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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

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actual-changeling · 7 months

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"I love you."

Crowley stops dead in his tracks, his hand wrapped around the door knob with white, trembling knuckles, and closes his eyes.

There were nights, many nights, way more than there ever should have been, during which he traced the constellations in the night sky and imagined what it would be like to hear those words from his mouth. Whether he would say them softly, wrapping each one in gentleness, reverence, or hurried, afraid of who else might hear, terrified that this will be the last words ever spoken between them. If he was particularly drunk and particularly lonely, chasing after the feeling of Aziraphale's brushing over his wrist as they walked by each other in the comfortable mess of the bookshop, he imagined them as a slow drag of breath right next to his hear, a whisper not even God would be able to hear; a promise of worship.

In all of the fantasies, and that is what they were, nothing more than shameful imaginations Aziraphale could never know about, he said it back. Whispered it, screamed it, forced it out between sobs or kisses or panting breaths.

When Crowley opens his eyes again, uncried tears are clinging to his lashes.

Outside, the first splatters of rain are painting the sidewalk black and people hurry by, trying to escape the storm as the sky breaks in two. Within seconds, the steady drum of water against the window is louder than the noise of the traffic, louder than his heart's attempts to beat out of his ribcage and bare itself to him.

He cannot look at him.

It is his first thought and the only one that matters now, he cannot look at him or he will shatter like hot glass dropped in the snow, flying apart into thousands of tiny shards. Crowley tries to rip the image of violet eyes and his perfect fucking cupids bow out of his mind without success (he knows what it tastes like now, remembers tracing it with the tip of his tongue and opening his mouth with a hunger he has never felt before).

Swallowing his own, he listens to the familiar rhythm of Aziraphale's breath, undisturbed and distinctly human in a way that makes them too human to be real, his mouth opening and closing around unshaped replies.

The sidewalk is empty save for a handful of people diving for cover in the pub across the street, and for one precious, fragile moment, the world narrows down to an angel and a demon who watched the first storm rain down on Eden, a white wing held steadily above his head to keep him dry.

Crowley never asked why, and over the centuries, the question got lost in all the others piling up every time they met. He knows why, though, without needing to hear it from him, and it is not because Aziraphale already loved him back then or saw a pitiful creature in need of protection. The answer is so much simpler - he was being thoughtlessly kind because that is who he is.

He is being thoughtlessly kind now, too.

The tension drains from his knuckles and he presses his palm to the cold metal, settling back into a body that now recalls the taste of those three words in the air and yearns for nothing more than to taste them straight from his mouth.

Crowley pushes the door open and steps onto the sidewalk, his clothes clinging to his sharp angles as the rain drenches him completely within seconds, and then he walks home without a single look or word back.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #in my head this is part of a longer fic that eventually has a happy ending #and idk if this makes much sense without context #very quick context summary is supreme archangel aziraphale back in the bookshop and crowley is having a fucking crisis #they had a bit of an argument before this and it's a parallel to the i forgive you #but have it anyway mostly cause it hurts and i love pain

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nress · 15 days

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Its him!!

(outfit by @/se3s1de (this post))

#total drama #td alejandro #tdi art #a bit more time #abmt #yeep its art no.2 from this fic #and also yes i still have art block #but im also drawing my ocs more rn #thats right ocs!!#i have those #anyways thats totally irrelevant to this post #it only took like mayyybe an hour to draw #sorry for so much quick art y’all #but i got a funny side project i’ll post soon #so keep posted!2!1!#hello to everyone who read up to here 👋#send the word lychee in my ask box i wanna see how many of you read tags #ok bye y’all

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fearandhatred · 3 months

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you knew it still hurts underneath my scars // from when they pulled me apart. - hoax, taylor swift

#fearandhatred #fearandedits #was gonna caption this “your faithless love's the only hoax i believe in” but i felt it was too much of an attack on everyone involved #my goal was to finish the second chapter of my fic today but i did not do that. so here's a quick edit instead #and you may be thinking “you could have used that time to write!” and to that i say. :)#i wish i knew how to colour photos so this would look more visually cohesive but ah well #good omens #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens edit #THIS IS A QUEUED POST. i am asleep

