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hungharrington · 2 days ago

Note

please could i request a smutty fic with “i like being close to you. you’re warm” & “is this okay?” from prompt list 1? maybe some soft, cozy, sexy time after a group bonfire on a cool summer night? 🫣🫣🫣 and maybe x curvy!reader?

anon i'm so sorry i hijacked your request so badly, its not smutty nor did i do too much with a curvy!reader, please forgiv..... what this does have is lots & lots of mutual pining fluff <3 getting together, gn!reader, 1.7k, sfw but beware this blog is 18+

in the firelight

The logs glow a bright orange, flames curling around them like hungry tongues. The low sound of crickets fill the trees around you, a chorus of the natural world, the soundscape of wilderness all around.

If you strain your ears, you can hear the soft sounds of the lake nearby, water lapping at the shore. Combined with the crackling of the fire and crickets, you can’t help but sink back in ease.

You’re at Steve’s lake house— well, his parents’ lake house. It’s a little down south from Hawkins, tucked away from civilisation, and decked out with the swankiest furniture set good money can buy.

It had been unused when you arrived, plastic covers still on.

“Mom bought before she found out about Dad’s next affair. Haven’t been down here since then, either of them.” Steve had quietly told you on the way in.

So, you’ve all got the honours of breaking in the new stuff — Eddie especially, who tore the plastic cover off the table with a rabid fervor. He then tussled with it, eventually launching it into Robin’s head as hard as he could. It had quickly dissolved into a vigorous game of tug of war until Steve warned them to knock it off.

But it means you’ve all pushed the beach loungers around the fire. Earlier, you had roasted all manners of things over it, enough snacks and sweets to count as dinner.

Now, you’re one of the few stragglers left gathered around it. It’s late, the sky dark.

There’s only three of you out here. To your left, Steve sits at the end of his own lounger, straddling it with his legs off either side.

He’s got a poker from inside the house in his hand and he’s bravely taken on the task of making sure the fire burns strong. He’s prone to poking it now and then, expression serious.

Watching him makes you laugh under your breath. It’s endearing, you think, the way he still doesn’t quite slip out of caretaker mode, even without the kids around.

Directly across the fire from you, Eddie sits in a much more relaxed way.

There’s a joint held loosely between his lips, still burning, and he’s gazing into the fire as if it holds the answers to life.

In fact, you wonder how long it’s been since he’s blinked.

A wind passes through the clearing, inspiring a shiver from you. The temperature is dropping as night falls, but you don’t quite want to go inside yet.

It’s a soft atmosphere outside. The smell of the fire is like an old memory and you’re enjoying your less than subtle glances you get to share with Steve, the way his eyes reflect the firelight as he smiles back at you.

It’s actually making you delusional enough to entertain the idea that your big fat crush on Steve might not be so severely one sided.

When you go inside, the bubble will pop. Sue you if you just wanted to prolong that a little longer.

You shiver again as another breeze blows through and Steve notices the motion. He frowns, brown knitting together.

“You cold?” He asks, hazel eyes concerned.

“A little,” You admit. You tuck your sweater closer around you and wonder if you should move closer to the fire.

Abruptly, Steve clears his throat loudly and jabs the poker into the fire, his head now facing the fire’s only other occupant. The harsh motion into the fire, sparks flying, seems to startle Eddie out of his stupor.

His lazed eyes drag over to Steve and then after a long moment, he seemed to blink in realisation because he springs to his feet.

“I take my leave.” He announces, voice still strained from the smoke.

He tumbles forward into a bow that has you concerned about his hair catching fire— but he straightens up before anything sets alight.

“And I bid thee birds o’ love goodnight,” He says, more pointedly this time.

Your eyebrows scrunch together at his words. Birds o’ love?

Steve, however, only jabs the fire again and Eddie disappears along the path up to the house.

“Should we be worried if he’s gonna make it back alright?”

You’re peering over your shoulder, watching the metalhead go. It’s not far to the house but there’s only lights right by the stairs. And he’s stoned to high heaven.

“Nah,” Steve’s voice is suddenly much closer, right beside you, and you jump as you turn back. You hadn't heard him move by he's sitting on the edge of your lounger now.

“Budge up, I’m keeping you warm.”

