’t move, your walls fluttering around the stretch of him in your cunt. Mando is choking back curses, his hands gripping the curve of your ass and burying his fingertips into the soft flesh there.

“Oh, fu-ughh- so tight-'' he rambles, pitchy in tone as you bury him to the hilt. He’s touching the deepest parts of you, so thick and long that you’re sure you can feel him settle amongst your lungs.

It’s immediately apparent that Mando won’t last long. His thighs are trembling, cock twitching inside you despite your lack of movement. You don’t mind. This isn’t about you.

“Does it feel good?” You check in with him, smoothing your palms down the reflective surface of his breastplate. Your body heat is so high that the chilled metal clouds with condensation the moment your skin rests against it.

“So fucking tight- Maker-“ he gasps in response to you squeezing around him. “I’m-I’m gonna cum-“

Delicately, you lean your head down to press a kiss to the slither of skin exposed between the neckline of his flight suit and his helmet. You follow it up with a long, slow drag of your tongue.

Mando cums with a haggard groan, his whole body shuddering with the intensity of it. His head drops back against the headrest of the seat, chest heaving as he sucks in laboured breaths. Your flesh aches slightly from the tight grip he holds.

“S-Stars-“

It makes you smile, because you’re sure he sees them dancing behind his eyelids.

END

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

shy!popular!reader sleeps with eddie after smoking with him (it was their first time smoking and they were scared to do it alone), eddie wakes up thinking it was a one time thing, but reader is all soft with him in the morning 🥺 (bonus of reader was a virgin and the weed gave them the confidence to make a move on eddie)

aaaaaa i love this!!! thank you for requesting 💕

18+ mdni. cw: oral (f receiving), breath play, overstimulation, fingering. slight angst, allusions to smut, virgin!reader, fluff, smoking.

his lighter flickers, igniting the small flame that lights up the end of his cigarette. a sizzling sound tickles his ears, and suddenly he misses your gentle laugh.

but he doesn't want to disturb you. not when you're clad in one of his blue öyster cult shirts, chest rising steadily as you swim in the ocean of slumber, eyelashes fluttering at the dream you run around in. you look peaceful, and you always have been.

eddie thinks of last night. when you'd knocked on his door, flustered and nervous. not because you're talking to eddie 'the freak' himself, but because you're friends had asked you to buy weed for the first time—using their repulsion for him as an excuse for their lack of courage.

you looked pretty. a gentle blush coating your cheeks, where he didn't know if it had been the small make-up ones, or the cold weather that nipped at your skin, or if you were just really shy despite the prominent reputation you (accidentally) harbored. eddie thinks he might have been hallucinating seeing you on his doorstep with nothing but stuttering words and a bashful smile.

do you sell the...thing? you asked. like the word 'weed' was taboo, especially with your conservative family who you worried was lurking around everytime you left your home. but he's amused. yes. he said. i do sell the thing.

but when you gave him the twenty dollars despite his protest ("new customers pay fifteen," lie. "especially when they're pretty girls," truth), you stood in the middle of his living room, frowning at the ziplock of the smelly marijuana, before you looked up at him with balky eyes and a twitching mouth that fears disappointment.

"do you wanna get high with me?"

he'd stopped dead on his tracks and fiddled with the fifteen dollars in his fingers. at first he thought you were joking, or it was some freudian slip, but you looked so eager with a curious glint in your eyes. and of course, with someone as pretty as you offering to get high with him, how could he say no?

you told him it was your first time (and it was also not the first time you told him that). that you wanted to know how it worked before you went back to your friends to spare yourself the embarrassment. eddie had gladly instructed you with a mischievous forethought. "put that in your mouth, sweetheart. ohh, that's it. then you suck— inhale, sorry. ah-ah-ah, keep it in. you feel it in your lungs? yeah, you can open your mouth now baby— holy shit..."

when the whites of your eyes had turned pink, mouth parted to let out the jokes you'd been afraid to tell your so-called-friends and you'd loosened up to the presence of notorious 'cult leader,' you'd slipped up the fact that your girlfriends kept on talking about virginities and sex and their ever loving boyfriends with semi-big cocks. and you so brazenly told him that, albeit you feel so revolted with the jocks you hang around with, that you'd been jealous to be the only one who's yet to be defiled.