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utane · 1 year

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I’ve been trying to reread fics, but I am so gd tired that I pass out after 15 minutes of opening a fic so I don’t even finish 1 chapter 😭

But I think about them and want to stay awake to read Pharma with Carbide again @shireain

#Pharma #Carbide #transformers #sparklings #art tag #maccadam #it's a very quick sketch bc I've been taking ages with lining my work so I had to get one blorbo done this week #watch me open a fic and immediately pass out again #I'm in chapter 2 after a week 😂😂

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the-west-meadow · 1 year

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hi! hope youre doing good! could I request Lukas Matsson x reader fic with the prompt “why are you awake right now”

im in love with your writing!

so thankful for the Lukas love. got carried away again, 18+ only!!

Lukas Matsson x (fem) Reader

prompt: Why are you awake right now? 18+ ONLY

In an unexpected twist, you spent your first night in Stockholm stranded at Lukas Matsson’s estate with the Roys. A torrent of icy rain had made travel to your hotel nearly impossible, so Lukas had diverted you to his house. He called it your welcome party to Sweden.

At two in the morning, you were still wide awake. You could hear the sound of a TV from behind Roman’s door, Shiv on the phone with Tom, and total silence from Kendall’s room. As his assistant, you were basically always on call. At least for now, you were off the hook and free to roam.

The house was otherwise quiet, with the sound of icy rain pelting the roof. You wandered the dark halls barefoot. Of course the concrete floors were heated. Beyond dark kitchen, the light of a TV flickered from the another room. You peered inside then froze, looking in at Lukas himself, reclining on the sofa in only a white tank top and shorts. You started to turn and creep away, but it was too late.

“Is the TV too loud?”

You stepped into the room hesitantly, self-conscious in just a t-shirt and shorts.

“No, it’s fine. I just got lost… on the way to the bathroom.”

“There’s one in your room.”

“Right.”

He gave you a curious glance.

“Why are you awake right now?”

“Jet lag. I never sleep anyway.”

Lukas nodded knowingly.

“I’ve never met anyone I respect who sleeps well.”

He gestured towards the TV.

“Well, I’m watching Swedish dramas if that interests you.”

You padded into the room. There was no where to sit but on the sofa with Lukas. Tucking your legs beneath you, you took a seat at the far end. You blinked at the screen, where two Swedish detectives leaned over a body.

“I don’t speak Swedish,” you said.

“It’s okay. I’ll explain. By the way, have you tried any of our snacks yet?”

He held out a bag of gummies and you took one, examining it.

“What is it?”

“Bilar. It’s supposed to be shaped like a car.”

“It looks like a rabbit.”

"Yeah. Now that you mention it."

“What is that?” you asked, pointing at his soda bottle.

“Julmust. It’s soda we drink at Christmas.”

“It’s April.”

“I guess I don’t do things like normal people.”

“I could have told you that.”

He gave you another curious look, which turned into a grin.

“Sorry,” you said. “Jet lag. My filter is gone.”

“It’s okay. I've never had a filter. It gets me in trouble a lot.”

He gave you another glance.

“So can we agree to pass over all that small talk bullshit?”

“Fine with me. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“You can hit me if I say something shitty.”

“Sounds like you have something in mind.”

He sat up, putting aside the soda and candy.

“I could have gotten you guys a ride to your hotel. But I wanted you to stay here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t know when we’ll have a chance like this again.”

His eyes passed over your bare legs. His arm was spread along the back of the sofa, lingering close to your shoulder. You felt the heat flush into your face. You had caught the looks he gave you at various events with the Roys, and yet this was the first time you had found yourself alone with him.

“Why didn’t you come to my room?”

“I wanted you to come to me.”

You stretched out your legs, grazing his lap.

"I've got all this energy I don't know what to do with," you said.

He slid one hand up your calf, creeping along your thigh. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your reaction.

"I think I can help with that," he said.

