#they’re so constant and they make me feel so shitty all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mc-i-r · 9 months

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Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

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melancholyhigh · 1 year

Text

WORK HOURS.

ft. re2!rookie!leon x lieutenant!reader

synopsis. you were supposed to help leon out on his first time on the job. instead, you’re helping him out in a different way.

content. smut. 1.2k words. car sex, cowgirl, unprotected p in v, dry humping, sub leon, marking, they’re both so desperate for each other, creampie, pet names, praise kink, virginity loss.

note. man, fuck tumblr. i accidentally posted the unfinished draft n didn't realise :( anyways, i hope you guys like it <3

check out my other works. comments & reblogs are appreciated !!

it was leon’s first week on the job, and you were assigned to show him around since he wasn’t well acquainted with raccoon city. boss thought it would be a great idea to take him on patrol to get him adjusted to the area.

you were excited that a new recruit was joining. it didn’t happen too often, and you knew it was difficult being a rookie — you were in the same position when you had originally joined the RPD. so when you meet him, you plan on being a great lieutenant and helping him where necessary.

your first impression of leon was that he was sweet and a bit naive. he was also rather gorgeous. God certainly had favourites. you couldn’t help but stare at him, and he noticed. a pink blush blooming on his cheeks when he caught you gazing at him. the flushed look made him even more captivating as you secretly wished that the blush on his face would be for different reasons.

you felt guilty for having such thoughts about him. you are his boss, for Christ’s sake. you have to assist him with his duties, not get in his pants.

but how could you not think about him like that? the way he got flustered when your hands brushed up against his or the shy glances he took of you throughout the day as you showed him the workings of the place.

this constant build-up of teasing had been why the fine line between being work professional and fucking the shit out of him had been blurred. leaving you in the predicament you are in right now.

the glass windows are foggy as you and leon sloppily make out in the reclined passenger seat of the police car. you’re hovering over him, legs on either side of his thighs. your pants are off and somewhere near the driver’s seat. you’re too preoccupied with the soft whines that leave leon’s parted lips as you place opened-mouth kisses down the column of his throat, sucking on the sensitive flesh.

this isn’t what you had planned for the night. you and leon should've been patrolling the streets, searching for criminals, not dry-humping in a car in some shitty parking lot.

but, fuck, the whimpers that he makes when he eagerly grips your hips with his big, soft hands and guides your clothed pussy against the bulge of his uniform pants have you overlooking your responsibilities for the rest of the night.

“feel so good,” he groans quietly into your ear as you continue sucking marks on his neck. you pull back to admire your work. his lips, swollen from your passionate kissing, the buttons of his cotton shirt undone, exposing the expanse of his chest littered with reddish-purple marks. you want the sight seared into your brain.

he peers up through his eyelashes, eyes all glossy, and his face flushed with that same fucking blush you adore. he’s bucking his hips up to yours, pants stained with your arousal, leaking through your underwear and his arms circle your waist.

“shit, i wanna feel you inside of me, honey,” you say breathlessly and leon nearly comes in his pants at the thought of feeling your cunt squeezing him tight.

you’re leaning against the dashboard, clumsily unbuckling his belt before half haphazardly throwing it to the side. unzipping leon’s pants, you pull his cock out of his boxers. it’s flushed and red, especially at the tip, which leaked with precum. everything about him was pretty.

you grasp his shaft, slowly stroking him. his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck. your warm hands moving up and down his rigid cock provided enough friction for him to make a mess all over your palms. you realised he was holding out for you, smiling you kissed the top of his head.

“you’re such a good boy, leon,” you said softly.

at your words, you felt his hips jerk up into your hands. moans escaped his lips as he bit into your neck trying to contain them.

he whimpers your name, panting into the crook of your neck.

“need you so bad,” he sobs, tears swimming in his beautiful blue eyes. his cock pulsing and neglected when you pull your hands away from him.

“fuck, okay, sweetheart,” you muttered. leon leans back into the reclined seat, his hands on your hips. his chest moving up and down with every breath he takes.

you push your damp panties to the side, exposing your dripping cunt, you grind onto leon’s cock, groaning when the bulbous head of his cock nicks your sensitive clit. leon gasps at the feeling of your warm, bare pussy up against him. he wouldn’t last that long inside of you.

his cock finally enters your cunt. barely the tip is in, and you both groan in unison. your nails dig into his shoulders for support as you continue to sink down into him.

you feel each vein and ridge of his cock when he bottomed out in you. you moaned loudly. you were filled to the brim with him.

leon’s chest heaves as he feels your warm, gummy walls swallow his cock. he wanted so badly to fuck into you, but he wanted to be good.

“you’re amazing, sweetheart.” you huff out. “‘m gonna start moving, ‘kay?”

he acknowledges your words by squeezing your hips, unable to trust his voice.

you start bouncing on his cock, and all he manages are choked whines and whimpers that leave his pink, lips. he starts bucking his hips up to you, and you’re moaning when he reaches the spots you thought were imaginable.

the obscene squelching sounds of your drenched cunt being pounded into by leon fills the car alongside his and your desperate moans. it’s insane how wet he makes you.

“you hear that, baby? that’s how good you’re making me feel,” you say with a shaky voice.

your words make his tummy tense. he holds you closer, his hips stuttering before he gets into a rhythm again. he’s close to coming.

“‘m close,” he whimpers, and your pussy tightens around him at the sound of his broken voice.

his bangs are sticking to his forehead from the sweat that accumulated. he looks even more beautiful fucked out like this.

“come with me, baby,” you breathed. you brought one of your hands to your clit, rubbing tight circles.

nearing your orgasm, you press your lips to his, pushing your tongue into his mouth. the intimate moment has both of you coming.

leon’s legs are shaking as he comes inside your pussy. he moans into your mouth, feeling your cunt spasming around his cock when you climax. his hips came to a halt, and you feel his sticky cum ooze out of your sensitive pussy.

you’re both breathless, and he’s still holding onto you like his life depends on it.

“you did so well, leon,” you mumble, moving the bangs from his forehead, giving him a kiss. leon heart skips a beat. you treat him so good.

#leon's so babygirl in re2 #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy #re2 #re2 x reader #leon x reader #leon smut #re2 smut #leon x you #leon kennedy x you #re2 x you #smut #re4 x reader #re4 #re4 smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #✩‧₊˚ fics

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pedgito · 3 months

Text

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Five: Mr. Miller

Chapter Summary: Years later, you find yourself with choices that feel impossible. And of course, Joel Miller is there at the root of them. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (formerly), time jump, joel is a successfully published writer, reunions, drinking, semi-public sex in a bathroom, m!oral, unprotected piv, job proposals, ambiguous endings

— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

Word doesn’t travel, thankfully. It’s handled swiftly, quietly. Mostly be the discrepancies of Joel, who allows himself to take the full responsibility—for you, for him, and definitely not for Tess.

You’re not sure what expels in the office after you leave that night, other than the gradually rising voices of the troubled couple and Joel–he sounds tired, exasperated, done before Tess can get a word in edgewise. But, you don’t linger much longer.

Joel, however, can’t seem to grasp something to anchor him down, feeling himself slip into a quiet rage. Tess forces the ultimatum on him that night. Either he owns up to, tells her everything, or she would make the divorce hell. He knew she was capable of being vindictive, but he never thought it would be aimed at him. And he knew it all boiled down to him never forgiving her own undue and unjust actions. A bitterness that lingered, festered, and now that she had caught him in his own mess, like he had to her, it was too poetic for her to let things go.

Joel resigns a few weeks later, your interaction minimal—he doesn’t even speak directly to you anymore. He feels like he’s being watched, judged, under constant scrutiny. The reality was that no one knew what had transpired, but it felt louder than ever. The rest of the year is quiet and dull, but you manage.

And the months that follow, they’re fine. But, the spark you had for literature then, even if slightly skewed by Joel and his nefarious obsession with you, never really returns.

The divorce comes several months later for Joel—it isn’t quiet. It’s messy, it’s difficult. Despite his willingness to comply with Tess’s conditions over his pseudo-fling with you, she goes back on her word. Eventually though, he cuts his ties and moves on. And it shouldn’t freak him out that he sees your face in his mind every night after nearly a year of knowing you, but it’s the way he’s memorized every detail about you that paints itself in vivid pictures.

Eventually things get easier and you move on, but Joel can’t bring himself to forget.

He leaves a voicemail on the day of your graduation, a couple years passed, and he still knows—he memorized the day and even if it was without intention, he still feels the pull. To explain or apologize. Something.

He can’t explain why he’s so hung up on the moments he shared with you until the words begin to pour out. And you find yourself curled up on your bed the night of graduation, exhausted mentally, emotionally, physically—but then you see his name on your phone and you break.

You press play on the voicemail and place the phone on the bed.

‘I really…don’t know if you’ll even listen to this. I don’t expect you to, but I wanted to apologize. I manipulated a shitty situation to my advantage to forget my own problems. The shit going on within my own marriage. That wasn’t your fault…and you’re young. I shouldn’t have entertained it and I did. I liked the attention. The attention you gave me and it was wrong. If you ever want to…I don’t know, talk things out? I would like that, but I understand if you ignore this completely. I would too. A long, drawn out breath that delves into a sigh. Uh, congratulations on the graduation. I’m sorry this took so long for me to say. Yeah…anyways, goodbye.”

The abrupt ending is bittersweet, rolling your eyes at his tone. It’s clipped, void of emotion. He’s masking and you can hear it. It only pisses you off further, unable to believe the genuineness in his message or tone so no—you don’t give him the chance to talk it out. And Joel Miller fades from your mind from then on, a distant and bitter memory.

Three Years Later

Working at a local publication company in Austin was never the plan, but it was the fastest thing you could grasp after graduation and several failed internships later—and the money was decent. You had an apartment in the city, close to work, and an easier turnaround time when you needed to get something to the office on an emergency or whim.

You were a lower level employee, editing and working around the simpler marketing for author’s that—most of the time, you didn’t even know the name of. You were meant to take the brunt of the work before it was delivered to the actual team of publication for everything that they didn’t want to handle. Which often included lunch as well, daily, coffee orders every morning, and tasks that felt never ending.

But the one time you did receive a break was the publishing parties. Authors would throw a nice party for the team and a long, never-ending list of connections that led for it to be more of a schmoozy get together than anything.

You went for the alcohol, the food, and the entertainment.

Which, thankfully—they all proved to have a ton of.

So, it should be any other Friday when you walk into the bar downtown, filled to the brim with patrons and company people who were there in attendance and support of the author, who you still had yet to meet. You’d been working on the book for months now, getting small snippets of things to correct and proofread when you weren’t running around to fetch things, but sometimes the curiosity is really just too much.

You grab a drink first, sipping on the sweet mix of liquor and syrup as the people filter in and spread, conversing in a low hum that quickly divulges into a cheer as someone makes their way through the door. They’re muffled by the crowd, loud pats of congratulation and claps that aren’t entirely necessary—but everyone had been anticipating the book to be a best-seller in record time. A book of delicate poetry, beautiful and thoughtful. It was something that brought you back to a time long forgotten, sitting in your bed during your freshman year of college, flitting through the recommendations of a professor that had nearly disappeared off the face of the earth.

So, when your eyes land on Joel Miller as he pushes through the crowd, the pit in your stomach grows and swells to an unbearable size.

He’s different in every way but still inexplicably him—he seemed softer, relaxed. His hair was grown out and curling over his ears and down his forehead, curls tickling against his skin and he sported a full beard, more than he ever allowed himself while he worked as your professor the interim year he was there, patchy in places you don’t realize until he comes closer, still unaware of your presence.

You recognize the suit, though—he’s worn it a million times, week after week and it feels too overwhelming now, knowing you both had left things unfinished.

Your intentions then weren’t the same as now and you’re almost positive he could say the same—even if you did keep your vindictive streak to get things you wanted, Joel was the only person who had managed to push you in a way that brought out that side of you.

You turn on your heels as a woman catches his attention, smiling brightly and too touchy to be considered a stranger, your back facing him now. You wave and smile at a few passing co-workers, also giving a small murmur of congratulations to Joel before you feel a hand on your back, half ready with your hand balled into a fist before you hear his voice over your shoulder.

It’s a soft whisper of your name, irreverent fondness in his tone, “How’s the open bar?”

He’s folding a jacket over his arm as he squeezes into the small space between you and another person, palm flattened out against the bar as he awaits your answer.

And for once, you don’t have anything to say.

Your mouth opens once, twice, before quietly snapping shut.

Joel breaks out into a slight smile, “I saw your name on the guest list—I just thought I’d say hi.”

“I didn’t—” You take a shallow breath and press the half-empty glass against the surface, “I don’t usually know anything about who we’re working on publication for, if I had known…I just—”

His hand is a gentle press against your clothed arm, curling around your bicep, “Hey—no harm, no foul. Did you…like my book, at least?”

You chuckle softly, “Uh—yeah, of course. I think that goes without saying. I almost got fired for not providing enough notes when they asked, but I didn’t feel like anything needed to be changed.”

Joel smiles brighter, but his lack of response is palpable.

He nods, pointing at your drink, “Take advantage—seein’ as it’s paid for.”

And you feel the moment fleeing as he turns away for a brief moment and orders his own drink, thankful for the short moment of calm as he didn’t have to constantly talk shop, so your curiosity gets the better of you. You didn’t know when you would ever see him again now that he was standing in front of you—unfinished business and all.

“How are things?” You ask—it’s a vague question that without your past would seem harmless. But, Joel understands. He spots the worry in your brow where it creases subtly in the middle and he chews at his bottom lip, taking the drink that is slipped into his hand.

His ring finger is still bare and he raises the hand up, curled around the glass with eyes that peek over the rim, squinting at your playfully, feigning innocence.

“Good,” He tells you when brings his drink down to his chest, “Uh—some roadblocks trying to get back into writing but…it’s been alright. And Tess, she’s—I don’t really know how she is but we also haven’t spoken in over two years. Last thing I heard was that she was getting engaged.”

Your eyes widen by the sudden influx of information, surprised by how forthright and open Joel was being, “Oh—that’s…good? For her, I guess.”

Joel chuckles softly and raises his eyebrows in response, agreeing with the uncertainty in your statement. You had grown so accustomed to his small quirks and body language that it was coming back to you in waves, like they had never left. But, the booming voice of a few men on the other side of the bar grab Joel’s attention and he looks slightly disturbed of his peace but offers a quiet apology before leaving you alone, left to process what the fuck was happening.