Bewilderment flounders through you, warm and fringed with nerves. For a moment, you just stare at him before something clicks and you sit up to shuffle to the side.

The loungers are big and roomy. However, evidently they are not designed for two people to lie side by side.

As Steve squeezes in, your body ends up pressed flush against his warm and toned one, thigh to thigh. He leans back easily but you’re still frozen a bit, apprehensive about your next move. If you lie back, you’ll be practically lying on Steve’s chest.

You’re mouth twists in your nerves.

Leaning back means leaning your weight up against him, nearly goddamn cuddling. Your twitchy gaze meets Steve as you look back at him — but he only smiles handsomely, beckoning you down with a tip of his head.

Christ almighty, you have such a crush on him.

You close your eyes momentarily and send a quick prayer to whoever’s listening—either grant you strength or some insane luck that gives you want you really, really want.

You lay down and melt into his side. Your cheek finds his shoulder, squishing against it, and your heart worms its way up your throat in nerves.

You hope he can’t feel how hard your heart is beating.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, murmuring now he’s much closer. The smoke of the fire swirls with his cologne. He's warm like a furnace. “Not too close f’you?”

“I like being close to you,” You say without thinking.

A second later, you realise how betraying that might sound, body stiffening as a fluster rolls through you.

“'Cos you’re warm.” You tack on quickly, as if that’ll save it. You very purposefully keep your eyes on the fire, away from his prying gaze.

Fuck, fuck. That’s basically a confession. You’re basically cuddling, legs touched, your head touching on Steve’s shoulder and you just said that.

Steve gives a quiet laugh that rumbles his chest.

“That’s good.” He says quietly.

Then he inhales deeply, a breath you feel under your cheek. He releases in slowly, calmly, then swallows.

“And…” He’s turned his head towards you, your faces close. Something nudges at your jaw—his hand, sliding gently across the skin to cradle it.

“Is this okay?” He whispers. This close you can see individual eyelashes. A part of you quietly yearns.

You have no clue what’s happening.

You know what you think is happening — which is that Steve, handsome, caring, entirely out of your league Steve, might be about to kiss you.

“Yes,” you say, just in case you’re not dreaming the whole thing. “I, uh- you— what is happening right now?” You whisper, hardly daring to breath.

Your eyes roam Steve’s face fervently, searching for something, anything to explain this.

But there’s only an ardent fondness in his face, a softness in his gaze that’s directed at you.

Your heart reaches a concerning speed, pounding in your chest hard enough it must be bruising your ribs. The skin pressed against Steve's blazes warmer than any other part of you, your thigh against his, his hand resting on your face.

“What’s happening is,” Steve says softly. “I have been waiting for Munson to leave for twenty minutes, so I could come over here and,” He swallows, eyes dipping down to your lips momentarily. “hopefully… kiss you.”

You blink.

“Why?” You whisper.

You scrunch your eyes closed the minute you say it, scowling at yourself for potentially stepping on your own damn moment. Never mind if it was the burning question you had, never mind if Steve just wanted to kiss for the night.

You’d take it even if it wasn’t quite what you yearned for. You'd take anything he offered to you.

Steve laughs lightly and your eyes open. His eyes are still tracking over your face with an adoration you can’t quite believe.

“Why?” He echoes.

The hand on your face shifts, his thumb petting along your cheek gently. You see him swallow and realise with a spark that it’s because he’s nervous.

“Because I like you.”

It’s a whisper. None of that charm, just a genuineness that threatens to make your heart explode. His eyes shift across your face, as if committing it to detail in the shadow of the firelight. “And I have for awhile now.”

Your lips wobble a bit before they form their smile, catching up before your mind can grapple with the idea truly. He likes you. Steve likes you.

“Okay,” you say back stupidly.

Fuck. You’re really crushing this whole interaction, aren’t you?

But Steve only laughs again, his thumb tracing another line over your cheek. “Okay? This is okay?”

Heart bursting, you nod against his shoulder, already tilting your face up towards his. You hope you don’t look too eager—then remember it really doesn’t matter. Steve likes you.

Enough to come sit by you, to lean in first, to take the leap and say the words even though it's scary.

Leaning in, his nose brushes you, just the softest graze. It pulls a sharp breath from your lungs in nerves, but Steve only pauses there. Lets you sit in the moment, then melt into it.