You took a sharp breath as his hand pivoted to the inside of your thigh.

“I think the others are still awake,” you whispered.

“Then you’ll have to be very quiet.”

He gently took hold of your ankle, pulling you towards him. You wrapped your legs around him, feeling him between your thighs, just the thin fabric of your shorts separating your skin from his.

“Do you think you can be quiet?” he asked, eyeing your lips, your neck.

“I’m usually not.”

He let out a low breath, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I wish I could hear that,” he said.

“What about you?” you asked, grinding into his lap. He tilted his head back, letting out a low moan.

“Shh,” you said, then leaned over him, taking his head in your hands. As you kissed him, you felt him grind against you from below, growing harder. He grabbed your hair suddenly, pulling your head back.

“Whoever breaks first loses,” he said. You grinned into his lips.

“Deal.”

In one movement, he picked you up and lay you down on the sofa. He pulled off your shorts, tossing them on the ground, and nudged your legs open with his palm. He looked at you with a glimmer in his eye.

“I think I’m going to win,” he said. He stroked you between the legs with one long finger, gazing into your eyes. You threw your head back, biting your lip.

“See?” he grinned. “You’re already so wet.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered.

He slid the finger inside as you stifled a moan. Then with a wink he lowered his face between your legs. You felt his tongue hot and wet against you.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered.

His other hand slid up your leg as his fingers moved slowly, rhythmically, in and out. You clenched your fists in his dirty blonde hair, meeting his blue eyes as he glanced up to see your reaction. All the while, the TV light flickered silently over your two bodies, pressed against each other on the sofa.

“I’m still going to win,” you gasped.

He lifted himself up, gazing down at you with his hair wild, breathless. He kicked off his shorts, buried his hand in your hair, and pulsed into you all at once.

The moan that escaped you was beyond your control. You felt his entire weight on top of you, cradling you in his huge arms, as he teasingly put a hand over your mouth.

“You lose,” he whispered.

Not two minutes later, the door to Kendall’s room slid open. He peered out into the hall. Silence. Padding through the house, he made his way through the kitchen until he saw the TV flickering from the other room.

He peeked inside. There you sat, side-by-side with Lukas, a blanket over your laps. Between you were several bags of snacks.

“Hey guys,” he said uncertainly.

“What’s up, man?”

“I thought I heard something.”

Lukas nodded at the TV. “Someone just got murdered. You want some snacks?”

It wasn’t hard to miss the fact that your hair and Lukas’s was a mess, several pillows had fallen to the floor, and your cheeks were flushed. You looked at him guiltily. Kendall caught your eye and gave a slight grin.

“That’s okay. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

With a little wave, Kendall withdrew from the room, leaving you alone again.

“Poor guy,” Lukas said. “Guess he can’t sleep either.”

Then he tilted your face towards his and kissed you on the lips. His hand slid beneath the blanket.

“Now, where were we?”

#lukas matsson #lukas matsson x reader #lukas matsson/reader #succession #reader insert #a quick respite from emotional kendall roy fics #had to educate myself on swedish snacks #this is literally what he's eating/drinking in episode 2 #i am a nerd

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obey-me-headquarters · 11 months

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So, I have this particular kink that is kinda odd (shocking, I know lol), which can basically be summed up by "taking care of the sub". Especially with things that the sub is capable of doing themselves, but is either too dumb or can't do it *right*, or the dom just does it for them.

Like bathing someone, picking out their clothing, ordering for them at restaurants, etc.

It's less about the control aspect (while I do like that) and more of the act of taking care of someone. The gentle and softness aspect is something I really enjoy.

But I have a more... extreme version of this kink. It still focuses on the gentle care, but instead of taking of someone, the sub is an object. Like a precious collectible or something rare and expensive. Something that needs to be handled delicately and with care. The sub is still no more than a *thing*, but a valuable thing.

Now imagine this kink with one of the brothers. I think Mammon would very much enjoy this kind of play, especially when you show him off. Imagine having him sitting in your lap completely naked, his legs being held apart by your thighs as you talk over him. There's a few dozen demons standing around the luscious club, and a sizeable group is gathered around the couch you and your precious are sitting in.