For someone you haven’t seen in a few years, it shouldn’t make you feel so at ease in their presence and you hate the way it lingers and aches the moment he leaves. The same push and pull that you felt so long ago, it’s overwhelming.

You finish your drink quietly, watching the warm, orange sky morph into nightfall and you attempt to slink out quietly, having had your fill on alcohol and surprises for the night. And the activity in the bar had only ramped up more in the lingering time—but the fingers around your wrist stop you, stretching through the crowd as you spin slowly on your heels.

“Follow me?” Joel asks lowly in the space between you when you turn to him, difficult to hear under the roar of the crowd but he nudges his head in a far off direction and you nod, feet moving before your brain can process.

Joel yanks you gently into a small, unisex bathroom with a stall in the corner. It’s big enough that you can rest against an opposite wall while he presses up against the door, looking slightly flushed from the alcohol but calm—it’s strange seeing him now, outside of the setting of his work.

Also, time had passed and he’s grown and processed things in the interim.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask about you,” He begins—Joel had only wanted a quiet place to talk to you, bothered by the idea of you the entire night for more than a few reasons, but most importantly, he just needed to know, “how…things have really been?”

“I graduated, but I’m sure you know that,” You tell him, his gaze trailing down as he remembers the half-assed message and apology he left you, “got a job after way too many attempts and failing and I’m living in an apartment here in Austin, it’s a few blocks away from the publishing company. It’s not bad—I thought things would be easier. But… I can’t complain. I mean, I could—there’s really no point, though.”

Joel’s nostrils flair in amusement as his chest vibrates with a laugh, hands tucked behind him as he leaned against the surface, suit jacket having disappeared…somewhere. Now, it was the tight pull of his chest under his shirt, the gaps in his buttons covered by the long stretch of his tie.

You cross your arms gently, one leg hooking over the other as you lean the weight of your shoulder into the wall similarly, the cold breeze of the unheated bathroom brushing against your thighs and you were silently cursing yourself for wearing such a short skirt in the biting cold weather at the end of fall, rolling into winter with a force.

“I can see that hasn’t changed.” Joel comments slyly and you squint your eyes in his direction, wondering his angle. Truthfully, he didn’t have one.

You roll your eyes momentarily, biting away the smile that creeps onto your face as you look away briefly, distracted by the buzzing, overly luminescent light above your head. The tension between you two had never left, that much was apparent.

“So, how has single life been?” You ask, feeling silly at the way you word it, but given his openness to tease you so easily, you felt the need to do it back.

Joel begins with a subtle warning of your name that has you huffing out a laugh of indifference.

“What?” You say in playful defense, “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer it.”

Joel shakes his head fondly, though the bitter memories begin to flood back.

“I’m not your student anymore,” You point out, “it’s not like you’re breaking any rules by talking to me. It’s been…years, Joel. I think we’re both different people by now.”

Were you? That was entirely debatable.

“It’s been fine.” Joel gives you as little detail as possible, which is a telltale sign that he was masking, but you can’t ignore the way his eyes drag over your figure even if for a brief second.

You nod in response, not pushing the topic any longer.

“So, what’s this about?”

Joel makes a small noise in question and you tilt your head accusingly, lips pursed into a sneaky smile.

“I was on my way out,” You tell him, “now I’m here—with you. So, what’s the deal?”

“I wanted to catch up,” Joel admits–though it’s mostly a lie, “is that a crime?”

“Mmm, but here’s the problem,” You counter him, “you’re not really doing much talking. You ask some lame, basic question to cover up whatever excuse you had to get me in here. Seriously, Joel—what’s up?”

Joel sighs, chin touching his chest as he stares at the floor, “Still so goddamn stubborn.”

It’s like a trigger, soles patting against the ground as you approach him. His gaze pulls up slowly, first at your feet, then your chest, until he lands on your face. Delicate fingers press against his chest, his arms falling to his side as you press in closer and trace your fingers upwards, brush against his jawline.

You grin at the way Joel swallows tensley under your gaze, opposite hand wrapping into the length of his tie and pulling him into you, pressing your lips against his without another thought.

This kiss was new, different. Like pressing lips against a stranger with a renewed interest, not entwined in the throes of his divorce and a shitty marriage that kept him tied down and riddled with guilt, he kisses back with a force, boring conversation long forgotten.

Deft fingers turn the lock silently, a faint click of recognition as Joel leads you toward the empty stall with roaming hands, coat brushed down your shoulders and draped over a nearby hand dryer as he huddles you into the small space and watches as you pull away briefly to lock it with a giddy smile, lip pulled between your teeth as the lock slips into place and he stares at you openly, an unhinged hunger behind his eyes that he attempted to keep it bay so long ago.

“I have an idea.” Your voice is creeping suspicion in Joel’s mind and he sees your smile soften, an undertone in the wait as your fingers stretch along the expanse of his neck, leaning into him fully as he presses against the opposite wall of the stall, faces only a few millimeters apart as you breathe into him, noses brushing gently.

“That sounds like trouble.” Joel admits, your eyes dilating under his gaze as your excitement reaches your eyes, skin wrinkling slightly at the corners as you laugh.

“I don’t know,” You reply airily, “I think you’ll like this one.”

Joel’s game, eyebrows raised in question as you descend slowly—for anyone else, offering up a blowjob on the floor of a shoddy, questionable bathroom, you’d immediately decline and foremost, wouldn’t even offer. But, this was Joel.

The Joel that, despite years of time between his company, still culminated at the forefront of your mind all of the sudden. Fleeting memories, things that threatened to remind you of him, a bitter afterthought. But now, it was sweet—tangible and finally within reach. You were seizing the opportunity to close things out, even if you knew you would never see him again.

And damn his months of unintentional abstinence, Joel is unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants at an embarrassing speed with the assistance of your eager hands, instantly cradling your head as you wrestle with the few layers of fabric before his cock is heavy in your hands and hardening with even the minimalist of touch, his mouth hung open slightly as your tongue press flat against the underside of his cock, tracing along the jut of a vein that leads to his head, circling as you pull taut at his shaft and reacting openly to the tight squeeze he gives to your jaw, eyes falling shut with a gasp as he urges with silence for you to put him out of his misery and take his cock into your mouth.

Enough teasing. He knew you were both far beyond that.

There’s a lightness to your movements, inhibitions slightly skewed. You suck at his cock greedily, hollowing out your cheeks and allowing your hand to cover the length of his shaft that your mouth can’t reach and the hand that isn’t cradling your face is pressed against the stall door for leverage. There’s a crease in his forehead from how hard he’s scrunching his face up, willing himself to focus albeit how overwhelming you are in the moment and then you’re speaking to him, needy and soft.

“Look at me Joel,” You plead, tip brushing against your lips as you kiss the head and take him once more, bobbing your head slowly as he opens his eyes, and that familiar heat sets in his gaze, “there’s nothing to worry about this time—it’s just us.”

His hand is a soothing touch against your jaw, slowly trailing until his palm is cradling your head, “That’s—hm, that’s the problem. Don’t have much time.” Oh, right. This was his party after all.

“Riiiight,” You reply snarkily when you pull, feeling the gentle squeeze of his fingers against your neck as his hand settles there and rests, “guest of honor and all that, I suppose.”

Joel wasn’t letting you go that easy, though. He pushes you away gently and helps you rise to your feet, a slow progress of crowding you against the corner adjoining the stall door and the wall and his fingers slip under your skirt, digging into the supple skin of your thighs and he breathes, takes in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and he groans, so soft you almost don’t hear it. Almost.

“You still like fucking college girls? Or was that a one time thing?” You tease, earning another less than gentle squeeze before his hand is traveling down your center and over the wet fabric of your panties, covered with your slick and you moan out—guilty, and he settles with pulling them to the side for quick access, dipping a finger inside of you and chuckling at how familiar it feels, walls squeezing around the digit and you huff, “Dirty old man, Mr. Miller.”

“Just one. Annoying little brat that she is.” Joel admits, his stiff cock prodding at your thigh as he slips another finger inside of you, your grip tightening against the fabric stretched over his shoulders, head banging deftly against the surface behind you as you moan, “And just so we’re clear—don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

It never really fit him anyways.

“Got it.” You reply softly, staring at him half-lidded as his thumb brushes over your clit and he’s so close—right fucking there, dick pressed against your thigh but he won’t cross that line, not unless you ask. Luckily, you’re selfish even under a time crunch, “Joel—need it.”

“Need what, baby?” His breath is hot against your ear as he mouths at your skin sloppily, fingers leaving you empty as they rub collectively over your sensitive clit, “Such a beautiful way with words, let me hear you say it.”

“Fuck—” You breath rough, a sharp breath, “your cock, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Fortunately, Joel’s never been more impatient as he pulls your thigh up and over his hip, his fingers holding the fabric of your panties to the side as he presses inside of you steadily, selfishly watching your reaction as he splits you open—a stark difference from the first time. He was disconnected, emotionless, trying to prove a point. But, this was so much more.

It was everything he couldn’t say before.

“Stop—stop that,” You laugh softly, fingers gripping over the edge of the stall as he Joel fucks into you with sharp, precise thrusts. He was searching, determined that no time was wasted, but still admiring the catch of a gasp or moan in your throat every time he hit a particular spot inside of you that rendered you nearly speechless, “stop looking—at me like that.”

And Joel has the gull to smirk, lip pulling between his teeth as he angles you back and hikes your thigh up a fraction and that—oh, that was perfect and your grip slips and falls to his chest, wrinkling the fabric under your tight grasp as he leans in, lips pressed unmoving against your own as he thrusts into you wildly, the deafening sound of skin against skin and noises breathed into each other’s mouths.

“Touch yourself, baby,” He pleads and you thought the first time was a one off, a slip of the tongue in such a heated moment but it rings in your ears and warms your body with a faint buzz of adoration and allowed yourself to feel special and reserved only to him for that moment, “come with me?”

You reply with a shaky nod, feeling his hand guide yours between your bodies and settle over your cunt, rubbing over your clit in quick and determined circles as he spoke soft praises against your skin.

Good girl, sweet thing, look so pretty like this while you’re taking my cock.

And you’re hit with an immense rush of emotion as you come around him, his thrusts faltering in time with your cunt as you squeeze around him, “Fuck—I’m gonna come, gonna—” He pulls his hips back slightly but you’re reeling him back in with your heel, offering a small head shake.

Inside, you plead wordlessly.

It does him in—hand grazing over your breasts, tongue dipping into your mouth as he squeezes at the flesh and snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a long, drawn out groan that precedes a long moment of silence as you both come down in synchronized breaths.

Joel hasn’t moved either, cock still buried inside of you but slowly softening.

“Work for me,” He says suddenly, head resting against the wall as he looks at you, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his fingers massaging the sore muscles in your thigh, “please?”

Your brow furrows tiredly, “What?”

“Come and work for me,” He asks once more, “I can offer you a job.”

“Joel, that’s—”

You whine softly at the loss of him as he slips out of you, but silently thankful for your achy muscles—and you think Joel will leave it at that, but he’s taking your face between his hands, urging you to look at him, “Look at me and tell me you’re happy there.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and look back at him, the words perched on your tongue.

You couldn’t lie to him. Not about this.

“I saw your name weeks ago—” Joel removes his hands and redresses slowly, watching as you adjust yourself to a more presentable manner, despite the feeling of his cum dampening your panties even more than they were before, “thought I was fuckin’ hallucinating.”

Still, you’re not sure where it’s coming from. Three years of silence and now this, his cum dripping down your legs and a proposition that sounds far too good to be true.

“I need an assistant,” He admits, “Someone to help me keep track of all this shit. Everyone I’ve hired, it just doesn’t stick.

You unlock the door behind your back and file out, watching Joel stuff his shirt back into his pants with a little too much force, shifting from heel to heel as he walks, “So, you’re desperate? And you thought fucking me would help your chances?”

You’re teasing him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Immediately, his head snaps up, eyes full of concern that you misconstrued his intentions and he knows he’s fucked up again—again. He fucks up everything.

“I’m fucking with you.” You crack a gentle smile and his hammering heart slows.

“I need someone who won’t bullshit me about my writing,” Joel tells you, “real—honest feedback. Someone that knows me.”

Your hands fall behind your back, fingers interlocking as you step toward him again, playfully kicking your foot out at him, “So, the whole blind worship thing, kissing ass—it’s not for you? Because…that can be arranged too, I don’t mind.”

He says your name in warning and you pull back with a soft laugh, “I can give you a bigger picture tomorrow, after…all this. We can work things out. You can sign an official contract. I’m not trying to play you on this.”

And maybe history was repeating itself, something Joel refused to acknowledge.

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess?” You ask, allowing Joel to adjust the flap of your jacket over your chest as you slip it back onto your body, “Teacher…student…boss…”

You don’t have to fill in the rest. Joel’s pointer finger trails up the center of your chest, nudging at your chin and pulling your attention in, lips parted slightly.

“I can keep things professional,” Joel lies, “can you?”

You mouth a silent no as you shake your head and his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to write a few stipulations into the agreement.”

“I never said I agreed,” You retorted playfully, “did I?”

“Suppose I’ve got a bit of convincing to do then,” Joel smirks, “—is your number still the same?”

You shrug innocently—of course it was and truthfully, Joel never had the thought to delete it. Letting it gather dust in his contacts, finger hovering over it from time to time. Wondering.

“You still have my email,” Joel laughs at that, barely, cracking a gentle smile, “send me the details—I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”

“And if there’s any way I can sweeten that interest—”

You lean in mockingly, eyes looking over his facial expression, clearly amused with himself as your nose brushes against each other and you speak into the quiet space between you both.

“Keep it in your pants, alright? I’ll consider it.”

Joel couldn’t let you slip through his fingers, not again.