and it's what's making eddie maudlinly reminisce last nights events behind the crooked cigarette.

how sweet your moans had been when he fucked you with his tongue and ring covered fingers; brought you your first orgasm that hadn't come from the pillow you humped. the taste of your sweet cum that still lingered on the tip of his tongue. then your tight, virgin cunt wrapped around his indelicate cock as he gently split you open with slow strokes that had you mewling at the feeling.

how the lewd sounds of your squelching sounds of your cum and your arousal that made both your thighs disgustingly sticky. and how blissful he felt spilling into the rubber as you cried beneath him.

it had been over too soon. but hey, at least you slept beside him on his bed without any judgement whatsoever, right?

he exhales the suffocating smoke of his cigarette and taps it thrice, letting the cold air that seeps through his ajar window nip at his bare chest that still had the red scratches of your nails on his opalescent skin. eddie hopes you sleep for a bit longer, just so he can stare at you without any worries whatsoever.

but much to his dismay, your breathing stutters and you slowly wake up. eddie's hand lowers from his mouth, watching you untuck your hands from beneath your head to cover your mouth as you yawn.

"well good morning, sleeping beauty,"

you blink, the tears of your yawn dampening your dried eyelashes and eyeballs. eddie smiles fondly, the faint scent of your bergamot perfume mixing in with his boyish musk of cheap cologne and dirt. he debates on keeping its scent like that; refusing to wash it just so he could smell you (non pervertingly).

"hi," you stretch an arm. "how long have you been awake?"

"a couple of minutes," he answers. "how'd you sleep?"

eddie lets his eyes wander to the tangled strands of your hair, thinks of how silky they'd been when he ran his fingers through your hair. how the rich scent of apples from whatever shampoo you used invaded his nostrils. he blushes.

"it was okay," you grunt. "i had, um, fun," you don't look at his eyes. you look at the intrepid tattoos. you're too nervous, embarrassed maybe. worried he didn't enjoy it as much as you did.

"you did?" there's a lilt of surprise in his voice; the bewilderment that sets his pitch just a bit higher that almost makes him choke on the smoke in his throat.

of course you did. eddie had been gentle. something you hadn't expected from his intimidating vogue. he was kind and patient, told you all the things you expected. and he made you feel safe—something those jocks had never made you feel when you were with them. you didn't think of running away, or sinking down in his couch to escape his intense stares, or sneak up to call the cops.

eddie made you feel free; his reverent fucking had buzzed a paroxysm of ecstasy that ensnared your senses and brought you to seventh heaven. he made you feel better than the weed you'd consumed, and the itch in your heart makes you crave for more of him.

"yeah," your voice of gentle susurration makes him smile. you eye the lit cigarette in his hand. "it was amazing,"

but his doubt gets the best of him. the last few women who he'd reduced as his stress-reliever fuck had always told him that they wanted to forget something ever happened. and if he were being honest, he felt the same way for them. but you were different. there's a small devil on his shoulder that whispered his insecurities in his ear, and eddie says, "look, um. about l-last night. you, um, we can just forget that all of those ever happened,"

you don't expect to be frowning early in the morning with something twisting your guts. "what? why?"

"because," eddie laughs sardonically, gesturing to himself. "you're you and i'm...eddie."

"and?"

his lips curl. "what do you mean 'and?'"

"so what if you're eddie?" you whisper, tugging on your fingers. suddenly eddie feels guilty, your bottom lip jutting out in disappointment and he wonders if you think it's your fault. (you do. but eddie knows it's not your fault)

"well. i mean it's not like we can talk in school, babe. your friends are gonna judge you-"

"i don't care," you furrow your eyebrows. "i don't judge them for dating jocks who are so stupid."

eddie twists, a hand tilting your head to look at him. the simple touch makes you forget what he said for a split second, the comfort of his thumb wiping any imaginary tears. "well, sweetheart, i'm not a jock. i'm-"

"don't say it," you snap, threatening him. "i really liked last night. and i- i'd like to do it again..." your eyes soften, hand coming up to wrap around his wrist. "...with you. obviously,"

his heart palpitates. a swarm of bats circling around his belly. "yeah?"

"yeah."