The fire crackles and pops loudly and you hear the soft hooting of an owl in the trees. And only when you relax—when you tilt your head up and close the gap first, lips ghosting across his—does he kiss you.

Steve's mouth presses against yours softly, the shape of his lips fitting like a daydream, and when your eyes flutter close, you remember only the hazel of his eyes.

(if u wanted, i would maybe do a smutty part two if people were interested?!)

#a little more different than my usual stuff!#nevermind how the last line is a bit dopey lol #i said we got steve bad parent trauma we got eddie goofball we got tender sweet first kissessss #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve x reader #jay writes #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #fluff

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lazy-ahh · 3 days ago

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HIII !! :0 we've spoken before but I've only realized now I haven't been requesting things anonymously (omg I'm stupid I know lmao) :3 uhmmm here's another idea but it's more of a prompt lol, you can do whatever you want with it :)

Jason or reader : “You stayed.”

Jason or reader : “I’m still deciding if that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

LIKE WE WERE KIDS AGAIN

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

"you stayed," you murmur, voice cracking like the childhood promises you both broke. jason doesn’t answer—just holds you tighter, as if his arms could undo years of hurt. (they can’t. but tonight, with your laughter muffled against his chest and his fingers tangled in yours, maybe "broken" doesn’t have to mean "unfixable.")

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the first time jason sees you again, he’s supposed to kill you.

the warehouse is burning around you both, smoke curling thick in the air, the scent of gasoline and gunpowder clinging to the back of his throat. he’s here on orders—some lowlife crime lord’s hired muscle needs to be put down, and the red hood doesn’t ask questions. not anymore.

but then he sees you.

you’re standing in the middle of the wreckage, blood smeared across your split knuckles, a gun dangling loosely from your fingers like you’ve forgotten how to hold it. your eyes are hollow, glazed over—like you’re not really here. like you’ve been carved out and left empty.

he doesn’t recognize you at first. not with the way your shoulders hunch inward, like you’re trying to disappear. not with the way your hands tremble around the grip of the gun, finger twitching near the trigger like you’re fighting the urge to use it. but then you turn, just slightly, and the flickering firelight catches the curve of your cheekbone—the same one he used to poke when you were kids, laughing when you’d swat his hand away and call him an idiot.

"no fucking way," he breathes, the words punched out of him.

you don’t react. your gaze slides right past him, vacant, like he’s just another shadow in the room. like he’s not the boy who used to sneak you candy under the dinner table when your parents weren’t looking, who promised to protect you from monsters under the bed.

(he failed, didn’t he? because here you are—another ghost in a world that chews up kids like you and spits them out. and now you’re standing on the wrong side of his gun, working for the same bastards he’s been hired to wipe out.)

your lips part, just slightly, and he thinks you might say something. but then your jaw clenches, and something dark flickers in your eyes—betrayal. because of course you’ve heard the stories. the red hood doesn’t hesitate. the red hood puts bullets in skulls without a second thought.

and here he is, staring you down like you’re just another target.

(you don’t know that his finger’s frozen on the trigger. that his chest is so tight he can’t breathe. that all he can think is—what the hell happened to you?)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the second time, he corners you on a rooftop.

the wind howls between you, sharp enough to cut, and jason’s boots scrape against gravel as he steps forward. you’re backed against the ledge, panting, one hand pressed to your side where blood seeps through your fingers—a bullet graze, too close for comfort. the red helmet hides the way his throat bobs, the way his teeth grind together at the sight.

you’re hurt.

the realization hits him like a punch to the gut. he’d chased you across half the city, fury burning through his veins because how could you—but now that he’s here, all he sees is the way your knees wobble, the way your breaths come too fast, too shallow. like you’re one wrong move from collapsing.

"what the hell are you doing?" he growls, voice distorted through the modulator, harsher than he means it to be.

you blink at him, slow, like you’re struggling to focus. the moonlight catches the sweat on your brow, the blood smeared across your cheek. when you speak, your voice is rough, exhausted. "surviving."

like it’s obvious. like it’s the only thing left in the world that makes sense.

and jason—

jason wants to scream.

because this isn’t you. the you he knew would’ve flinched at the sight of blood, would’ve squeezed his hand too tight when you crossed the street, would’ve cried when you scraped your knee on the playground and let him carry you home. the you he knew had laughed so loud it echoed, had tucked wildflowers into his pockets when he wasn’t looking, had been alive.

but the person in front of him now?

they don’t even blink as they wipe their bloody hands on their jacket, smearing red across the fabric like it’s nothing. like pain is just another part of the routine.