But, you knew you were doomed from the moment he set eyes on you.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #professor!joel miller #miller's girl #my writing

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deanswhiskey · 3 months

Text

don’t let me go - sam winchester

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; while researching alone, the nest of vampires you were hunting takes you

wc; 2,223

warnings; canon level violence, blood, pain relief pills, kissing, angst, kidnapping, vampires hurting reader

authors note; i never know how to end fics i’m sorry for the shitty ending 😭

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

vampire nests. sometimes they’re easy to kill, other times they’re not.

the bigger they are means more to kill. this nest was particularly large. not that you, sam, and dean weren’t equipped, it was just way larger than you’d expected.

it was only supposed to be a nest of 4 or 5 vamps. you guys had already taken out two.

but, during the time between the last vamp kill and now, you were taken. as leverage, of course.

there was still some research and investigation needed before storming the nest. you stuck behind do research more while sam and dean played fbi for a little while longer.

dean was loading the trunk while you fixed up sam’s tie for him. “be back quick, okay?” you said while pulling the tie up, securing it around his neck. you patted his chest, smoothing out the tuxedo.

sam grabbed your hands and rubbed the back of them with his thumbs. “of course. be safe.” giving a light kiss on your forehead. he headed out the door but not before he gave you one last smile. sam was always extra affectionate before going out for hunts or investigating. you never understood why. you liked the affection though.

you changed into something a bit more comfortable; jeans and a tight fighting top weren’t the best for constant sitting and research. one of sam’s t-shirts and sweatpants will do.

you grabbed one of the motels provided coffee cups and made yourself some coffee. you poured some cream and two sugars into the mug and made your way to the dining table.

your computer was open with about 8 different tabs, john’s notebook opened on a page about vampires, and your personal notebook open while you wrote down whatever thought came to mind while researching.

as you were writing something in your notebook, you heard a noise from across the room. if you were anybody else, you wouldn’t have reacted the same way you did. drawing the gun from the waist band of your pants, you carefully made your way across the room and into the adjoining room. dean made you guys get separated, but still adjacent, rooms when you and sam started dating.

upon further inspection, you made the assumption it was somebody next door. when you turned around there were two large guys standing right behind you. before you could act, they grabbed your arms and forced you back against the nearest wall.

they kept shouting “what do you know?” but you couldn’t hear much of it due to how hard they slammed your head against the wall. after they realized you weren't going to talk, they took out a blade and started cutting you to further force some answers. nothing deep, just shallow cuts; shallow enough to cause enough pain.

“i don’t know!” you repeatedly shouted as they kept making marks along your face, neck, and arms. tears started to run down your face at this point. the men put their blades down and smirked at one another. they could practically smell the winchesters in the adjoining room.

the man with the shaved head drew back his fist and knocked you out cold.

next thing you knew, your hands were tied to a chain from the ceiling. your head was pounding and you could feel your hands going numb. it was dark out from what you could see, so you only assumed it was after 9pm.

you prayed and prayed that sam and dean had found something that lead to wherever you were.

moments later, a group of people emerged from the shadows. they all had an open mouth smile bearing the pointy fangs coming from their mouths. the dots connected and you realized you were in the middle of the vamps nest; now on display as their next meal.

sam and dean returned to their hotel room and found you gone along with small droplets of blood on the carpet. anger and fear coursed through their veins. luckily, the vampire they encountered while investigating was the weakling of the nest, he gave up any and all information about the nest and places they might be in exchange for his life. of course, sam and dean didn’t listen and chopped his head right off.

they hauled ass back into the impala and went to the first of three locations they got. the burst into the abandoned factory and searched high and low and nothing. next was what was supposed to be another abandoned location but turned out to be a lively bar. they both hesitantly walked in, no one turned any heads. they talked to the bartender, nothing suspicious. they came to the conclusion no one in the bar was a vamp. the sighed and walked to the car. the hoped that this last location was it.

all while sam and dean were searching for you, you were fading in and out of consciousness as blood leaks from you all over. you were so tired.

these vamps were really adamant about whatever information they were trying to get out. you had no idea what they were talking about. you begged and pleaded saying you didn’t know what they were talking about. they’d simple say “shut up” and backhand you.

“please,” you all but whimpered out. your voice weakened after all the screaming you’ve done. “i don’t know anything.”

“well, that’s not what we heard, little girl.” the vamps fangs were protruding out of his mouth. and that stupid, stupid smirk just pissed you off enough more.

“well,” you breathed out. “whoever told you, is a stupid,” you spit out the blood that was in your mouth, “son of a bitch.”

that really pissed this guy off. he turned away angrily, but not before nodding to this one blonde girl. she had a hungry look in her eyes.

you shook your head repeatedly while muttering no over and over. “this ain’t gon’ hurt a bit, sweetheart.” her country twang would’ve been a bit comforting if she wasn’t about to bite into your neck.

her fangs were out and her hands force your head back so she could bite. your screams echoed in the empty house. your body filled with a hot sensation. it felt like no other. blood pooled out of your neck and further staining your clothes.

she pulled away with your blood all on her mouth. her eyes had this satisfied look as she backed away from you.

your body faltered, if it weren't for the cuffs, your body would've laid limp on the floor. your wrists on the cusp of dislocating from the way you were practically putting all your weight on them; your feet could barely hold you anymore

sam and dean pulled up to the house quietly with their headlights off. after turning off the engine they heard a loud scream, this had to be it. they immediately were on high alert. they forced open the door with their machetes and flashlights in hand.

they heard another scream rip from your throat and ran in that direction, careful not to make any sounds. there were two big buff vampires waiting right outside the door. sam and dean would've been a little intimidated if their wasn't adrenaline coursing through them. their blades swung through the air and eventually the two big bodyguards heads were on the floor, blood pooling at the winchesters feet.

seconds later, they burst through the door. they must've counted 7 or 8 more vampires inside. they noticed your bloody and bruised state hanging in the middle of the floor. they, somehow, become more angry when they notice bite marks on your neck.

you were on the verge of passing out until you noticed them. they fearlessly fought for you, slashing away at the vampires.

the blonde girl from earlier had an almost scared look in her eyes. she quickly unlocked your cuffs and dragged you out of the room. your vision was blurry, you could hardly make out anything.

she got outside of the house and leaned you up against a nearby tree, "you're all mine sweetheart. you're a tough one, delicious too." she all but licked her lips at the smell of your blood.

she opened her mouth, fangs jutted out, and was about to bite again when her head was sliced off, falling to the ground. her dead body going limp on the ground, which revealed your hero. sam winchester stood there with his bloody machete, breathing heavy after all that fighting.

"my hero," you weakly smiled.

"hey, don't talk right now, save your breath," he calmly whispered, kneeling down to pick you up.

"everything hurts," you groan.

"i know, i know," he carried you bridal style to the impala. "just try to save your breath."

"'m sorry sammy," you leaned against his chest.

"you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart." he gives you a sad smile, setting you into the back seat.

"tell dean i'm sorry about the blood in baby."

"i'm sure he'll understand," he held onto your hand from the front seat as dean drove back to the motel.

“don’t let me go,” you whispered, feeling soothed by the circles sam was rubbing with the pad of his thumb against your hand.

you passed out moment later only to find yourself laying on sam's motel bed. you look down, no longer bloody but still in a lot of pain.

stumbling over to the bathroom mirror, you see stitches along your neck from where the vampire bit you. you were also in new clothes, no longer in bloody torn ones. another one of sam's shirts adorned your body along with a pair of his shorts.

sam walked in not long after with a pharmacy bag in his hand, he hadn't noticed you up and out of bed until you walked out of the bathroom. "oh my god, you're awake," sam dropped his bags and ran to you, attacking you in a hug. your groaned a little, hugging back, your body still hurt. "oh, i'm so sorry," sam goes to pull away but you pull him back in.

"no, sam, its okay, please just stay here," you whisper out, hugging him tighter.

sam pulled away and looked at you with worry in his eyes, “i’m so sorry, truly. i wished i never even left you. dean could’ve gone by himself. i should’ve stayed, i’m-,”

“sam,” you held his shoulders, steadying him. “it’s okay, i forgive you. it’s not even your fault.” he just smiled weakly in response.

sam went to pick up the bag he dropped,”i got you some pain relief.” holding a box of ibuprofen and rattling it.

“thank you, sammy,” sams cheeks flush at the nickname. only you were allowed to call him that.

you downed a few pills with some water and sat back down on the bed; sam following you.

“listen,” he starts. “when i walked in here and you weren’t here, i panicked. more than i ever have. losing you would mean losing the sun in my life. i don’t know what i’d do if i had lost you.” sam keeps fidgeting with his fingers; unsure of what do to. he doesn’t know if he could look you in the eyes without crying, blurting out his undying love for you, or both. “i just—”

he stops mid sentence when he feels your hand on his hot cheek, guiding him to look at you. you now sat criss cross on the bed fully facing him. “sam, it’s okay. i’m safe, i’m here now,”

he leans into your touch, “i know, i don’t want to lose you again.”

“i’m right here sam, i’m right here,” you said softly, rubbing his face with your thumb.

you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. your lips lingered as your face still right at his. your lips dangerously close to his.

with a quick breath of courage, sam gently placed his lips on yours; as if he was testing the waters. as soon as you leaned into the kiss, he kissed back with a little more force.

sam was pouring out his emotions and feelings into this kiss as his lips molded against yours perfectly and his nose smushed against your face.

your hand gently raked through your hair as you kissed sam. the feeling of sams hand on your waist felt like sparks against your skin.

sam was the first to pull away, “you have no idea how long i’ve waited to do that.” you just giggled in response. sams forehead rested against yours as his eyes screwed shut, “please don’t ever leave again.”

“i’ll try my hardest not to.”

“good, because i’d go crazy.”

“just shut up and kiss me again you fool,” you giggled.

sam smiled and attacked you in kisses. your contagious laughter made sam smile even harder.

sam and you spent the rest of the night laying in the comfort of each others arms. sam practically refused to let you go.

“i’ll never let you go again,” he jokingly said as his big arms wrapped around your waist.

“good, don’t let me go.” you smiled. “goodnight sammy,” you whispered up at him.

“goodnight love,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

sams arms squeezed you tighter in a gentle manner. he never wanted to let go.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural imagine #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester angst

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randomlifex · 4 months

Text

Sunshine and storm

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Go Kyungjun x fem!reader

Plot:the sun shines and the storm doesn’t understand why he likes it, but when his clouds will cover her rays, he’ll do anything to make the sun shine again

Warnings:bad language

Please notice:in this timeline Seun hasn’t died yet so there’s no game going on

This story is a request

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The spring weather was approaching, the temperature rose and birds had finally begun to sing all day long.

“What a great day! -you exclaimed, hugging Seun, your friend- and in a few weeks cherry flowers will blossom! Finally my favourite colour will be everywhere again!” you clapped

Seun smiled, putting her book on the desk, then she watched as you sat next to her:

“How can you be always in such a good mood?” she asked

“How can you not be when it’s spring! It’s the season of blooming. Birds sing all day and animals come out from their hibernation”

“You make me nauseous” Kyungjun popped out from nowhere,sitting with Seungbin right behind you. You rolled your eyes hopelessly:knowing how he was, you didn’t expect him to appreciate the cute little things of life

“Man you gotta smile more, you’re always so angry. The situation is getting serious” you mumbled as the teacher came in

“You don’t wanna see me angry, do you, Snow white?” he hit the back of your head with a pen, making you groan in pain, then he shifted into the “I don’t care about the lesson” mood,texting…or at least that was what you thought.

The truth was that Kyungjun spent the whole class staring at you. He had been doing so a lot in the past weeks, shifting his eyes away only when you noticed it. He didn’t know why, but there was something leading him to you, even if he hated it, and acted like the meanest person on earth (not that he was nice, but he had never put you into troubles).

He wasn’t used to it, nor to your constant happy mood; and since those feelings were unknown to him he would find any reason to come for you, even when you were doing nothing besides being a nice teammate.

That day your team had been pretty unlucky:the teacher had decided the members on her own, meaning that if you had to play with good athletes like Hyunho and Kyungjun himself, who was the captain, you had to put up also with those, like Sungpyo and Yoonseo, who were terrible at PE.

She got called out lots of times by everyone, but to Kyungjun the real problem was Sungpyo; or better, he was the victim whose ass was supposed to be constantly beaten in order to scare everyone and get great results.

Hyunho tried many times to stop the bully, but he eventually got kicked out due to a so called “litigious behaviour” ; so, in order to calm everyone down, you tried to spread positivity, like you always used to do.

“It’s okay, next time we’ll score something”

“It can happen, I made mistakes too”

“Don’t think about it and let’s have fun! It’s about having a good time, not winning”

You were dispensing smiles and comfort as you saw that someone was actually on the edge of tears, but Kyungjun got even more mad:

“Ya! Yn! -he called you in the middle of the first break- what the fuck are you doing?!” he was yelling, his eyes burning like fire

“What…what do you mean?” You asked, a little bit scared

“What do I mean? Do you think that’s how you make a shitty team work?!”

“I’m just trying to be positive…they’re all stressed out…” you justified yourself

“Really? -he laughed- are you fucking kidding me?! “Trying to be positive”…bullshit. Do you know what you can do with your stupid positivity? Go home and stay there. Idiot” he scoffed

“But…”

“No buts. You’re getting on my nerves. What’s so funny to be constantly smiling and laughing? Uh? Come on tell me! Be serious for once, and let the captain be the captain. Go to the back lines, you suck anyway in the front” he shrugged his shoulders, pointing to the back of the field.

You looked around you, realising that everyone was staring, the your eyes rested on Kyungjun:

“You know what? -you were holding your tears back- fuck you and this stupid game! Get a new player to cover your shitty back lines. Asshole!” you yelled, running away to hide in the first empty classroom you had found.

Kyungjung looked at you:something inside him shattered as soon as he realised you were terribly hurt. “Did I…did I cover the sunshine with my clouds?” he asked himself, feeling guilty as hell.

You spent the whole lesson crying in a corner of the room, next to the blackboard, suffocating your sobs in order to not be found by anyone. You didn’t want people to see you in those conditions, you had promised yourself to be always happy to make everyone around you happy as well. Your friends used to call you “sunshine” for a reason, and you loved it, just like you loved keeping up your good mood. Why Kyungjun had to ruin everything? You hated him. He was always so mad, so mumbling, so rude…was it so hard for him to relax at least once? And if it was, who allowed him to ruin everyone’s mood? No one!

The more you thought about it, the more you felt sad. You kept seeing his angry face, and his yells wouldn’t stop resonating in your mind. You brought your knees to your chest, hiding your face in the cloth of your tracksuit…until you heard someone.