"well, for the record," he brushes the hair out of your face. "i really liked last night, too,"

you smile, and his temptations are fed.

for the first time, he kisses you. eddie kisses you with excitement buzzing in him; fervor burning with anticipation. he hadn't kissed you last night—something you've made an agreement with seeing as kissing was...passionate. but now he kisses you with a cigarette mouth and an eager tongue that invades your mouth when you moan slightly against him.

the taste of him sends heat down your core, dampening your panties. eddie quickly detaches himself to your lips and kisses down your neck, where he sees the light marks he'd left. he plants a kiss or two, a sacrilegious aid. with his cigarette balanced between his index and middle fingers, he uses the other to slither down beneath the sheets and cup your heat.

"christ," he grunts against your neck, swallowing your quieted moan. "wet already?"

"not my fault," you push the covers away, throwing it aside, almost falling off his bed and eddie slots himself between your legs, knees raising to dig on his waist. "you- you kiss like a wh-..."

eddie smiles in levity. "i kiss like a what, baby?"

you whine, eyes fluttering shut when he digs the heel of his palm on your clothed cunt, cheeks flaring in embarrassment. it's too vulgar, you think. but you're not in the place where your parents are, and you say, "like a w-whore."

he pushes your shirt up beneath your chest, his teeth biting softly at the small bow on your panties before he digs his nose right at the indent of your wet slit. you whimper, legs spread wide by the guidance of his hand. "mm. right. like i'm the one who's wet."

eddie pushes your panties to the side and wastes no time pressing the flat of his tongue on your dripping hole. you jolt, the sparks of sore sensitivity makes your eyes water. but he doesn't care—not when your hair shoots to clutch tightly on his hair, eliciting a baritone hum that vibrates against your blushing clit.

"o-oh! eddie,"

he puts the cig back on his wet lips, his tongue coating it with your slick and his saliva before he lets the nicotine evade his mouth. you pant, lifting your head to take a look, watching as he removes the cigarette that you greedily take from him.

salaciously, eddie blows the smoke onto your cunt. it was hot, a harsh kiss that mimicked the rigid waft of winter that caressed your skin. but it felt good—ticklish, but overwhelmingly good. and the smoke has barely withered into the air when he wraps his lips around your swollen clit and sucks on it, gathering all your arousal into his mouth.

you moan, the heel of your palm pressing on the sweat at your forehead, the cigarette on your hand still burning and waiting. eddie chuckles. "you liked that, didn't you?"

"yeah," you place the cigarette in your mouth, just when he fucked his fingers in. you almost choke, plucking it out to cough the smoke and bring forth a croaked moan. "jesus!"

you give up and toss the cigarette on his ashtray beside the bed, seeing no use anymore.

but his strokes are gentle, his fingertips pressing on your velvety walls, scissoring them slowly before he parts them and spreads you open. your hand is tight around his tangled curls, admiring the thick muscle of his pink tongue flicking at your clit.

"god, baby, you taste amazing," his own eyes roll to the back of his head, his cock hard and straining but it's not what he's focused on right now.

you taste like nectar found from the waterfalls of heaven, after he'd climbed back up from the pits of hell. the nicotine on his tongue made everything better, letting you drip onto his mouth before he swallows it all up.

"e-eddie," you cry. "i'm gonna cum,"

"cum then," he nips at your folds. "be good and cum on my face, honey,"

and everything felt like you're in an abyss of deathless pleasure. the sensitivity from last night twists the coil tighter, and eddie's fingers move faster. the squelching sound of your arousal glinting brightly around his knuckles, so much that it had almost been a mirror for you to use. he sucks and laps at your folds, prodding his nose at the hood of your clit, until you explode and cum on his face.

your legs fall to the bed, catching your breath as eddie plucks his fingers out on a wet slosh, putting it back in his mouth to suck your juices out of his limbs. you smile lazily in the afterglow of your morning orgasm, and eddie can't help himself but lean down and capture his lips with yours.

"had fun up here?" he cocks a brow, taking your hand into his and kissing your knuckles, his damp fingers lacing around yours.

you suck your cheeks in and offer him a shy smile. "i'm definitely gonna come back here later,"

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson

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itislils2004 · 2 months

Text

Alr guys pt.2 of this, if I do more it'll be about Narinder, Lambam and Ratou. (no promises)

Here's another long rant of headcanons of my Shamura and Kallamar :) !