(he remembers, suddenly, stupidly—the way you’d cling to his sleeve when you were scared. the way you’d whisper don’t let go even when there was nothing to be afraid of.)

"you’re working for them," he accuses, stepping closer. his voice cracks, just slightly. "the same bastards who—"

"i don’t have a choice," you interrupt, voice brittle, breaking.

your hands shake. not from the cold. not from the wound.

from fear.

(he hates how small you sound. hates it even more because he knows, now, that you’ve been afraid for a long, long time.)

for a heartbeat, neither of you move. the city sprawls beneath you, all flickering lights and distant sirens, but jason doesn’t hear any of it. all he hears is the ragged sound of your breathing. all he sees is the way your shoulders curl in, like you’re waiting for a blow.

you think i’m going to hurt you.

the thought makes something in his chest splinter.

(he should. he should. that’s what the red hood does. that’s what he came here for.)

but then you sway, just slightly, and without thinking, his hand shoots out—fingers wrapping around your wrist to steady you.

your skin is cold.

(he doesn’t let go.)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the third time, he finds you in a shitty motel room, and the sight cracks something open in his ribs.

the air smells like stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant, the kind that burns your nose if you breathe too deep. you're curled into yourself on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them like you're trying to hold yourself together. the dim yellow light from the flickering lamp paints everything in sickly shadows—the hollows under your eyes, the dried blood on your sleeve, the way your fingers dig into your own arms hard enough to leave bruises.

on the nightstand, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits next to a gun.

(jason's stomach turns. he knows what that means. knows what you were thinking when you put it there.)

you don't fight when he sits beside you. don't even look up. just keep staring at the cracked wall across from you, blank, like you're already gone. like you were waiting for death, and he's just the grim reaper finally showing up to collect.

(he wants to shake you. wants to pull you into his arms. doesn't know which would hurt more.)

"why?" he asks, softer this time. voice rough like he's the one who's been crying, even though your eyes are dry.

your lips twitch—something that might’ve been a laugh in another life. it cracks apart before it even leaves your throat, splintering into something raw and wounded, more like a sob caught between your teeth. your fingers curl into the thin motel sheets, knuckles white, as if clinging to them could keep you from falling apart completely.

"they promised they'd kill me if i didn't." your voice is barely there, scraped thin from screaming or silence—he can't tell which. then, softer, breaking: "i couldn't let them do that... not without seeing you for the last time."

the admission hangs in the air between you, fragile as the dust motes drifting in the dim light. jason feels it like a knife to the ribs—because you thought you were going to die, and your last thought was him.

jason's breath catches like his lungs forgot how to work.

suddenly, he's fifteen again—kneeling on hot pavement behind your apartment building, watching through messy bangs as you carefully press batman bandaids over his scraped knees. "hold still, dummy," you'd huffed, but your hands were gentle even when they shook. the cherry popsicle you'd split with him earlier dripped sticky-sweet on your chin, and when he laughed and wiped it away with his thumb, your cheeks went pink as the sunset. in that moment, twelve-year-old jason thought, with startling clarity: i'd follow you anywhere. die for you if i had to.

the memory burns worse than the whiskey in his gut. because now he knows—you never wanted this. never chose the blood staining your hands or the hollows under your eyes. you'd been stolen, just like he was. broken, just like he was.

(he should've known. should've seen the signs sooner—the way your hands trembled even when empty, the way your eyes kept darting to exits like you expected hands to grab you any second. god, how many times had you looked at him, silently screaming for help he didn't recognize?)

the mattress creaks as he shifts closer. his hand hovers over your shoulder, trembling with the weight of every unsaid thing between you. when his palm finally settles against the thin fabric of your shirt, he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting beneath—alive, alive, alive against all odds.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, and it's not enough. will never be enough for all the ways he failed you.