A hand rested on your leg, squeezing it. You rose your head, seeing Kyungjun kneeling in front of you.

“Go away” you scoffed

“You need to see something”

“I don’t want to. Leave me alone”

“It’s urgent. Come on” he grabbed your arm, forcing you to follow him to the backyard.

“I swear to God if it’s something stupid…” you weren’t even able to finish the phrase as wonder got your mouth to open wide

“You tell me if that’s something stupid to you” Kyungjun said, carelessly.

You didn’t know what to answer, you were too busy staring at the flowering cherry blossom in front of you…the first of the season.

“When did you find it?” you asked, grabbing the boy’s arm

“Yesterday, during the break”

“Why didn’t you show it to me?!” sadness had already left your body. It took nothing to make you happy, Kyungjun thought, but he was okay with that. He didn’t want to see you crying ever again.

“I wanted to, but I forgot. That’s just a stupid tree after all…” he shrugged his shoulders, hiding a smile

“That’s not! -you started jumping- that’s the first cherry blossom of the season!!” you then exclaimed, taking a bunch of pictures.

“You good now?” he asked, still cold. His facade was hard to fall.

“What do you mean?” you blinked

“Are you okay now? You were crying…”

“Yes, I cried cuz you’re a rude asshole” you crossed your arms, giving him your back.

Kyungjun stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder:

“I crossed the line…” he talked

For a second you were surprised…was he apologising for the first time in his life?!

“But you got me angry there. Don’t do that again” he scoffed, letting you go with a path on the shoulder.

Of course he wasn’t, not openly, not that time, but you knew his intentions when he showed you that tree:he was aware of the fact that he had fucked up, and was trying to fix things in his own way.

“I did not made you angry…you were born angry” you said, sticking your tongue out.

Kyungjun didn’t reply, he simply put his hands in his pockets and walked away; but, once again, he was smiling behind your back.

#night has come #night has come kdrama #night has come x reader #night has come kyung jun #go kyung jun #go kyungjun x reader #cha woo min #cha woomin x reader #kdrama #grumpy x sunshine

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polyklok · 1 year

Text

How Dethklok shows their love to you

Nathan Explosion

We all know about Nathan’s tendency to hyper focus on his current interest; mans got strong feeling and he wants to let everyone know just how happy you make him. So he shows you off, every chance he gets. Especially to the paparazzi. Once he’s settled into the relationship, he’s getting all cuddly and smiley in front of the cameras, quite rare for the media to see. He calls his parents nearly every week just to brag about you, it’s so sweet.

Motherfucking Nathan Explosion. One of the biggest names in the world, certainly the biggest in music and entertainment. A man who handcrafted a revolution of lyrics and rhythm. A man the world worships and the population craves. And yet, when he’s real smitten for someone, it’s awfully easy to make him shy. Just small, flirty things will get his face beet red and stuttering over his words in an instant, so incredibly enamored with everything you do. Whisper some sweet-nothings to him and he’ll become putty in your hands.

Nathan is very…specific when it comes to most aspects in life. He’s picky and stubborn and usually has his mind set for any decisions. But, you, as his S/O, own his utmost trust. So, before the final choice is made, he makes sure to get your opinion on it. Whether it’s small things or large decisions, he wants to hear what you think and will definitely take it into consideration. You have the ability to loosen him up on some settlements, much to Charles’ thanks.

Okay, the end of season 4 was an exaggeration, but Nathan does have a difficult time admitting when he’s wrong. Apologizing just really pokes at his large yet fragile ego. But, when he finally gets rid of some pride and realizes he fucked up with you, he’ll make the effort to apologize. Even if it’s not directly, you’ll get little gifts and gestures that lets you know that he really is sorry.

Pickles The Drummer

This one’s kinda silly, but here me out; Growing up, all of Pickle’s possessions were either hand-me-downs, stolen by Seth, or taken away as punishment from his parents. He didn’t get many stuff that was his. So, as an adult who could have all the material possessions he wants, he’s become a bit greedy. Until pretty lil you came up and stole his heart from him. At that point, he’s practically forcing himself to share everything with you. Food, clothes, anything. Something about seeing you with his stuff makes him feel really good inside.

Worries about you. Hoo-boy, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s got total mom brain when it comes to anxiety. Anytime you’re five minutes late or slightly more quiet than usual, he’s darting around, thinking that he somehow messed up and you hate him and now he’s gotta fix it. Please reassure him, he’s gonna give himself an asthma attack.

Pickles, uh, doesn’t have the best memory. Probably from the constant abuse of drugs and alcohol. I don’t think the dude knows anything that happened to him from age 20 to 25. But, he wants to make the effort. So, he’ll remember the little things about you, basic likes and dislikes, something you said, etc. When he acts upon it, like buying some of your favorite food, and you get all happy about it, he’s so proud of himself. He loves making you happy.

“Punch first, ask later. Or don’t ask at all.”That’s how he lives a whole lot of his life, especially in bars or parties. MF got some agitation issues. But when you get involved? Someone looks at you even slightly wrong? They’re getting their asses beat, he’ll defend the shit out of you.

In addition to that^…He’s definitely used to getting a ton of shit from his family and he just takes it. Because they don’t really like Pickles, there’s a good chance Seth and his parents will hate you and they’ll let you know it. This is when he cracks down. He yells at them for several minutes about what a wonderful person you are, what shitty people they are, and that they can talk about him all they want but not you. Definitely scares them straight.

Toki Wartooth

Oh, man does Toki love to spoil you! The way your face lights up when he manages to get you another perfect (and expensive) gift makes his heart flutter. He’s very good at it to; buying you things you didn’t even know you wanted but always cherish. He especially likes to get you custom-made stuff, something very cheesy.

He has a bit of a hyperactive mind, without something specific to focus on, he’ll constantly be bouncing around. But, despite this, he absolutely loves to listen to you in a way he can’t with other people. While he’s putting together a model or coloring or maybe practicing guitar (once in a blue moon), he likes to have you there, just ranting while he nods along. Even if he doesn’t get all the details, the sound of your voice is enough for him.

When you’re around him, he’s pretty much always going to be touching you. Sometimes it’s small things, like holding hands, knees together under a table, occasional cheek kisses. Other times, he’s practically hanging onto you like a sloth. Additionally, he absolutely loves to scoop you up at random moments and just hold you for a while. He’s strong, he can handle it.

It’s very clear that Toki is a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to love. Even if it’s unrealistic, he will often imagine a future with you, the classic getting married, having children, growing old. A nice, suburban, and perfect lifestyle. He knows that he can’t ever get rid of his rock n roll persona, but there’s a piece of him that’s completely dedicated to simply loving you for the rest of his days.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

First of all; it’s going to take a while to establish yourself as more than just some sex to Skwisgaar. He needs to know you’re not someone trying to brag that they fucked a rockstar. Once he realizes that’s you mean something to him (and vice versa), he relaxes! He gets vulnerable, gets emotional and cuddly and more romantic than you’d expect! He no longer has to keep up the persona, you see the side of him that no one else really does.

Along with this, he’s willing to be more silly than with you! He’s got an even bigger ego than Nathan and hates to look like a fool in front of all his fans. But when he’s around you, he allows himself to make some jokes, mess up a few times and laugh about it. Seeing you laugh makes the small amount of humiliation worth it to him.

Skwisgaar has practically heard it all when it comes to compliments; he’s an international sex symbol and a music mastermind, after all. There’s nothing he hasn’t been praised for. So, he thinks it’s only natural that he compliments the hell out of you just like others do to him. From wake to sleep, he’s giving you all sorts of flattery on how you look and congratulates you on every accomplishment, no matter how small. He likes to feel proud of his darling and makes sure you know it.

Despite him having a long line of past lovers behind him, Skwisgaar gets jealous very easily. Call it a toxic trait, but he’ll flirt with anyone he sees while glaring at anyone who sees you. And his glares are proven to be lethal. Just be careful, cause he can have anyone he deems ‘too touchy’ with you assassinated with the flick of a wrist.

William Murderface

William thinks he’s soo lucky to have you in the first place, he practically worships the ground you walk on. His mind is pretty much on you every moment of the day; every dream he has at night is about you. He’s obsessed with the way you look, the way you act, he’s always staring at you with a dumb, happy smile on his face. Anything you need, he’ll make it happen for you.

I personally feel that he’s a lot smarter than he seems; particularly about history, historical weaponry, and cars. So, when he gets the chance, you get your ass he’s gonna rant to you about all the random stuff that’s up in his brain. He’s an extreme pessimist by nature, but when he’s speaking about the things he truly cares about, he’s seems so enthusiastic and energized, even more so when you actively listen and ask questions.

While Murderface certainly talks a lot, he doesn’t really…express, you know? Most of his conversations are surface-level and to the point. But when he’s comfortable with you, he likes to have deep conversations about things most people think he’s too stupid to care about. Ethics, philosophy, religion. He’s no expert, but everyone has their own beliefs. He wants to share his and to hear yours. Sometimes, he gets really into it, occasionally crying. These moments are important to him and he loves to be with you during them.

Let’s admit it; William isn’t conventionally handsome in anyway. A good reason for that is because he simply doesn’t care or have the patience for proper hygiene. Still, he wants to really impress you, so he starts taking care of himself more. He gets some better products, puts a little more thought into how he dresses, even eats slightly better. It’s not a big difference, but it’s something and it’s noticeable over time.

Bonus^ If you have a skincare routine, he’s going to be right next to you, mesmerized by all the creams and serums and cleansers. Even better if you apply some to him, he gets so soft.

#dethklok #metalocalypse #polyklok is real #william murderface #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #dethklok x reader #polyklok #murderface x reader #Nathan explosion x reader #pickles x reader #toki x reader #Skwisgaar x reader

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sohnric · 4 months

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BELOVED — E. SOHN

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers. angst, fluff. the tiniest bit of swimmer! eric for some reason. wrote this in a moment of weakness handle with care!! :~)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: reader is said to be red in the face from the cold (alludes to specific skin color - im sorry i wrote this for me only and yall just get to read it), swearing, insecurity and jealousy, unspecified mental illness (?)

a/n: once again thank you to @csenke for beta reading and encouraging me to post this :p and also for existing. ily <3 btw swimmer eric is such a concept it gave us both whiplash maybe i need to revisit this in a full fic....

The coldness of the crisp evening makes you sniffle, your bones freezing and fingers going numb even in the comfort of your coat pockets. Your brain is full of thoughts fighting amongst each other, running around and hitting the corners of your head, slowly causing you an annoying migraine. You now regret not taking your headphones with you, because the music could help you drown out the noise of your inner voice, but the you from an hour ago that decided to go on a walk to clear your head had other plans for you, so you now have to suffer the stream of your thoughts instead. The stream is so loud you swear you can hear it resonating through the silent campus, but you know that’s a foolish thought, so you fight it away with a bitter chuckle.

Eyes zeroing on the orange fluorescent lights coming from inside of the building you’re standing in front of, you start feeling a little silly for coming here. It’s not like you think you’d be sent away, but there’s also that little bugging voice inside of your brain that keeps reminding you that you weren’t invited. Your feet have dragged you here without your consent or order. One moment, you were walking down the river, shuddering from the cold, and the other, you found yourself in front of the pool– as if the tugging of your heart was stronger than your own brain, stronger than your own thoughts.

Sometimes you feel bad for taking it all out on him. At least that’s what you suppose you’re doing– with your annoyed remarks whenever he checks in on you, with your sighs whenever he asks what’s wrong. It’s not like he’s incorrect with his suspicions– he always somehow knows you’re in a bad mood, no matter how hard you try to mask it– you just don’t often feel like discussing the matter with him. Or anyone, really. Sometimes, you feel bad for pushing him away or not texting him back. Sometimes you feel truly shitty for the fact that you can’t open up to him, no matter how hard you try.

And sometimes, you just truly think that he wouldn’t care. It’s weird how your mind works– someone could spend so much time with you, making memories together and laughing at your jokes, yet, your mind could convince you that they don’t really like you at all in the first place. That this is some sort of a game they’re playing, trying to see how long you can stay convinced that they enjoy your presence in their life before you notice and they step away. You don’t even know where this conviction is coming from. If you knew, maybe you could fix it. If you could locate it, you’d try to delete the flawed code from your system.

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t care about how you are, what you’re doing, what you think. It has nothing to do with the way he treats you; more so with the anxiety nibbling at the corners of your brain whenever he talks to anyone else– with the constant fear of being replaced, of having him find someone better, someone less difficult to be friends with. In its full essence, the image is terrifying. You think your world would crumble if you lost another person in your life.

More so, you think your world would crumble if you lost him. You recognize that there’s a constant desire in the depths of your heart to be someone’s favorite– his favorite– to be the person someone would choose in a room full of people. To be the one they walk up to first with a smile and their arms wide open.

And it’s silly. You’re his best friend. He tells you so every day. It’s the way you’re introduced to everyone out of his circle that you meet on parties or at campus.

Admittedly, you like hearing him say it. Best friend– the title shows you’re the best at something: at being his companion, at making him laugh, at being there for him, whatever it is that you do to earn that sticker. The title shows that you’re somebody’s favorite– his favorite– and it makes you deeply satisfied with yourself. It makes you proud, even.

Some days, you still have a hard time believing it, though. Some days, you still feel stranded. Lonely. Isolated. It’s weird.

Somehow, your heart, your feet and the unconscious part of your brain took you right where you knew you’d find him. You didn’t choose to go here– if you realized you were nearing the building, you would’ve even tried to stop yourself– and as you contemplate turning on your heel and going back home, hell, you even take the first step away from the pools, the sound of the main door opening and his voice calling for you makes you halt in your movements, gluing you to the pavement.

Sometimes, the heart knows what it needs even before you get a chance to register it.

“Y/N! How long have you been standing there?” he calls after you, making you bite down on your lower lip. There’s no escaping him now– you guess it’s for the better, though.

Turning towards him, a guilty look spreading over your features, you shrug. “Not long.”

“It’s freezing out here! Why didn’t you come inside?” he asks, a wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows as he walks closer to you, his friends from the swim team patting his back and saying their goodbyes to the two of you as they pass the commotion on their way out.

“I didn’t want to intrude your practice,” you peep, sniffling a little from the cold.