Heket and Leshy

Summary:

As much as I like to joke about him, he's actually quite talented and meticulous. He prefers to not venture to spaces that could be remotely harmful to him (because he gets sick, really easily), unless the pros outweigh the cons. He's full of himself at times, but he does NOT have NPD (Narcissist Personality Disorder). Simply has a very strong sense of self, and absolutely hates being told what to do (even if it benefits him, and even if he already planned to do it).

He's also quite artistic and has an eye for things, despite not working for the cult he does take charge when organizing events and decorations. He's a perfectionist down to a fault, although he'd never force anyone to fit his criteria he's pushy about it at times.

Smaller character details:

Leshy has a lot of fun hanging out with Kallamar, and likewise for the squid. In fact, Kallamar often has him running errands for him or asks him for help whenever he's trying to make something or simply wants to rant.

Because of his nature to not go out much, he's rarely seen outside of events. But even then he leaves a marking impression on the flock due to his ability to multitask, and his talents.

Gets on well with the Lamb, in his head that is. He's super laid-back whenever he speaks to him. The feeling might not be mutual, but at least he cares for them, a bit.

Sozonius is also a close friend of his, but Leshy wins when it comes to who Sozonius feels more comfortable with, since they were friends even when he was parasite.

^ Either way, Sozonius helps him a lot during research or on the rare occasion they do go out (they both hate Anura, so there's no worries about one of them wanting to go there).

He refuses to learn ASL although he's partially deaf (unless The Lamb provides him better auditory capabilities, very much like Heket. This can be applied to all Bishops except Narinder.)

So whenever he cannot get a grasp on what's going on (although he's gradually getting better at reading lips) he has either Leshy or Heket to help him understand what's going on.

Summary:

Quite the forgetful arachnid, ever since they got indoctrinated, it tends to slip their mind to ACTUALLY take care of themselves. Often forgetting to eat or to wear an extra layer since they can barely regulate their own body temperature. Heket and Kallamar always try their best to make sure they eat properly and not get sick. The lamb tries to do the same, but many times it is unsuccessful since they deviate from the matter at hand. They actually spend a lot of time with the Lamb, often talking sentences that do not have a coherence to it, or simply tales of the past that come unprompted. The Lamb makes little to no effort in stopping them, and allows them to do as they please.

Smaller character details:

context:

Because the lamb actually never really learned how to groom their wool (or simply able to shear it) it tends to get matted and heavy overtime. When that happens they simply unalived reseted themselves to come back to their form, because before they got executed, their wool got trimmed by heretics before getting sacrificed so that the axe would be able to do its job in one swing.

Thankfully though, Shamura (in their right mind) helps the Lamb, and maintains their fleece voluntarily. The lamb has no comment on this action. But they are one of the few people who lets them touch them to such an extent.

Shamura is no (morally speaking) monster, but they don't actually harbor any genuine affection for the Lamb outside of some pity. Their ministrations come from simply Shamura's nature, which leads to them helping the Lamb in minor ways or even offering comfort in little amounts. The lamb prefers it this way. They'd actually reject the help if it was in the name of "affection" or "pity".

However, they have a hard time understanding complex emotions and underlying meaning. They're very literal, but also have a way of explaining things through metaphors. It's their way of understanding complex things, by associating information they already know and molding it.

Loves making jokes!! They tend to be very old/unfunny but they still enjoy it. Narinder always plays along with the jokes and sometimes laughs at how bad they are. They also use a cane/walking stick with the form of a serpent, old relique.

Tries to help around the cult as well, but is often stopped if attempting too hard when it comes to manual labor. They're awfully tall which difficults things, and due to their complexion they have a hard time standing up on their own for a long period of time without the cane (walking normally that is). They do however, work a lot on clothes and such, with Kallamar sometimes helping on the sidelines.

#cult of the lamb #Shamura #Kallamar #myart

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wizardrousactivity · 2 months

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The Rat, Dead Dog.

“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore.

He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare.

You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.

It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob. For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows.

There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.

The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him.

He needs to dispose you. For everybody’s sake.

His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful.

Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."

The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines.

Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.

You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.

#call of duty #cod angst #cod x reader #simon riley angst #cod simon riley #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #does it hurt?

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