(he doesn't specify what for. the list is too long: for not protecting you. for thinking you'd gone bad. for that last summer before everything burned—when he'd peeked through your bedroom window and saw you muttering to your reflection, practicing how to say "i like you" with reddening ears. he'd nearly fallen off the fire escape grinning, thinking just say it already, i'll say it back, never knowing your confession would be stolen along with everything else the next day.)

you finally look up at him, eyes wide and lost, and jason thinks—

oh.

there you are.

somewhere beneath the blood and bruises and broken pieces, beneath the flinches and the fear and the face you've had to wear to survive—you're still you. the same kid who patched his wounds and shared your popsicles and looked at him like he hung the moon.

and despite the pit's rage, despite the bullets and the bodies and the years of pretending he's someone else—he's still him too. still the boy who promised to keep you safe.

(he won't fail you again.)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

"you stayed," you murmur into the quiet, finally meeting his gaze through the dim light. the words taste fragile on your tongue, like they might break if you speak too loud.

he exhales, rough around the edges. "i'm still deciding if that's the dumbest thing i've ever done," he says, but there's no bite to it��just that familiar teasing lilt that makes your chest ache.

(you remember him saying the same thing at twelve when he climbed your fire escape with a black eye, grinning through split lips because he'd "won" the fight. you'd called him an idiot then too.)

but he doesn't leave. doesn't even shift away when you curl tighter into yourself, knees digging into your ribs like you're trying to disappear.

"hey." his finger pokes your cheek—just like when you were kids. "stop that. you're thinking too loud."

you blink up at him. "i'm not a—"

"a gremlin? yeah, you are." his grin is all teeth, the same one he'd flash when stealing your lunchbox snacks. "always were. remember when you tried to eat mrs. mackey's science project because you thought it was jello?"

a startled laugh punches out of you. "it looked like jello!"

"it was a dissection specimen, you menace."

"you ate some too!"

"only after you dared me, you little—"

the rest gets swallowed by your shriek as he suddenly tackles you, fingers digging into your ribs exactly where you're most ticklish. the sound that comes out of you is half-laugh, half-sob, startled and bright after so long without.

(just like that summer when you'd both gotten caught in the rain, how he'd carried you piggyback through the downpour while you shrieked about his cold hands sneaking under your jacket to tickle you.)

you retaliate by shoving your icy feet against his calves, grinning at his yelp. "cheater!" he gasps, but he's laughing too, really laughing, the sound warm and rough and so painfully familiar it makes your eyes burn.

somewhere between breathless wrestling and poorly-aimed pillow attacks, you end up with your face smushed against his chest, his arms locked around you like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. the quiet settles over you both, comfortable in a way nothing has been in years.

"missed this," you mumble into his shirt. the admission feels dangerous.

his heartbeat stutters under your ear. "...yeah."

(he remembers your thirteenth birthday, how you'd fallen asleep just like this during your movie marathon, how he'd stayed perfectly still for hours just so he wouldn't wake you. how he'd thought, with terrifying certainty: this. i want this forever.)

your fingers curl into his sleeve on their own accord, clinging like you're eight again and afraid of thunderstorms. jason's breath hitches—then his hand comes up to card through your hair, gentle in a way the red hood never is.

"stay?" you whisper, already half-asleep.

his arms tighten. "'til you're sick of me."

(he means forever. you both know it.)

2.2k full of jason todd and reader being traumatised together...! yippe...! .... AHHHHHH WHY DO I EVEN DO THIS TO MYSELF??? and also, don't worry mysterious anon, you're not stupid at all, don't you EVEN think about it >:[ hope you enjoyed this teehee! <3

#lazy-ahh #dc comics #red hood #jason todd #gender neutral reader #red hood x reader #red hood x gender neutral reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #JASONNNN #i need to be writing more for jason ngl #JASOOOONNNNN #poor jason and reader my poor babies #JASOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNN #hope y'all enjoyed this as much as i did teehee #JAAAAAAAASSSSSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNN

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 days ago

Note

Do you have any rules for requests?

Thank you for asking and respecting my boundaries!

I do have some that I've started over the course of running this and other writing blogs:

1. I will not write overly Gore, Yandere, or Rape. I might have implied it or have it offscreen in a quick one sentence passage, but these themes make me uncomfortable, so I don't make them main topics. If you send in a request, I'll likely post it with a rejection notice so that others who see it might be willing to pick it up. The only time I won't is if the ask is rude/too detailed.