“Gosh, you always do this,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He almost looks mad at you, and by the way he raises his voice and throws his arms in the air in frustration, you think you’re correct with assuming he might be. “I texted you the whole day! Hell, I called, even though I know how much you hate phone calls. And I get that you probably didn’t feel like talking, but a simple ‘I'm okay, don’t worry’ text would’ve been nice!”

Dragging his hand through his hair in defeat, he shakes his head at you. “Besides, you can’t just keep shutting me off every time you are having a hard time, for god’s sake! Not only do I worry, but I hate seeing you suffer all alone.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you listen patiently to his lecture. You know he’s right– he almost always is, because the rational side of your brain ceases to exist every time your insecurities fail you– so there’s really no aim in trying to argue or fight with him.

Eric sighs as he steps even closer to you, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before he reaches for the hood of your jacket and puts it over your head. “You could’ve texted me you were here, I’d leave practice early for you,” he says, voice now softer as he stands in front of you, not really wanting to scream straight into your face.

You shrug in response, not really knowing what to say. Telling him you contemplated leaving just seconds before he found you here would make him even more mad with you, so you choose to gloss over that fact. Besides, it’s kind of comforting, the way his words work. The way his presence calms you, makes the screaming match of your thoughts drown out with his firm comments and scolding remarks. His words, although full of frustration, make your insides warm up and your muscles relax, like you’re coming undone.

His face shows concern. His actions speak even louder than his words when he tugs the sides of your hood closer together at your neck, the hole for your head previously exposing your bare skin and making you shiver. “Couldn’t you dress more warmly? Do you want to catch a cold?” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You scutter here all unannounced, wearing close to nothing, and expect me to not be frustrated with you?”

You study his expression for a while. It’s not often you get to see Eric from so up close, but even in the darkness of the evening, you recognise the familiarity of his close-to-flawless features. Anchoring yourself into his gaze for a second, you move to study the sculpture of his cheekbones, the furrowed nature of his brows, the slope of his cupid’s bone. His hair falls into his eyes, making you instinctively drag your hand up and move his bangs out of the way, having the male wince at the contact of your fingers with his skin. “Hell, your hands are cold! You didn’t even take gloves? It’s minus five degrees outside!” he grunts.

It makes you chuckle. You did something nice for him, yet, there he is– complaining about the fact that you have yet again failed to take care of yourself. “I’m not even surprised, y’know, since you didn’t put on a scarf either, but sometimes I wish this little brain of yours,” he point his finger to the side of your temple, “had better self-preservation instincts,” he finishes as he fishes for something in his pocket.

Taking out his own gloves and holding them up to you so you can slip your numb fingers into the fabric, he continues on with his little tangent. “Next time,” he adds when you’re successfully wearing the warm garment, “text me as soon as you get here, okay? And look outside before you go out, so you know what to wear. Maybe open that little weather app on your home screen, even. Might be helpful,” he jokes, although a little dryly, as he brings out a scarf from his duffel bag, tying it around your neck and almost suffocating you with how tight he wraps it, making sure you’re defrosting under his tender care.

When he’s done dressing you up like a doll, you’re left staring at him speechless. Eric reciprocates the gaze, something gentle, yet worried mirroring behind his dark orbs. There’s comfort lingering in the air now that you’re not so cold, and with the added essence of his existence, the act of living doesn’t seem like such a hassle anymore. You feel lighter, in a way.

“Sorry,” he hums after a heartbeat of silence, “how are you feeling?” he asks, an apologetic look sent your way when he realizes he slipped into a heated lecture again, not knowing that this is exactly what you wanted and unknowingly came here for. (For his furrowed eyebrows and the crease in between them, his worried orbs and words tinted with frustration, showing you that he cares and wants you to be safe. For his little tangent, yet also gentle touches as he takes care of you and makes sure you’re staying warm. For the familiar look in his eyes, whispering to you that you’re the only thing in the whole world that matters to him right in this moment and always, forever.)

You smile at the clueless boy. It seems to make something in him settle into a more comfortable place. “All better now,” you reply.

“Good,” he says. “God, you look awful,” he jokes– laughing airly to reference the state of your frozen face– cheeks and the tip of your nose red, eyes watery from the wind, hair messily sticking out from the bottom of your hood– as one of his hands comes up to cradle your face and squish your cheeks together, turning your chapped lips into a big pout. The contact of his skin on yours makes your stomach feel light with the contrast of his warm hand on your cold face, all your senses coming alive when his voice drops a few octaves lower, seriousness tinting his tone. “Promise me to take better care of yourself from now on?”

Nodding, not really having it in you to even make a noise, you watch as the male studies your face for a while. In any other circumstance, his gaze would make you shy away, but not now. Not when everything seems suddenly so simple, not when all your worries seem to slip through your fingers. When his eyes point towards your lips– your puckered, dry mouth– a sense of expecting takes over you, a strange kind of excitement buzzing in the tips of your fingertips. When you breathe in through your half-clogged nose, the mixed scent of his fabric softener coming off the scarf tied tightly around your neck and the smell of the shower gel he uses to wash the chlorine off after his swimming practice hits your nose, making you a little light-headed. No words are spoken as the male suddenly leans in and presses a quick peck to your lips.

His warm lips meet with yours in what seems to be a second-long contact, but it’s enough to have the ghost of his touch lingering, enough to make your stomach churn in joy.

The action was so painfully casual– as if it was second nature to him. As if there was no reason for him to contemplate the decision– as if this was what he wanted to do all the time, and so he did it. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

Selfishly, though, you must admit you need both– you need the words just as much as the actions. Good thing Eric knows you so well– sometimes you think it’s even more than you know yourself.

“Now come on, let’s get you home,” he hums, hugging you to him with his right arm as you two walk down the sidewalk, “wouldn’t want my beloved girl to freeze to death right here.”

His beloved.

The words resonate in your brain. This time, it’s a good type of screaming match happening with your thoughts– all worries battled, using his sentence to cut out the bad parts like a sharpened knife. This time, your mind is full of fireworks and excited buzzing, sending the happy signals all across your body, helping you fight winter with the power of gentle loving.

And sure, you know that those feelings might come again. There’s no way of telling when the skeletons will appear, hunting down your happy thoughts. But you know that even if they do, you will always somehow find your way back to Eric, and he’ll make sure to remind you of what you need to hear, and you’ll be okay again.

You guess The Beatles were right after all. Maybe all you need is a little love sometimes.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #tbz #eric sohn #sohn youngjae #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #tbz angst #tbz fluff #eric sohn angst #eric sohn fluff #eric sohn x reader #tbz x reader #tbz scenario #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenario #sohn youngjae x reader #sohn youngjae fluff #sohn youngjae angst

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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 10 months

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Walburga & Sirius: A Victim Seeking Their Own Victim

A headcanon.

They’re so alike and they’re also SO aware of it, it makes them want to peel off their skin just to see if it has any adverse effect on the other. What if I really am just you? If I hurt myself via self mutilation will it hurt you too? We are so alike and I hate you enough to warrant me spending hours thinking about the way I could hurt myself to hurt YOU. It’d be worth it.

To start and to clear things up: Walburga 100% started this. She was the adult who made her son hate her so much because she’s manipulative and abusive. However, her hate comes from intergenerational trauma and the fact of her belonging to a family (and a community) that’s basically shorthand for a cult. A conservative cult at that: the pureblood supremacist community. She’s also a victim of extreme misogyny.

Sirius was born with all her ferocity. Sirius was born with her natural disposition to command authority. Sirius is power, charm, and brutality — rolled into one. But Walburga was the woman who was shamed for having the same traits. Walburga, who forced her way into spaces that were never meant for her to be in. Who looked at the men staring at her with derision, and grinned. Who was a rebel in her own right, demanding to be seen. To be heard. Sirius is a raging fire but only because his mother was a raging inferno. His fire is her fire. Both have a tenacity for cruelty that snaps to strike with barely a moment’s notice, so unlike Regulus and Orion’s frigid fire that takes time to build and peak. Sirius and Walburga are the epitome of: it only takes one bad day. And the two have been given years of undeniably horrid days.

Walburga who, if she’d been a man, would’ve been made head and heir to the family. Who far outmatched her brothers. Who’d basically been running family affairs at her father’s side. She was working for her father’s approval which she did eventually get. In the form of Pollux’s insistence that she provide the family an heir, in her image. A son, just like her, with her fire, so that HE could lead.

So when Sirius comes into the world, he’s given a victim of a mother who seeks to find a victim of her own. She treats Sirius the way she sees him: a thief. His name is a debt. His status is a debt. His existence is a debt. His prestige is a debt. His tenacity is a debt. The people around them celebrate the coming of a male version of all that she is and they take it as a victory. His very existence is a debt because Walburga lost all that she was fighting for to her son. And since then it’s been a constant effort of taking, and taking, and taking, and taking as much as she can from Sirius while trying to raise the heir her father demands of her.

Sirius fights her the very same way she used to fight the men in her family. Sirius fights her with the same refusal to bow down as she once had. And all it does is set her own flames ablaze.

Sirius is made in his mother’s image only that HE was lucky to have found love, help, and family. This is what saves him. This is what makes him better than any of his parents. His kindness is learned. His compassion was something he worked hard for. His freedom was because he was lucky to have found a village and a community willing to keep him safe and encourage his moral growth. His personal development. Sirius had people who made running away feel attainable. Who told him he was given dirty water. Who told him he could throw it away.

The only time Walburga finally thought she’d taken enough away from Sirius, was the night he left to run away to the Potters, leaving Regulus behind. Her younger son choosing to stay, meant she had finally, finally taken the most important thing from Sirius. And at that, she, at last, considers them even.

*None of what i said comes close to justifying walburga's abuse of her children. It just gives it a place of origin. But none of it excuses her cruelty. Abuse is abuse and it's shitty no matter the backstory.

I can't seem to stop writing about the Black Brothers (⁠٥⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠). Here, have some more. Also, if you enjoyed this, please consider giving me a reblog! It's a great source of motivation~

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hacash · 1 year

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ted lasso 3x01 thoughts

WE’RE BACK BABY

God, what a corker of an opener - whenever I take a break from Ted Lasso I forget how much I’m going to enjoy it and then we open up and fuck me it’s always so good

and the big news on everyone’s lips: Ted is officially the character under focus for season three! I wasn’t sure if they’d go there but if this episode has shown us anything it’s that Ted desperately needs something to change! someone else on tumblr pointed out that there was a washed-out feel to the entire cinematography in this episode which was clearly corresponding with Ted’s long-term depression, and that really landed with me - as someone who’s had depression come and go in waves that’s exactly what it is: you’re making the same jokes and doing the same stuff, but there’s this colourlessness that begins pervading everything. Ted’s never been more self-deprecating :( he’s making slip-ups like walking past his own front door….God, the poor man’s a mess.

BUT he’s still talking with Doctor Sharon! Ted’s taking his mental health seriously! this is a good thing!

and on that subject

GET IT DOCTOR SHARON

(I honestly thought that was Hunky Luca she was with for a second; what a turn around that would have been)

so the big question that this season is clearly going to be ramping up to is does Ted decide to stay in Richmond or go back to the US. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds - I did have a minor heart-pang moment when Ted was about to go in and comfort the team about Nate, but Jamie jumped in without even being asked and did a Tedism into the bargain. It was so sweet and so demonstrative of how Ted has planted those seeds for his team, but it will beg the question: if the boys are doing this on their own, will Ted feel he’s still needed at Richmond?

I’m worried about Rebecca this season: it’s clear there are some serious issues around the West Ham v Richmond rivalry that ain’t going away any time soon. It was interesting seeing her scoffing at Nate when he (unbeknownst) ducked away from the press conference to have his panic attack. Bear in mind, this was before he started being a dick about Richmond: so she’s clearly bitter about Nate moving to West Ham (which, as I’ve said before, is pretty unfair: people move jobs all the time) - it’ll be interesting to see if her anger at Rupert starts blinding her judgement again.

It’ll also be interesting to see if her desire to beat Rupert clashes with Ted’s own style and issues…

(I’m also predicting here and now that new, potentially high profile player Zava might end up being another Jamie Tartt but more arrogant and more aggressive on the field - and while Ted may worry that he’s not good for the team, Rebecca will want to keep him around because he’s such a significant player. Watch this space!)

Nate

NAAAAATE

From Nate’s ongoing addiction to Twitter to his unkindness to the players, to Rupert’s constant manipulation of how Nate talks and what he drives, to his dressing down a dickish journalist, to that panic attack, to the car - I am flailing about so heavily right now. Nick Mohammed is going to ruin me this season, stg

Did we notice when he was talking about settling in with his new team, Nate’s comments were that he was ‘getting to know all about them….getting to like them…getting to hope….’ straight before having a flashback of being bullied by the team? Did we? Are our hearts hurting yet?

Even his insults about Richmond - ‘they’re in the sewer because they’re a shitty team’ - are just childish! he’s trying to be a killer because that’s what Rupert wants but it doesn’t work!

Also Disco’s only spoken one line of dialogue yet but I’m immediately adopting him as my new favourite character

I’ll be honest, because we all predicted Keeley and Roy would have broken up, the reveal scene didn’t hit as emotionally hard as it did some people. But on the end I’m absolutely convinced it isn’t going to last - both Roy and Keeley clearly have some growing in their personal lives* to do, and when they eventually find their way back to each other it’s going to be beautiful. I also think that if it was an actual Planned Plot Point (TM) we’d have seen that scene play out in real time; as it is, I think it’s less important how Roy and Keeley break up than how they get together again.

*God, can you imagine Nate’s reaction if he realised Roy was comparing himself unfavourably to him?!

The sewer school trip was such a lovely little reminder of what a good team dad Ted really is. That being said, after two years of this shit, Ted could probably have realised that the sight of Richmond team dropping down into a sewer in broad daylight probably wasn’t going to play out all that well.

Katy Wix is joining the cast!! well, at least we know where she went off to after BBC Ghosts.

SHIRTLESS LOCKERROOM SCENE IN THE VERY FIRST EP; this show truly does give us everything.

I’ll be honest, I may have inhaled a mouthful of tea here; at the sight of Sam’s arms and shoulders I became a simple Victorian maiden prone to the vapours and in need of a good lie down on a chaise longue.