You address the crowd of demons, bragging about your latest prize, showing all of Mammon's weak points like an appraiser would. You run your hands over his nipples, commenting about how lucky you are for finding something that is reactive as Mammon moans. Your other hand wrapped around his dick and gave it a few strokes.

One of the bolder demons asked if they could touch your treasure, but you state that it is way too delicate, and only professionals like yourself can safely touch it. All of Mammon's moans, groans, and begs for more fall on deaf ears as you and the other patrons discuss him like he's not even there.

I feel like Asmo would also really, really enjoy scenes like this. Being treated like a precious jewel? Of course, he would love that, lol. And he especially wants you to show him off. Would even rent out big venues and have you play with him on stage. But I feel like he would also like to do these scenes when it's just the two of you. There's something special about hearing how precious and beautiful he is as you play with him in your own bed.

Lucifer is also someone who would love, but also kinda hate these scenes? (If very much a "brat who hates punishments" kind of way, as in he likes it consents to it, but some part of him is torn lol) The praise is a big ego boast, but there's something humiliating about being treated like an object that both exictes him and shames him.

Lucifer would never be willing to do this scene in public or with other people around. He's already pretty PG when it comes to public affection. But if you and him are dating both Barbatos and Diavolo? Then he wouldn't mind adding them to the scene.

The scenes involving them play out a myraid of different ways. Sometimes, you're showing off Lucifer to Diavolo as he sits on his throne with Barbatos at his side. Other times it's the other way around, with you sitting on Diavolo's throne pretending to be a human ruler, and Diavolo and Barbatos acting as the demon hunters who tamed Lucifer, and now you inspect your new prize. Sometimes it's the four of you lounging in Diavolo's bed as you pass around Lucifer like he's a cool rock you found.

Anyways, I really like this kink. Who knows? I might do more with it one day. Come yell at me in my inbox if you share the kink or have thoughts about it lol.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me dom!reader #obey me Lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #my post #i swear im still working on the part 2 to the Lucifer having a pussy fic #ive just been very very VERY tired this week so i havent had the chance to work on it #this is a quick ramble i didnt even look over so it took considerably less effort #plus i think i kinda worked myself up trying to make the fic 'perfect' since its so beloved #anyways. i had this kink for awhile but i was reminded of it bt French Fry. dont ask me why. theyre not working on anything similar.#to be knowledgeable at least. i just saw a differnet post of theirs and was suddenly reminded of these scenarios i frequently rotate #around in my brain. so like. thank them i guess if you like this???

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thetwilightroadtonightfall · 2 months

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couldn’t bear to witness my own fate

#overmorrow #my fics #eye strain #you know what? you know what??#[opens door and BLASTS YOU WITH BLORBO ANGST]#sorry! got inspired did a quick messy doodle; you know how it is ☺️#this song makes me experience the entire range of human emotion all at once somehow #nothing like a blorbo song or 2 or 10 to make me want to keel over #my art #my posts #timeless child

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thekitofit · 3 months

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fat!Wilson supremacy‼️‼️‼️

#okay i need to practice drawing fat bodies. it’s so much fun and ugh so fucking beautiful #(well i gave up on his face but. you know. this was supposed to be a quick study for the belly and. it took me 2 hours 🤦🏼)#it feels like a personal attack there’s not a single wilson weight gain fic on ao3 😔#(or the rest of the internet as far as i can tell) (it’s all i want though) 😭😭😭😭#house md #hilson #james wilson #robert sean leonard #fat james wilson #chubby james wilson #my art

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seraphiism · 1 year

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

( i think you've mistaken bonding for love. bonding is not a choice; it's a biological imperative, necessary for survival. love is a choice. )

chara : alhaitham fandom : genshin impact quote cr : catherine gildiner

restless nights in sumeru are few and far between ; you would be lying if you said you did not succumb to a strange, bored, and sleep-deprived state when they did, in fact, happen. unfortunately for you and alhaitham ( more so for the latter party ), tonight is one of those nights.

you stare blankly at the ceiling, a soft sigh escaping through parted lips. fatigue gnaws into the fibers & sinews of a worn body, an aching left behind in remnants of difficult missions past, yet the mind remains alert and awake. your gaze shifts to the still figure beside you, the scribe's normally stoic expression relaxed, breathing calm and collected. you always wondered how he managed to stay so still whenever he slept, while you on the other hand, always seemed to toss and turn, movements coming to an eventual halt whenever the warmth of his body lulled you to sleep.