2. As a personal choice, I don't really enjoy writing multiple crossovers. This means I like to stick to the DC or DP universe's for this blog. Occasionally, I might use elements of a third option, but it's really hard for me to make it work since I'm not putting in an honest effort.

3. My blog has blanket permission on all prompts/chats/requests as long as I'm credited for the original. If you want to reblog and add more, you can. If you want to write an extended fic on another website, you can. If you want to draw based on something I wrote, you can. If you want to post it on tick tok with a voice reader, you can. If you would link me so I can geek out about it, please do so.

4. I don't do tag lists because they are too much of a hassel to keep an eye on. I also don't like seeing such a big wall of usernames. I try to keep my master post organized with the latest updated date on there if you would like to follow the Aus and find all the parts. The index will show you where each Au is organized.

5. I'm twenty-seven years old (I have no money, no prospects, I'm a burn to my parents, and im frighten). This means that while I don't mind getting NSFW asks or implied NSFW jokes/writes, I ask that if your underage DO NOT send them in. It's for both your safety and mine that you don't interact with that material until you're older. (I think I'll post the NSFW stuff on Ao3 as suggested)

6. I'm a multi-shipper. Since none of these charaters are real, I am known for moving them around and changing their circumstances to make pairs. My favorite genres in writing is fantasy and romance, so if you don't like a ship, please understand that it won't stop me from writing it. Unless requested for a gen fic in the ask, I will change almost all prompts into romance because I like reading/writing that kind of stuff.

That's all I can think of on the top of my head. If you sent in an ask and haven't seen it yet, it's because I haven't gotten the time to answer it.

Currently, I am behind by a lot in my inbox but that's mostly due to my final for my 16 week course, my work's audit and end of the fiscal year budget, I have five close family graduations, two weddings and one baby shower all crammed into the same month of May.

I'm also suffering from a bit of writer's blog on some aus.

But I swear I will get to your asks as soon as I can. I'll jump around to try to get past the writer's blog, but once things calm down, I'll go back to the order in which I received the asks.

#dcxdpdabbles #mun speaks #Rules #Blog stuff

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resident-gay-bitch · 14 hours ago

Text

Steve’s always a little insecure in his relationships, always worries that they’re only in it for a short while, that all their promises are just words, no truth behind them.

He’s two months into his relationship with Eddie, and Steve’s already very in love with him, and it’s terrifying. This is the most in love Steve has ever been.

They said it for the first time the other day, during a super romantic and cosy night of Chinese takeout and nostalgic kids movies, snuggled up on the couch with never ending kisses. They had sex that night too, for the first time.

They had fooled around only a couple of times before that, nothing too serious, and only twice, since Eddie’s Demisexual. Steve didn’t know that waiting was exactly what he needed, assurance that Eddie wasn’t just there for his body.

After that night he feels even more connected to Eddie, feels the love radiating from his goofy smile and his puppy dog eyes. And the way Eddie kissed him, the way Eddie touched him, it was unforgettable. Genuine electricity. Steve had never felt so special and precious in his life, never felt so loved.

He’s still got his insecurities though, now that they’ve stepped up their relationship, Steve’s gotten a lot more comfortable, shown the secret side of him, the side that only Robin knows about really. He’s worried, like all the rest of them, that Eddie won’t like him anymore, that he’ll leave.

Robin tells him he’s being negative and stupid, Eddie’s totally the one, she can feel it!!

Steve wants to feel it, thinks the tips of his fingers are buzzing from it, but he just won’t let himself. Not yet. Not until he knows for sure.

They’re on FaceTime, having dinner together because Eddie’s gone away for a few nights with his band for a gig, and they miss eachother. Eddie called him, no prompting needed, and when Steve answered he said: “Stevie, baby, oh my god I missed you— hey fuckin, Jeff!! Look at my boyfriend, how hot is he? I got a cute ass boyfriend, wow, I feel so much better now I get to talk to you again. How are you, sweetheart? I hope you’re okay.”

Steve’s heart fucking bloomed. He feels nauseous he’s so fucking in love.

“What are you doing, Ed’s? You keep looking away from me.”