I, like Dani, am traumatised that Paddington Bear doesn’t actually exist

Colin gets bullied by nuns. (also I swear he was in more lingering shots this episode; the impending Colin storyline is making me so nervous and so excited)

All of the himbos are just so fucking pretty in this episode. Even despite Jamie’s hair choices. I’m also so delighted by the increasing amount of himbo interactions we’re getting: I can really imagine that the writers didn’t quite realise how popular the footballers themselves would be, and are now looking to include more himbo content for sheer funsies. Particular shout out to Phil Dunster for making Jamie as cocky and oblivious as he ever was, but this time using his powers for good. It’s a

God bless Henry Lasso for joining the Nate Shelley defence squad, and God bless Ted for listening to him. That was such a telling little moment and a promise of things to come, and I can’t believe I got that emotionally affected by a freaking Lego set.

There was so much emotional stuff in this episode, I can’t wait to see what happens next...

….nope, still distracted by Sam’s arms.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #theodore lasso #rebecca welton #roy kent #keeley jones #sam obisanya #jamie tartt #isaac mcadoo #colin hughes #dani rojas #leslie higgins #coach beard

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musclesandhammering · 5 months

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Unpopular Phase 4 & 5 Opinions

Quantumania is the worst Phase 4/5 movie. And it wasn’t even because “kang got beat by ants.” (I liked kang in this movie). It’s just that the Spy Kids aesthetic & bad acting & overall weird vibes just weren’t for me.

Love and Thunder is no worse than Ragnarok. I would argue that it’s better in a lot of ways, actually. I really liked it.

Taika Waititi ruined thor with bad humour all the way back in Ragnarok tbh, but y’all weren’t complaining about it then 😒.

BuckySarah is better than sambucky every day of the week.

The Marvels was a good ass movie & they’re one of my favorite teams in the mcu. I’ll never forgive cbm sites & online dudebros for killing the hype from the moment the film was announced.

I adore America Chavez & Kamala Kahn and I want to see them in everything. They must be protected at all costs.

Multiverse of Madness had shitty characterisation & basically just copy-pasted the ‘grief made me go off the deep end & hurt people, then I realised and stopped myself’ storyline from Wandavision… but Wanda was extremely selfish & apathetic to other people’s suffering from the time she was introduced in the mcu. MoM didn’t make her like that.

Wanda should’ve been looking for Vision (her actual real life boyfriend whom she spent years with irl) in MoM instead of the kids that weren’t even real that she spent like a week using as characters in her sitcom.

Making everyone forget Peter Parker wasn’t profound or poetic in any way- it was just frustrating and needlessly cruel.

I’m begging marvel to understand that heroes don’t have to be in constant suffering to be heroic & villains don’t have to sacrifice themselves to achieve redemption. Let characters heal and atone, you absolute weirdos.

What If…? is the most boring show ever. I’d rather watch Secret Invasion or She-Hulk.

Season 2 of Loki is, in a cinematic & artistic sense, the best marvel project period.

Loki season 1 was meh- more of a fun au than anything because his characterisation kinda sucked. Season 2 fixed it, though, and made it way easier for me to incorporate this version of Loki back into the larger mcu.

Having Steve stay in the past with Peggy was stupid af.

I don’t hate Peggy (or Captain Carter), though. I actually think she’s pretty cool.

I don’t really love Steve. He’s arrogant & they never really let him have flaws & something about him being a perfect metaphor for the American military industrial complex (and marvel painting that as a good thing) doesn’t sit right with me.

The Illuminati got done dirty and the only reason they went down so fast was because Wanda had all that plot armor.

I thought the retcon of having Wanda be “destined” to become the Scarlet Witch since birth was an annoying cop-out. Her powers originating from being experimented on with an infinity stone was way more interesting.

Loki & Wanda have almost the exact same powers.

Nebula deserved a bigger rule in killing Thanos & everything else moving forward.

I love Kathryn Newton but her acting as Cassie Lang was the worst acting I’ve ever seen in the mcu, like it was outrageously bad.

I’m glad Sam is the new Captain America and not Bucky.

The fact that Bucky probably isn’t gonna be one of Thee lead characters in the upcoming avengers movies feels sick and twisted.

Secret Invasion was actually passable until the G’iah scene at the end. That ruined it. And Nick Fury deserved way better for his solo series.

Kang is so much more interesting than Doctor Doom. I really hope they just recast him.

Carol Danvers does NOT deserve the hate she gets.

I actually disliked Carol until The Marvels. That movie made me a stan.

The way people treat Monica as Wanda’s little inferior pet creation or smth & then brag about it is uhh very sus.

I don’t like sylvie (bc she’s an amalgamation of 3 different comic characters- which killed any hopes of them appearing individually in the mcu, the creators used her existence to butcher Loki’s genderfluid rep, & she was written poorly) & I HATE sylki (bc it’s weird & unnecessary).

Marvel isn’t dead. I actually love where they’re taking things. But that’s just me.

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xxlemon-chanxx · 24 days

Note

On the spicier side, ever thought about doing a full NSFW alphabet for Beardo Philip?

Sorry this took me so long! I was having a lot of trouble with some of these lol

Anyways, NSFW alphabets for Philip and Belos!

Philip NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I hate to say this, but nonexistent. He's incredibly rough with S/O and then he leaves them to be sore and shaking while he goes off and does…whatever the hell he thinks needs to be done. The only time the effort for aftercare is made is in two scenarios:

• The S/O is VISIBLY pregnant with his child

Philip is so rough with S/O that he feels he must do general maintenance to not have his partner break on him.

Unfortunately, Philip is really shitty and neglectful towards his lovers

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Anything that's chubby—stomachs, breasts, thighs, etc… being plump or chubby was considered very attractive I'm Philip’s time, so I imagine that he would enjoy the warmth and softness that comes from having a partner with excess fat on them. He loves to bury his face in S/O’s breasts/bosom or their belly. He loves to grab handfuls of it with his hands and knead and squeeze it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He paints S/O. Whether it be on the inside or out, he enjoys seeing them quivering as he pumps his length, aiming towards whatever spot he hasn't covered yet.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Philip keeps a secret “sin journal” of all of the fantasies he wishes he could make a reality with S/O but refuses to actually do it in real life because it goes against what he believes is “proper.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's most likely a virgin before he meets S/O. His experience is limited to what S/O is willing to show him and how much he is willing to LEARN from them. He's stubborn, rude, and needs to have things done his way. He's a very selfish lover, is what I'm trying to say in so many words.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. He will change it up sometimes, but usually when he does it's because he feels too ashamed by his urges to want to look S/O in the eye, so he’ll push them face-down on whatever surface is available and fuck them that way.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He's usually very serious. Very rarely is lovemaking something he’s playful for. When he is loving, he practically WORSHIPS S/O, but for the most part, he's usually all business and no play. Puritans, am I right?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I've made another post about this, but no…he’s not well-groomed at all. He actually has a constant dirt cloud swirling around him like Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown. When Lilith punched him in the nose, she kicked up a small flurry of grime that swirled around his head for hours. His hair is greasy and probably has a dead moth somewhere in it, and he smells like he would hiss and scurry to hide if someone held up a soap bar.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He's either very emotionally detached or he's angry-fucking. Philip hates the idea that he's succumbing to his lesser impulses when he's having sex. The only exception to this is if him and S/O are properly married, ONLY THEN he will allow himself to be more emotionally present and warm towards his partner.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does not, and he actively forbids his S/O from masturbating either. Sits down with S/O and makes them pray with him if he catches them doing it. Continues to shame them after.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding. He loves the idea of getting his partner pregnant and making lots of babies. A strong bloodline needs lots of healthy babies.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

This is really funny, but considering we see Philip’s home is mostly stationed in a cave, that's also where I headcanon he's most willing to do the deed. He doesn't like staying in towns in the Boiling Isles because of the denizens, so he's going to stick to the series of cave hideouts that he's carved out across his journey in the Demon Realm. Philip shagging on a cave floor is just really funny to me.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Stress. He's most likely to seek out his partner for sex if he's under an insane amount of stress. Something about all of that stress boiling over REALLY puts him in the mood to angry-fuck to get all of his frustration out.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He would hate not being the dominant one. He NEEDS that control over the situation because God forbid he gets caught unawares or someone is able to have an iota of power over him. He likes holding all the Aces. He won't even entertain the idea of his partner PRETENDING to be the dominant one for the evening. Its also partially an ego thing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This is similar to masturbation. He doesn't, whether that's giving or receiving. His view on sex is very narrow and he's very resistant to trying new things. He doesn't give oral and he's downright offended if his partner asks him to go down on them.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. This ties back in to the “angry-fuck” or “stress-fuck” idea, but he really does treat these things as annoying urges that he should get over with so he can go back to ignoring them.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

kind of self-explanatory lol. He doesn't do slow and sensual sessions. Every time he fucks his S/O it's like he's speedrunning.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

No. He doesn't really want to differ from what he deems as “appropriate.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

His rounds never last too long, but he usually has at least two or three in him before he's done. So think three nuts over the course of 7 minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, kind of self-explanatory.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

His ‘teasing’ is very mean. Borderline insulting with what he says. He's very much the type to use abusive language and then frame it like his partner is the one in the wrong for being upset over it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's very quiet, but the sounds he does make are very ragged. A lot of grunts and growls. Occasionally he’ll mutter something like “take it” or “c’mon,” but for the most part it's silent with the occasional grunt.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If Philip accidentally hurts his S/O during sex, he’ll actually take the time to take care of them until it was clear they were going to be okay. Puritans were very much against physical spousal abuse, so he’s not going to raise a hand to you to hurt you intentionally if it's not a situation where he deems death as being the only resort.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's not particularly muscular, but he doesn't look emaciated either. He has some clear definition where you can see his ribs poking out, but he also has a bit of a gut. For anyone who doesn't know, if you’re malnourished, that can cause a lot of problems for your gut health, which can lead to inflammation and swelling, which results in a distended, rounder belly. Because Philip has a completely messed up eating schedule where his body never knows what it's gonna get or when it's gonna get it, he is showing some signs of malnutrition.

And of course, he's covered in dark, curly hair, and some spots where his veins would be showing are subtly tinted that sickly cursed green.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Non-existent until it's there. Anyone with ADD or autism may be able to relate to this, but it’ll very much be like when you go a day without eating and then have your body scream at you at 2am because it's starving. Essentially that. He doesn't feel the urge to engage (and is actually generally repulsed when his S/O tries to instigate) until it hits him like a truck at the most inopportune times.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He’s either awake for several hours after or he conks out immediately. It entirely depends on if he was in the middle of something when he felt the urge.

Belos NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's actually incredibly good at aftercare, which is surprising. Whether it be massaging a sore muscle, cuddling, drawing a bath for S/O, or anything else they need done.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Same as Philips, anything soft and squishy, so stomach, tits, etc

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As much as he would love to paint his partner like he used to be able to, his shots don't have the same oomph that they used to. Cum just sort of oozes out in waves. He’ll likely pull out just enough so the head of his cock is slowly leaking onto his S/O’s entrance before pushing back in.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He enjoys subtly guilting S/O into putting on “special outfits” for him when they’ve been “misbehaving” in his eyes (aka not blindly listening to what he says). He likes to make sure he gets what he wants in the least confrontational way.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's not very experienced before meeting S/O, but he's very eager to learn and he's very gentle, so even his most noticeable shortcomings in the bedroom are more endearing than anything else.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes S/O on his lap facing him. His hand finds its way to their lower back and firmly presses their hips against his. Even after completion he could sit like that for hours with them.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Still kind of serious, but it's more light-hearted and loving than what Philip would be. He can whisper in S/O’s ear, call them little endearments, make little quips here and there depending on how noisy/responsive his partner is, etc.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's immaculate. He's the emperor. He lives in a massive castle with dozens of people waiting on him hand and foot, there's not a chance in hell that man is not the most well-groomed man on the boiling isles.

His hair on his chest and naval is going to be patchy because there are several scars on his body (both from his curse and otherwise) that leave bare patches of skin where hair doesn't grow

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Super gentle and compassionate. I headcanon that Belos will actually be so gentle that it's maddening. He actually has to hush his S/O because they will often whimper and beg for him to please go harder/faster and he just…doesn’t. He likes his pace. It gets him where he needs to be by the end of the night and he doesn't have to worry about throwing out his old man back.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Unfortunately, he’s still a lot like Philip in this regard. He doesn't masturbate and he doesn't believe his S/O should either. But, instead of shaming his S/O if he catches them, like younger Philip would have, he takes it as a sign that he's neglecting them, and immediately interrupts them to “fulfill their needs for them.”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks

Once again breeding. Man loves the idea of his partner having babies.

Now there's an added worship kink. He loves tracing his beloved’s body with his lips and lingering on the parts he likes the most.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom. He's a very private man and doesn't even want to RISK the chance of being spotted doing the do out in public. Imagine the scandal and shame.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Sometimes seeing his partner naked is enough to get that ball rolling, other times it can be something as simple as his partner sensually tracing his shoulders and spine as they pass by that make him ready for action.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Being totally submissive. He could NEVER be fully submissive. He doesn't feel safe not having some semblance of control. Even if he trusted S/O more than he's trusted anybody in his life, it's not enough for him to be completely at their mercy. He will always need one hand on the wheel.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will most definitely need to be coaxed into it, but if his partner frames it as something popular that human’s do in modern times, he *might* be convinced to try it out. He might even like it! Even if he does like giving/receiving, that will have to be for very specific circumstances.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual babyyyyyy

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sometimes he likes to get a load out before he has to start his day. Morning wood and all. Definitely at least a weekly occurrence.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Anything Belos experiments with are things his S/O pleaded with him to try. He's a very old man who is mostly blind to the world of sex.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

One and the round will last around ten minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Again, he likes to tease when his partner is begging him to go faster/harder. He absolutely refuses to be any faster than a snail's pace.

“My my, someone is impatient.”

“Don’t rush, darling. Enjoy this time with me.”

“Be at ease, my sweet. There's no need to fuss.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Very quiet with the slightest moans and gasps.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He reaaallly enjoys praying in the bedroom. I once had the headcanon that he prays in Latin and I have not since been able to imagine a sex scene with him where he doesn't sing praises to the heavens in Latin at least once.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slender, but with old man sagginess on his abdomen, under his arms, etc. His scar wraps around him like a spiral with branches, cutting across his chest, naval, one branching down his arm and another one halfway down one thigh.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He will want sex at least 4-5 times a week, maybe less if he's incredibly busy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

If it's a nightly fuck, he's out like a light as soon as he's finished with aftercare.