"alhaitham?"

he does not open his eyes, but you know slumber has not captured him yet. instead, he pulls you close and rests an arm around your waist.

"it's late."

"i know." it's almost on instinct that your tension abates, bodies now in close proximity. "thank you."

he does not say much, not usually, preferring to answer with a simple grunt of acknowledgement. you smile, place your hand on top of his arm as you await for a dreamless sleep.

you are not sure how much time passes, nor does he, but he senses that you are still awake, feels your body tense against his. how baffling, he thinks, to know and understand you from a simple touch.

"alhaitham?"

he finally opens his eyes, almost feels something strange in his heart when you smile at the sight of such brilliant hues. you always manage to catch him off guard-- more than he'd like to admit, really, and he cannot describe what it is about you that brings restoration of emotions he once deemed unnecessary for survival.

"what is it?"

you scoot a little closer-- which he did not think was possible, should he add, and the serious expression you hold is not one he sees often.

"i have a confession."

"yes, i am aware that you are in love with me."

you both pause. no one talks. your face falls flat.

"um, okay. tone down the ego."

"am i wrong?"

"no, but that's not what i was going to say."

he feels a wave of uncertainty wash over him, wonders what you could possibly need to get off your chest during the late hours. he clears his throat as if it would brace him for what is to come, nodding as to prompt you further.

"i thought you were mean when we first met."

oh.

alhaitham's concern is replaced with something-- he's not sure-- shock? resignation? he's trying to decide, deliberately choosing to ignore the way you try to hold in your laughter at his deadpan countenance.

"speaking of confessions, i also have one." he says, entirely nonchalant. "i didn't like you when we first met."

how very quickly your amusement turns into bewilderment, your reaction a dramatic gasp at his retort. he chuckles, grasp on you tightening as you playfully swat at his chest. you resist his hold, laughter filling the air as you eventually find yourself looking up at him, his hands planted firmly by your sides to support himself above you.

"so? do you like me now?"

you are already familiar with that faint smirk that seemingly shows up more than his gentle smiles, know exactly what he's going to say.

"that remains to be seen."

you laugh once more as he leans down to kiss your nose, his words full of warmth as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding the person you love ever so closely.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #.: writing #this was supposed 2 be a lot shorter idk what happened #but here is a quick lighthearted fic bc i love him sm

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adriancatrin · 2 years

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idk what’s happening here but i do know it’s gay

#zukos like… hm biceps #my art #atla #fan art #sokka x zuko #sokka/zuko #zukka #quick sketch while i’m thinkin about how to start part 2 of my sokka thinks zuko is ‘tall’ fic #where they get together👀👀

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bcdrawsandwrites · 11 months

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[ID: A Psychonauts fanfic cover. On a reddish-black background we see a stark white version of the Motherlobe, the carved eye in the center of its brain appearing alive--the swirl representing its pupil is turned downward and glowing yellow, and its sclera is black. At the bottom and in front of the Motherlobe is a silhouette of a somewhat younger Ford Cruller (during the time when he was still running the Psychonauts). The Motherlobe's eye is casting a faint yellow beam over Ford's silhouette. Above the Motherlobe is the fic's title in glowing yellow lettering, reading "Like an Unwanted Astral Projection." /end ID]

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Angst

Characters: Ford Cruller and Morceau Oleander

Warnings: PTSD, dissociation, mentions of canon character death

Description: It was hard enough for Ford to remember who or where he was half the time, let alone run an entire organization. He could hardly rely on his own mind these days… but that didn't stop others from relying on him.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Pinky G. Rocket

Notes: Takes place pre-canon during the time Ford was Grand Head of the Psychonauts. This one is heavy on the angst, but at least we have the knowledge that things got better for everyone.