“I know, a total crime, don’t hate me. I’d much rather look at you, baby— hey shut up, Jeff, let me be in love!” Eddie yelled, tossing a pen at his bandmate across the room, “Sorry, Stevie. Uh, I’m doing some research for some songs I’m writing, making sure I’m not gonna fucking accidentally steal someone’s copyrighted track. Boring stuff, legal stuff, what are you doing?”

“Not much, missing you.”

Eddie chuckles, “God, I miss you too. Want me to come over when I get home? I’d invite you to mine, but these guys always get grouchy after a long drive home and our unit would probably just depress you.”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiled sweetly, picking at his dinner. They fall into silence for a while, Eddie deep in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poking out over his top lip as he types away on his laptop.

Steve’s got this question gnawing at him. One of those dumb fucking questions that he shouldn’t ask, because it’s stupid. The kind of question that if he asks too many of them, his parter will get pissed off and leave, or yell at him to stop. He’s already asked Eddie one weird question, but it wasn’t even that weird, it still got a strange reaction from Eddie though. Steve didn’t take it as a good one.

Fuck, he can’t help it though, it just starts coming out of his mouth before he can really stop it, “Hey, uh, Eddie…?”

“Yah, light of my life?” He laughs to himself, isn’t looking at the camera so he can’t see Steve begin to blush, thankfully.

“If you became a rich and famous rockstar, would you leave me behind? Be honest.” Steve nodded, “I can take it-“

“Of course not, Stevie.” Eddie said, still looking at his laptop screen, it seems like he barely even thinks about the answer, “Why would I do that?”

“If you were famous, you’d have other options.”

“Yeah, but I have you. Would you leave me, if you got famous?”

“No.” Steve snickers, like it’s obvious. Because it is, because Steve’s attached to Eddie, obviously, Steve loves Eddie more than Eddie loves Steve, probably.

“See, so why would I?” Eddie says simply, a small smile on his face as he looks at Steve like he’s being goofy and weird.

Steve should just shut his mouth before Eddie starts to hate him, but he just can’t, “Well, there are better options for famous people.”

“Not for me.” Eddie says simply, and it kills Steve, genuinely, a fucking stake through the heart in the best kind of way.

“What if you were on a red carpet, and… uh… oh, what if Hugh Jackman hit on you? Would you chose him over me?”

Eddie laughed, “Look, Hugh is hot, but he’s not as hot as you. Have you seen your ass, Stevie?”

Steve flustered, “We- Uh, what about like, Dave from Foo Fighters? He’s really hot.”

“Not my type at all, besides he’s a cheater so ew.”

“Okay…” Steve wonders, “Megan Fox?”

“Gorgeous! But I don’t swing that way.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Steve sighed, “Oh, you really like Robert Irwin, right?”

Eddie laughed, looked over at Steve on his phone and smiled sweetly, rubbed a hand over his mouth, “Yeah, I like him, he’s cute. Wanna know why?”

Suddenly, Steve feels very jealous. It must show on his face too because Eddie snickers at him, “Uh, why?”

“Because he reminds me of you, dork.”

“What? How?” Steve is baffled.

“He’s cute, I like your little blonde highlights and he’s blonde. And he’s fit like you I guess. But mostly because he’s like, just a good looking chill out dude until you hear him talk, then you realise he’s a huge massive super ultra dork and you can’t help but want to know more about him.” Eddie smiled, turned back to his laptop and Steve watched him scroll through a document through the reflection of his glasses, “If Robert Irwin ever hit on me I’d be flattered as fuck. But I’d kindly reject him, and tell him I’ve got my own dork at home who prepared me for such a moment, by asking stupid questions like would you ever leave me— no Steve. I wouldn’t. Duh. You’re too good of a kisser.”

Steve laughed, let himself feel flustered for a while. Satisfied that he let himself be just the right amount of clingy to let Eddie know that he’s kinda like that, but not too clingy that he scared Eddie away.

“Would you take me with you then? When you’re rich and famous?”

“Oh, you know it baby.” Eddie grinned, “When I’m making millions, you’re quitting your goddamned job and travelling the world with me, and I’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want. I’ll be your full time sugar daddy no doubts about it, gorgeous.”