#philip wittebane #toh philip #belosfanstakeover #toh #toh emperor belos #emperor belos #belos wittebane #the owl house belos #toh belos

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moony-ghoul · 10 months

Note

ant hurt/comfort with literally any ghoul pls lol i’m just sad and want ant to be held and told he’s good ! :(

okay time to finally tackle this one after it deleted itself last time i wrote it

BACK AT IT W MY FAVS

ants exhausted to put it simply

they felt it in their bones, a constant ache. they can’t remember when they last slept or when they had a meal, opting for quick bites when they become available

the ripped callouses on their fingers sting every time they move, reopening when they sit down for their 4th rehearsal of the day

but they can’t stop

aether left impossibly big shoes for them to fill, putting in any less than 110% effort isn’t an option. ant knows that they’re hurtling towards burning out. they don’t care. they don’t have the choice to not be perfect

it’s been months of pushing themself further and further. it started as hiding away for a few more extra minutes of practice by themself, that quickly turned into waking up in the middle of the night to strum out a few songs, and before they even had time to realise they seemed to be in a constant state of rehearsal. they skipped out on dinners out, skipped out on going to some shitty bar in whatever city they were in, they hid themself away every time.

if they were going to fuck up again they don’t want the other ghouls to see it

ant doesn’t feel conscious anymore, they never know if they’re actually on stage or not, they don’t know what city they’re in - hell they don’t even know what country they’re in anymore

their fucking hands keep shaking

it’s fucking everything up for them. they can’t play well with shakey hands. it causes an even heavier weight to settle in their chest

so they start planning

they’re gonna get to the hotel around 2am, then they have the next day off, then bump in at 10am the next day, then sound check at 2- or was it 1? are they gonna be in costumes for it? they’ll have to ask copia. will he be mad that they don’t know the schedule? what if-

a large hand covers theirs where it’s balled into a fist on their thigh

swiss’ head is still leaning back against the torn leather seat of the van, ant thought he was sleeping

“i can hear you thinking”

“sorry”

their voice sounds wrong coming out of their mouth, too small and broken

“it’s okay.” swiss gives their hand a light squeeze, “we’re gonna bump up together tonight, you can tell me what’s going on in ya head once we’re there”

ants throat goes dry, the weight on their chest doubles

the drive to the hotel goes quicker than they would’ve liked. the countdown to having to talk with swiss keeps ticking down

is swiss angry at them? why else would he want to talk? what have they done wrong?

the pair unpack in silence, usually ant finds this comforting now it just serves as a reminder of the impending doom

they wait for him to finish up his shower, resting against the headboard with their knees tucked tightly to their chest. some movies playing on the tv but they’re staring through it

ant doesn’t hear the click of the bathroom door, only coming back to earth when swiss’ hand lands on their leg

his smile is soft, it makes ant just collapse onto his chest and cry out all the exhaustion. but they don’t, they don’t know swiss’ intentions, this may all be a trap

swiss breaks the silence first

“what’s going on with you?”

his voice is gentle, like he stalking to a child. it makes ants head spin, they’re trying to understand the situation in front of them, trying to keep themself a step ahead of swiss but that’s very hard when they don’t know what’s going on

“…what?” they huff out in an almost laugh

“ant,” swiss says much more sternly this time, “somethings not right with you”

fuck

FUCK

that’s what this is about

he’s noticed. swiss has noticed. he knows how shit ant is, as a musician and as a ghoul. did copia set this up? is this how they’re planning on sending them back? because they’re not as good as aether

“you keep doing that”

can swiss hear their thoughts? is it some strange multi ghoul talent they don’t know about?

“doing what?”

“you keep disappearing, like you’re stuck in your own head.” swiss let’s out a shakey sigh. “let me in. please? i want to help you”

swiss’ hand rubs small circles into ants ankle, slowly breaking down the walls ant has built up so perfectly

“i- im fine-“

“no you’re not. you keep hiding away, you’re not eating, i doubt you’re sleeping either. i know you think nobody’s noticed but i’ve noticed. i see you, bug, please just let me in”

ant feels the dam breaking in their chest first, all that pressure that’s been building slowly cracking, once it does there’s no way for them to build it back up

their head falls to their knees as their sobs shake them. swiss’ arms wrap around them, glamoured nails scratch fully up and down their back

“i-i-i’m j-just so *sob* tired”

“i know, baby, i know. you’ve been working so hard, we all see it”

ant somehow starts crying harder, letting their knees fall and wrapping their arms around swiss’ waist, tears staining his shirt

after a few minutes their tears start to slow. somehow they feel even more exhausted than they originally were

swiss pulls them away from his chest, holding their head ever so gently, wiping tears away with his thumbs

“i just wanted to be good” ant whispers, “as good as aether”

ant watches as something in his expression shifts, he looks almost hurt?

“are you kidding? you’re already amazing, even at your first rehearsal you blew us all away. you’re not aether, but you’re you. you’re trying to compare land and sea here, bug. you’re a beautiful musician, you drive me crazy every night watching you, you captivate an audience in a way i’ve never seen before. stop trying to be aether and be phantom, cause you’re pretty fucking cool”

if ant had any tears left they’d definitely be crying again. instead they wrap their arms around swiss’ neck, tackling him into a tight hug, almost knocking him off balance

they mumble ‘thank you’s and ‘i love you’s into swiss’ hair before he repositions them to lay down

ant doesn’t let go of swiss for the rest of the night, falling into a very much needed sleep

#writing this has been so hard you don’t even understand #ant <33 #swiss x ant #shitty ghoul ficlets #i’m not editing this soz lol

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to-dance-beneath-the-diamond-sky · 11 days

Text

I’m so fucking sick of all my friends and all the non-organizer people in my life not fucking showing up for Palestine. Like Jesus Christ it’s like pulling teeth trying to get them to do anything. Sure a few of them will send the email and call tools but they almost never do anything more than that. It’s always “I already have plans” “I’m feeling drained today” “I needed to stop at McDonald’s because it was convenient” and I’m just so fucking sick of it. Like it’s one thing if it’s one time. But it’s such a fucking pattern. Sometimes you actually can cancel or change your plans to go to something more important. You can go to an action or an event even though you’re tired and drained and not feeling great. You can actually choose to be hungry for 30 minutes longer because you don’t want to support an actual BDS target. Stop fucking prioritizing your own comfort over fighting to end a genocide we're all complicit in whether we want to be or not every single fucking day.

Im so fucking sick of all the excuses from everyone all the time as to why they can’t or don’t show up for Palestine. I go to shit all the fucking time even when I’m exhausted even when I feel like shit and when I’m tired and burned out and in pain. Because that’s what it means to be in solidarity. I cancel my other plans and I prioritize working to help stop a genocide. I'm so fucking sick of people in my life barely even doing the bare fucking minimum. And I’m so fucking sick of not calling them out on it. Especially the people that I’m not that close with because I don’t want to burn the bridge purely because I know they might at some point do something useful to the fight. If it weren’t for the potential that they might sometimes occasionally do something small to contribute to the fight, I would just cut them out completely because it’s not like they’re even good friends to me (some of them are actually pretty shitty) and I don’t respect people who don’t want to fight against injustice and oppression and a fucking genocide.

I’m so fucking sick of having to extensively thank everyone every time they actually fo show up to something or bother to do something for Palestine. Like I have to fucking praise them and thank them for being an ally and actually taking action for once. Because I feel like if I don’t then they won’t ever do anything ever again.

I’m so fucking sick of people not showing up for Palestine. I’m so fucking sick of all the constant excuses. At some point excuses add up to a pattern, and the pattern is people don’t care enough about Palestine to endure any kind of discomfort or make any kind of sacrifice

#personal #free palestine #palestine #community organizing #At this point I feel like the only people who understand me are other organizers #Even my closest friends don’t understand #Even my closest friends don’t do enough #And yeah I do fucking judge them for it

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hunter-sylvester · 3 months

Note

I know you do character analysis, would you be alright elaborating about Hunter and his relationship with his parents? Everyone says he has mommy issues, but it looks like it could be a mixture of daddy issues as well.

I would fucking love to, Anon.

(Ao3 Character Analysis Series about Hunter)

I do think it’s very clear that he has mommy issues. From the small handful of references there are to her, it’s obvious. While he has clear on-screen issues with his father, he still keeps a picture of him and his dad on his bookshelf. His mother- however, is violently ripped from it. Something that can easily be read as a visual metaphor for how he feels about her absence from his life. Although I personally tend to write her as having been directly abusive which creates a slightly different whirlwind of issues, in either case she abandoned him. And we clearly see him display a fear of abandonment around Kevin. There’s a clear cause and effect there.

But I entirely agree that he also has daddy issues. It’s a noxious cocktail of neither parent being someone that understands him or knows how to make him feel at home. And it’s precisely that cocktail of issues that makes Hunter make so much sense to me as a character.

It’s not exactly my style to give fathers a lot of sympathy, but even without doing so, it's easy to see that everything Alan Sylvester does in canon shows he just has no idea what to do with Hunter. (Most notably when he literally gives up on parenting him in favor of dumping him in rehab).

He completely fumbles any weak attempts he does make at connecting with/parenting him and they all end in screaming matches.

“Sorry you’re just a little late with the whole ‘parenting’ thing” (when I tell you I feel that line)

Growing up with a parent (partially more, since his mother was around until 7th grade) present without anyone actually bothering to parent you, you end up growing crooked.

Can’t go any other way. Even if his parents were never mentioned, we’d know they were shitty parents based purely on Hunter’s issues.

In my mind, they’re both obviously neglectful. Evident both from the aforementioned quote as well as just the way that Hunter acts.

Each in their respective ways. His mother by literally removing herself from his life. His father by neglecting him emotionally, not hugging him, etc. (I'm assuming he never hugs Hunter based on the deeply awkward shoulder tap during the last scene of the film.) Also, this is a bit of a stretch based on vibes alone. But can you picture Alan cooking for Hunter? Can you picture them having dinner together? I can’t. It’s a bit of a headcanon but I personally believe Hunter has been making his own food for years. (note: this does not necessarily imply that he is a good cook)

Let’s also not forget that Hunter is just a seventeen year old boy. He is still a child (in canon). And a fucking troubled one at that.

One that likely grew up with nobody telling him it was ok to be him. No-one telling him he belonged. No-one showing him how to healthily handle his emotions. (This is one I blame heavily on the father.)

He had to figure everything out for himself. Reinvent the wheel at every step. Of course he’s gonna fuck up along the way. He’s just a kid.

Of course he freaks out when he thinks he’s losing Kevin, he’s already been shown that he can be discarded- and by one of the primary people that are supposed to be there for him.

Of course he’s a bit of a bitch about alcohol when he watches his father drink all the time and he would probably rather die than turn out like him.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Alan also contributed to Hunter’s inability to accept his sexuality. At the very lightest he’d be homophobic in that casual way dads are. The “I don’t care what they do behind closed doors” followed by the most homophobic ‘joke’ you can think of twenty minutes, if not seconds, later. But I wouldn't rule out more blatant queerphobia.

In any case, it’s a clear & constant signal that being queer is not something that’s acceptable for a Sylvester. And as much as Hunter fights his father, as much as I think he dreads being like him, he’s the only parent he has left at this point.

He still wants to be loved. He’s a kid. He needs a loving parent. Even if he, realistically, doesn’t really have one that’s worth appeasing.

Consciously, he’ll rebel. Subconsciously, he still looks up at his father and wants to be told he did well. He wants someone to be proud of him, he wants to be enough.

Call me a pessimist but I think at this point, even if Alan tried, the relationship is so laden with barbed wire that nothing is possibly getting through.

Anything would be too little & too fucking late.

Sorry that got a little fucking bleak...it's me, it's what happens lol Thank you for asking, Anon 🤘

#my post #metal lords #hunter sylvester #character analysis #metallords #answered ask #hunters asks #anon ask #does this contain projection? weeeelllll.....#hunterwriteswords #hunter metal lords #metal lords hunter

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yellowkitkieran · 1 year

Text

To Have and To Heal (Part 5)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

Martin loves his teammates, he really does. They're his brothers in every way but blood. They'll lift him up if he hits a rough patch and keep his feet firmly on the ground when praise from the press threatens to inflate his ego. There's a few of them that are acutely tuned into his moods too, which generally he doesn't think twice about.

Today however, he'd rather be left alone than have Kieran hovering over his shoulder. The Scotsman has been in Martin's shadow all day, a constant presence that he cannot shake. Today is an individually minded training day, each boy following their own tailored regime in the weights room for the first few hours, meaning Martin expected to be able to work off his mixed emotions. But having Kieran so close is grating on his nerves, until finally he can't stand it.

"Mate, can I help you?"

Kieran pauses on his machine, brown eyes wide. "Erm, no? I mean I don't need a spot for leg presses so…" Kieran maintains his mask of innocence despite Martin's hard stare, which only further aggravates him. When Kieran flashes Martin a smile that's all teeth, Martin swears under his breath and resets his machine so he can turn to face his friend.

"Why have you been shadowing me all day? You're like a- a…" Martin searches for the English word, his brain short circuiting. "A flea on a dog's back! I'm trying to work through something here-"

Kieran snaps his fingers and leans forward, "there! That's exactly what I've been waiting for- an admission! All week you've been off mate, everyone can tell. I'm just the unlucky one that got nominated to figure out why!"

Martin rolls his eyes. His lads are busy bodies. If they could mind their own business, Martin wouldn't feel so shitty because he might actually be able to process his things properly. Instead he's ended up more frustrated, because Kieran won't give him an inch to breathe.

Yes, it's true. Martin has been quiet lately, keeping to himself more than usual. He isn't surprised that the team has picked up on it. He hasn't done anything to hide it. He's allowed Kieran to take over team talks instead of himself; anyone with half a brain would recognize his out of character behavior. That doesn't mean he's about to pour out the contents of his wilted heart to Kieran in the middle of a training session though.

"I'm fine Kieran." Martin's response is a touch too firm, causing Kieran's eyebrows to shoot up. Martin draws a deep breath and dials it back, forcing a smile, "really, I'm fine mate. It's nothing I need to discuss, I'm working through it on my own."