---~~~---

It was not one of his better days.

Ford blinked, finding himself standing in the corner of his office with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. He let out a cry of disgust and threw both items to the floor.

"Get it together," he growled, pressing his palms onto his forehead. "You still got a successor to train. You got an organization to run. Keep it together."

Shaking his head, he stepped up to his desk and stared down at it. Focus, focus, focus. What was he supposed to do today? ...What day was it? Was it Tuesday? Tues... no, Thursday. He had to finish reading the report on Truman's latest mission by Friday. Where was it?

Ford squinted down at the desk and hummed in disapproval. Dream fluff wrappers were scattered over cluttered stacks of papers, some of them stacked or paperclipped together, but two different reports were mixed together. Not to mention there were four different pens—at least one of which was out of ink, and he couldn't remember which one, and he kept forgetting to throw it away—a notebook he couldn't remember the contents of, a dishrag—why was there a dishrag, why was it still wet, what was it doing here when the café was on the first floor—

Dishes need washin'. Can't let 'em pile up. Gotta break out the dish soap—don't forget the gloves, you nincompoops, you wanna get your hands peelin'? Should get some a' those fancy dishwashing pods—

Ford blinked again, finding himself elbows-deep in the sink, with some of the café staff eyeing him. Gritting his teeth, he drew his hands out of the water, peeled the rubber gloves off of his normal gloves, and turned to face the workers. "Right. Just thought you needed a hand. Gettin' busy out there with the..." He glanced out into the dining room, frowning at the lone couple milling about. "...brunch rush. Anyway, I'll let you get back to it."

Another blink, and he was back in his office, glaring down at the desk, hands pressed against the wood and fingertips digging into the sides. Focus, focus, focus. Keep it together. Read the report. Not hard. Just have to... have to...

Who left this place such a mess?! Back in his day he'd never allow for somethin' like this to happen! He'd been a janitor for twenty years now, dagnabbit! He knew how to clean a—clean a...

Once again he found himself holding the broom, and in a blast of green light it was on the other side of the room and smoldering.

Ford’s breath came in slow, labored gasps, his bones trembling as his chest burned and his mind stretched thin.

Air. He needed some fresh air.

And immediately he was outside, staring out at the flooded quarry. He stood off to the side of the main entrance, past the deck, hiding under the shadow of the Motherlobe’s great pillars as he watched other agents arrive. He was not in the mood to deal with starry-eyed junior recruits stuttering over him in awe, or the older members who knew, trying to stare at him out of the corner of their eyes as though he were an unwanted hobo lingering on their property.

Ducks honked off in the distance, and a goat trotted lazily across the deck, chewing on a discarded sock. The natural sounds were interrupted by the hushed chatter of gossiping agents as they headed to their shifts. Ford turned away from them, trying to focus on everything else—anything else other than this organization that he was somehow expected to run. The squirrels chattering in a nest below, the trees rustling above the quarry, the gentle breeze causing the water to lap against the—

Freezing water lapped at his ankles, grabbed him by the wrists.

With a strangled gasp he stumbled back, one hand forward and the other at his temple, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe in the chilled air that wasn't actually chilled because he wasn't there but his lungs were burning anyway and his skin burned and his eyes burned and please, please, he didn't want to go through this again, not again.

"Ford...?"

The voice wasn't one from that time, and it was enough to shock him out of the memory. Blinking wearily, he turned to find a squat figure staring at him from the deck. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, resting his drooping shoulders against the pillar behind him.

"Morry," he acknowledged without a nod. He was afraid if he attempted it, he wouldn't be able to raise his head again for a while.

For a moment he stared back out at the quarry and waited to hear what Morry had to say. The kid had finished his training some years ago, but usually came to him to talk about missions, or ask for advice, or even just to chat. Yet now, he was silent, and when Ford glanced at him again, he found he'd barely moved.