Of course, being Martin's best friend means Kieran can see straight through his cheesecloth lie. It also means Kieran can read Martin like a book, thus knowing when it's best to leave an issue alone. So Kieran simply nods, murmurs a soft, 'I'm here if you need me' and continues on with his day.

Once Kieran moves to another machine, the rubber band around Martin's chest eases enough for him to breathe properly. It allows him room to think and reflect. He needs to clear his head… which is part of the issue.

Martin's head is a mess because you muddle his thoughts. It's gotten to the point that he can't walk outside and see the sun without thinking about you, and that terrifies Martin.

He hasn't felt this way about anyone since the day he met Maria. She became the center of Martin's world from the moment he laid eyes on her, only shifting to make room for Atla when she was born. For three years his girls shared equal space in his heart, until fate stepped in and ripped one of them out of the picture.

It took Atla a long time to understand what happened. Martin honestly isn't positive she understands now, actually. The weeks immediately following Maria's passing were the hardest. Each night Atla would ask for her mummy to tuck her in and listen to a story that Martin would read, and each night Martin had to gently remind her that mummy wasn't there. Martin lost count of how many times he'd told her 'Mum's in the sunset now søta, she's watching over you even if you can't see her'. Through it all, Atla rarely cried, thank god- a three year old doesn't truly know how to process grief after all. If Atla had shed tears, Martin isn't sure he would have survived.

For two years, Martin has thrown all his energy into being a father. Anything he has to spare goes into being Arsenal's captain, and he thinks he's doing a pretty damn good job of balancing both. The learning curve was steep, and he still discovers new nuances about being a better parent nearly every day. The fathers on his team have been his backbone, though none of them understand the full weight he bears on his own shoulders. At the end of the day, they have partners to lean on. Martin only has himself.

The scary part is, he's beginning to wonder if he's meant to be a single parent forever. He's found himself caught between a rock and a hard place: continuing to remain a loving, loyal widow, or chasing his own potential happiness. It feels like a betrayal to even consider letting someone new occupy his heart the way Maria had, but at the same time he wonders if it's fair to Atla to allow her to grow up without a maternal figure to guide her. He's not stupid; one day Atla will have questions he can't answer himself, ones that only a woman can answer properly. No matter how much research he conducts or how much he prepares himself, he will never experience the world the same way a woman might.

Is he robbing Atla of a fundamental right, the right to grow up with a mum at her side? Everything he does is for Atla, for his daughter- is he being selfish by cutting himself off from the chance to find love?

"Oi Martin! Come on, we're headed to the pitch!"

For now, his questions will remain unanswered. He has a job to do, and he takes that job seriously. Martin quickly cleans up his mess and wipes down his machine before following the rest of his team outside for some small group drills, which is one of his favorite activities.

Martin leads a round of keep away, passing back and forth in a small circle whilst Saka tries to intercept. It takes his mind off of anything you related, which comes as a welcome realization. Martin laughs with his friends, doubling over to clutch his stomach when Saka falls flat on his back after tripping over the ball. It feels good to be his normal self again, not having to worry about anything except the task at hand.

The end of their session comes sooner than Martin expects. He showers and organizes his cubby, preferring things to be neat when tours come through. Then he makes his rounds to chat with the staff to ensure everyone knows they're an important part of the team in his eyes. Eventually he can't stall any longer and he is forced to head out to pick up Atla from school.

There is a pit in his stomach as he pulls up to the limestone building. Pick up is simultaneously the part of his day that he dreads and that he looks forward to most. On one hand, pick up means he gets the rest of the night with his family. On the other hand, he has to see you, which is both a blessing and a curse.

The gymnasium is on the opposite side of the school but he always parks out front, preferring to walk the halls and chat a bit when he can. Today he chats less, intent on seeing his daughter as soon as he can. He whistles quietly as he walks, smiling when he hears Atla clock his tune.

"Papa's here!"

Martin is already crouched when she comes barreling over to wrap her little arms around his neck to squeeze him in a bear hug. At last Martin feels the remaining bits of his troubles melt away thanks to his daughter. She is the center of his world, and being with her makes him feel at home.

"Hallo søta, did you learn lots today?" It takes everything in him to not immediately look up and meet your eyes. Martin still isn't sure how to act around you; he'd extended an olive branch in the form of chocolates and tulips and he is patiently waiting for you to reciprocate his energy. Until then, he is determined to leave you be.

"So much! I had a fun day- David tried chasing me on the playground but don't worry papa, I made sure he knew I wouldn't let him!"

"She was very adamant," you say, your sweet voice drawing Martin's attention. Your smile is the first thing he truly notices. The next is the way you fiddle with the badge hanging around your neck, and the third is the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

Martin tips his head and speaks before he can filter himself. "Those boots are new, they look nice. I feel like I've seen those in the window at Harrods, no?"

"Oh, um- yes actually, they were an early birthday treat to myself actually. I saw them and couldn't resist!"

Martin would love to unpack that, so he smiles at Atla. "Go clean up your coloring things, lille venn, okay? Go on, don't make Miss. Sunshine clean up your mess!"

Once Atla is out of earshot, Martin stands to his full height and smiles. "Happy early birthday. I suppose I'll have to get you something, seeing as you do so much for Atla."

"Oh, you really don't need to Martin! I appreciate you just wishing me a happy birthday. That's really more than enough."

Martin's heart sings when you address him by name. It amazes him how something as simple as hearing you speak his name can set a flurry of butterflies loose in his stomach.

"I'd like to get you something, if you're alright with that? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable. From one friend to another?"

There it is, another try with the olive branch. Martin silently prays you'll accept it, because in honesty he still isn't sure how he feels about this whole thing and he wants some sort of confirmation that he isn't committing a match-ending foul.

It takes you a minute, but Martin exhales when you nod. "I think that's fine, friends give each other presents all the time… friends also come to birthday parties, yeah?"

Your voice is soft as clouds and your eyes are tentative as they search his face. Martin is certain you pick up on his amazement. You must, because you've stunned him into silence. Martin isn't a man who is silent often.

"Mar?"

Oh, faen. Not that name.

It's as if you reached into his consciousness and plucked out the one surefire way to sink yourself into his heart. He hasn't allowed anyone to call him Mar since his wife had passed because it never felt right. But now? Martin finds himself smiling despite the twinge of bittersweet memories.

"Yes. I'll come if you let me know the details. Friends… friends attend birthday parties, that's a friendly thing."

Martin is falling hard. Guilt gnaws at him despite the excitement that washes over him when you grin, clearly feeling much the same as he is. Your smile quiets the war in his head temporarily, reducing the cacophony of noise to a whisper in the background.

Amazing. Absolutely amazing that you have such an effect on him. He's lived with that noise for years and in seconds, you've dulled it to nothing.

"I'll see you there." You bite your lip and tuck your hands behind your back, which is somehow the most endearing thing. "It's at that same bar you saw me at last month, this Friday. You don't have to drink or anything I promise, I know you have a match on Sunday!"

"I'll be there, I promise." It's as if Martin is seeing you for the first time. The way the sun filters through the skylight and illuminates the gentle planes of your face mesmerizes him. He notes the little curve of your lips that grows the longer he stares. Beautiful with a selfless soul- that's how he'd describe you.

"Papa, I'm all done!"

Atla shatters the moment when she tugs on Martin's sleeve. She's too adorable to be upset with, so Martin gives her a pass and offers you an apologetic smile which you accept with a wave of your hand. Martin scoops up Attie with little effort, propping her on his hip and kissing her rosy cheek.

"Say goodbye to Miss. Sunshine," Martin prompts, smiling when Atla does just that. "I'll see you tomorrow," he adds, that same smile playing on his lips.

"Tomorrow for sure, and then Friday evening."

"Wouldn't miss it, søta."

**********

"Kieran, I need you to watch Attie on Friday."

"Uhh sure mate, what for? It's pretty short notice, but you're lucky I don't have anything planned."

"Shut up mate- if you had plans you wouldn't let any of us hear the end of it."

Kieran drops his weights to the padded floor. The resulting thud rumbles through Martin's bones, "Okay, for one, that's harsh even if it is true. And second, why am I watching Attie? I mean I love her and I have no problem doing it, but what's so important that you'd leave her with me?"

Martin knows he can be honest with Kieran. He's probably the one person who won't ever judge him. Regardless, Martin wants to keep this secret for a little longer, at least until he sees how Friday goes.

"I'm just going out with some friends. You're sure you can watch Atla? I can make you up a list of what to do."

Kieran chuckles, "Mate, it's not my first time watching my goddaughter. I got this! Bedtime is eight on the weekends, no television an hour before bed, and… Friday isn't a bath night so that makes my job easy! I'll plunk her down with a set of coloring books and some blank pages and we can go wild, it'll be fun!"

"Alright yeah, that seems fair. Just don't let her have too much-"

"Sugar, yes Martin I am aware!" Kieran waves a hand flippantly, "I know what I'm doing like I've said! Just have some fun doing whatever secret mission you've got, you need to loosen up a little."

"I do not-" Martin begins to snap, but then notes Kieran's amused smile and stops himself. Martin forces himself to breathe and unwind before finishing, "I do not need to loosen up, I'm doing just fine thank you."

"Sure mate if you say so- you're just going out with 'friends' that aren't at Arsenal, nothing odd about that!"

Again with Kieran being annoyingly perceptive. Martin is beginning to think having a best mate is more trouble than it's worth. Kieran is lucky Martin loves him because in the end, having Kieran around is more beneficial than it is a nuisance.

Once a time for drop off is agreed upon, the two part ways. Martin only has two days to come up with an outfit that's acceptable for a night out but also doesn't scream 'I'm trying to show off in front of all your friends', which is a struggle. Considering his closet is filled with basic t-shirts and designer jackets with no real in-between, he'll have to head out after training and buy something.

The only issue is Martin has no clue what's what when it comes to fashion. Kieran at least has some sort of idea of what's trendy and looks good…

Martin sighs and heads back over to Kieran, "Mate, are you free tonight to help me shop?"

"Shop for what?" Kieran feigns innocence as he finishes up his set of curls. "Food? Because I'd think you pay someone to do that for you. At least that's what most of us lads do!"

"Don't make this hard for me, you know what I mean Kieran." Forcing Martin to voice things he isn't ready to is like pulling teeth. Not only is he reluctant to do so, but it's also incredibly painful and Martin would prefer to keep it to himself. And for some reason, Martin feels oddly protective over you, as if letting Kieran know it's you he's going on a pseudo-date with will allow Kieran to sweep you out from under him. For now, Martin feels safer with a cloak of mystery to protect him.

Kieran clears his throat and drags Martin into the present. "Right, sorry mate. I'm free and I'd be happy to help you shop for something to wear- you'll have to give me some details though? What sort of place you're going to, as a bare minimum. I can't have you showing up to a steakhouse in Dunks, you know?"

Martin nods. That much he is comfortable sharing. "It's just a club, so nothing fancy. I just don't normally do casual? So I only have really casual, and I don't think that's appropriate. I'd like to impress the people that are gonna be there."

Kieran nods, thinking for a minute. The grin that lights up Kieran's face has Martin's head racing with thoughts of what the Scotsman might be up to.

"I know just the place, mate. Bring your credit cards cause it's gonna be expensive!"

**********

"Babe! What did I tell you?! Don't get involved with him- and you just straight up went against everything I said!"

"I know I did Jen!" Your pacing is nearly wearing holes in the circular orange carpet in the center of her room. You've walked the perimeter of your self-imposed prison cell at least a dozen times in the past ten minutes whilst enduring a well-deserved lecture from your friend. "Look, why can't I be friends with him? There's no rule against that in the ethics handbook is there? I'm just fostering positive relationships between myself and the parents of my students!"

"Oh, that reads like a textbook. Babes, you know why you can't do that. You'll catch feelings! Hell, you caught feelings for that writer at the Starbucks down the street for your flat and you never spoke a single word to him. You think you can be friends with Martin 'I'm the best looking single dad ever' Ødegaard and not feel a thing?"

Was it a foolish decision to invite Martin to your birthday gathering? Obviously. It isn't your fault that he's too damn charming and irresistible. You hadn't expected Jen to be over the moon with your idea, but you had crossed your fingers in hopes of her supporting you.

"Okay, maybe I made a mistake-"

"You think?!"

"-but realistically what's the worst that could happen? Technically Attie isn't my student, so there's nothing that says Mar and I can't be involved."

Jen rakes a hand through her hair, her blue highlighter leaving a streak behind. "I mean technically you'd be fine, but if the other parents found out, who knows what they'd do? The entire school is filled with Mum's constantly lusting over that man- all it takes is one of them getting a touch too jealous and spreading some terrible rumor for things to go ass over tits."

You hate it when Jen is right. The fantasy you cooked up in your head is much more favorable than the reality she's just whacked you upside the head with. You deflate, finally ceasing your feet long enough to sit cross legged on the carpet.

"Look Jen, I don't even think he's interested in me like that anyway. He's got this trauma, I can see it in his eyes- he just feels… broken hearted. I think he needs a friend to lean on, someone outside of Arsenal. Like a new perspective, you know? Maybe I can be that for him."

At this point, you're grasping at straws to invent a reason why this is a semi-acceptable idea. In truth you're being selfish, wanting to see if you can sus out how Martin feels beneath that steely armor he wears. You can chalk it up to your teachers instincts; seeing people struggling silently isn't something you can sit by and tolerate without trying to help. You don't have it in you to watch Martin continue to come in and paint on a happy face for his daughter when you've noticed flashes of something much more troubled beneath the surface.

"For the record, I hate this idea."

"I know you do, Jen. But you going along with it is exactly why I love you." You hold up one finger, pleading with your eyes for her to hear you out. "One outing, that's all I ask. You'll be there the entire time to keep me in check, totally supervised and everything."

Jen shakes her head, taking her time in answering to ensure her discontent is well noted. "I'm only doing this because I love you. One outing- and I'm not letting you drink until he's gone. You get all touchy when you have tequila and I know that's what you'll wind up having."

You break into a cheek-splitting grin that is impossible to hide even if you wanted to, "that's a deal. Have I told you I love you?"

"Not nearly as often as you should, considering how much I risk for you on a daily basis. Now go home and pick out an outfit, let me grade in peace."

"Trust me, I've got just the thing in mind."

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