In a rare moment Ford’s mind pulled into focus, and he straightened himself, brow furrowing. "You okay, son?" he asked, trying to take a better look at him in the shadows of the Motherlobe.

Morceau was rooted in place and faintly shaking. He held a sheet of paper in one hand, and his good eye didn't seem to be focused on anything.

Frowning, Ford stepped closer to the young agent, snapping his fingers in his face, which seemed paler than usual. "Morry? Talk to me."

Though Morceau jumped at the sound, he fell out of focus, as though falling into a trance. It wasn't a look Ford was unfamiliar with. "I... I..."

"...Your mind ain't there, is it."

Morceau swallowed, and waved his free hand over his head.

"Mmm-hmm." For certain Morry wasn't astral projecting—the body didn’t tend to wander unless the brain was entirely absent—but Ford knew the sensation. Like you were astral projecting, but with nowhere to go, leaving yourself hovering above your own body.

It also didn't happen for no reason.

Ford's eyes darted down to the paper in Morceau's hand, and he snatched it from him, looking it over. It appeared to be a letter—was it mail he'd received? How late was it now? Had the mail already come in? How did he—

Don't you know stealin' mail's a federal offense? Kids these days! Think they can go about stealin' from mailboxes—little hoodlums! Now he'd have to go out and figure out who this was supposed to go to. Who turned off the lights in this blasted place?! Well, they're workin' up here, so let's see now…

He gazed down at the cursive handwriting written in a shaking hand:

My dearest little Morry,

I'm so sorry. I would've called, but I don't know if I can speak.

Your father—

The writing blurred and twisted and spiraled.

Lucy is dead. She is never coming back.

Ford stumbled, staggering back into the shadows as his mind reeled, the icy wave of grief hitting him all over again. Foggy memories of a battle over a frozen lake—over the body of a slain friend—flooded his mind, followed by even foggier memories of the smell of wet dirt and the weight of a shovel in his hands. He came to a stop at the same pillar he'd been resting against earlier, and slid down into a sitting position, his legs failing to support him.

He wasn't sure how much later it was, but someone else—Morry—sat next to him, silently taking the paper out of his hand. It was a moment before he recalled the message that he had read on the letter—the message that had brought back his terrible memories.

Said awful memories were not done. When he looked to the side, he did not see his former mentee. Instead he saw the tear-streaked, reddened face of Bob Zanotto, expression slowly shifting from fury, to wild, soul-wracking grief. He felt the younger man grip his arms, alternatively sobbing and screaming into his chest.

Morry didn't do that. He remained still, staring out at nothing, his mind likely floating a foot or two above his own body.

Ford remembered the sensation, having felt it as he stood in Green Needle Gulch, alone, still feeling the phantom dirt and blood on his hands while not feeling as though his body were a part of him at all.

He hadn't known what to do then. He hadn't known what to tell the still-grieving Bob.

He didn't know what to tell Morry.

But, recalling what little he had done for Bob, he reached out, wrapping an arm around Morry's shoulders.

Morry gave a start, and his good eye began to focus. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he dropped the letter, covering his face, alternatively sobbing and snarling into his hands, sounding almost like a wild animal.

Ford sighed, leaning closer to the young man as his mind dragged in exhaustion. He hoped Morry wasn't expecting any words of comfort, because he had none to give.

How could he, when he himself was still grieving so many years later?

Past the shelter of the Motherlobe's upper deck, the sky seemed to be growing darker. Whether it was because it was getting cloudy or late, he wasn't sure. Either way, Truman's report would have to wait.

But it couldn't wait forever, and neither could the rest of the Psychonauts.

The sky grew darker overhead, and the shadow of the Motherlobe engulfed them.

#ford cruller #morceau oleander #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #my art #my writing #fanfic #more Bad Things Happen Bingo fics on the way btw #also quick explanation on part of this that might trip people up: Ford gave himself false memories of killing and burying Lucy

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