Steve loves this guy so much. “Yeah, sure, you can be my sugar daddy the day you figure out how to ask me how to touch your dick without stuttering and blushing and hiding in my neck about it.”

Eddie stuttered, clearly caught off guard as he began to choke on air. Steve could hear his friends in the room around Eddie begin to laugh and make fun of him. Steve laughed with him, because Eddie knows how Steve feels about that, he knows that Steve likes how shy Eddie got in bed.

Steve thinks it’s incredibly hot, a guy so confident and out there reduced to a stuttering mess the second he gets a “hot” guy in bed, as Eddie said.

Eddie’s friends begin to heckle and tease him for a bit, and Steve listens in silence as his boyfriend fights with the lot of them.

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asks, once they’re calmed down and quiet again.

Eddie sighs, rolls his head away from his laptop and over to look at Steve, Steve hates this. Eddie smiles anyway, even though Steve is sure he’s faking it now, and says, “Yes, my love?”

He wants to take it back. He wants to shut his mouth.

“Never mind.” Steve shakes his head.

“No, my love. Ask me, go on. It was a follow up question to the whole fame thing, right?” Eddie shrugged, “I only sighed because you should know that how I feel isn’t something so easily raptured by a mere celebrity.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded, thought about that for a moment. Wondered if anyone else in his situation would have known that, maybe he’s just insecure, too insecure, Eddie’s bound to get annoyed by it. It seems like he already is. “I was just going to ask if you’d ever write a song about me?”

Eddie smiles, blushes, and it’s so sweet, “I already have, Stevie. Three.” He looks back at his laptop, groans and Steve sees in his glasses reflection that Eddie closes all the tabs he’s looking at in anger, “Yah, you’re so easy to write love songs about to be completely honest. But no, I’m not telling you anything about them. You’ll hear when they’re ready.”

Steve is over the moon, “Okay.”

Silence again. He watches Eddie open up a new application, Steve recognises as his music app thing. He makes demos and back tracks with it, which is cool. Eddie begins to play around with if a bit, and Steve listens to the noise and wonders what song Eddie’s trying to create.

He’s got that urge again. God, he’s so clingy. Steve can’t stand how clingy he is, no one can. It’s only a matter of time before Eddie’s telling him he’s too clingy and walking out the door.

He really can’t help himself. Maybe he’s just self destructive.

“Eddie, would you tell the world I was your boyfriend, if you get famous?”

“Yup.” Eddie nodded, “But they’d only know your name, and your face, and how much I love you. Don’t want you getting stalked by weirdos— you know, if I get famous enough that people want to stalk my boyfriend.”

Steve thinks that’s really sweet of him, especially since he had that rolling off the top of his tongue, no thinking time needed.

“Well… would you take me to all your A lister parties and events?”

“If there’s no plus one option, I’m not going sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you sitting at home, worried.”

“What would you do if a celebrity like… hmm, Eddie Van Halen hit on me?”

Eddie grinned, “Then I’d say you’re seeing ghosts, sunshine.”

“If he were alive, though?”

“Then… I’d think it’s awesome that we have something in common, you’re our type— oh! And then you’d get to say you were hit on by two guys named Eddie who played guitar super good.”

Steve laughed, “Would you introduce me to Sabrina Carpenter?”

“It would be the first thing I’d do.”

“Would you get jealous if she hit on me?”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nodded, “I’m gay as fuck and I’d still take her out on a date, you know, she’s pretty. She’s like, the girl version of you. Anyway I’d be super jealous and heartbroken but I’d tell you to take your chance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.” He assured, “You will be hearing from me, I’ll be that crazy ex just waiting for you two to break up. I’d sabotage so bad, but I’d just want you to be happy. But I would hate if that was without me.”

Steve smiled, “Imagine if we were animals? Would you still fall in love with me if we were both little otters or something?”

“Yup, I’d be head otter heals for you.”

Steve laughed, “Dude, you’re so lame.”

“Don’t call me dude whist asking these clingy ass questions.” Eddie snickered out, and Steve shut up.

He swallowed. Stared hard at the camera and tried to surpress his sudden urge to cry.

“You get so fucking clingy sometimes.” Eddie muttered, quiet enough that his friends couldn’t hear him, “I genuinely didn’t think someone could get this clingy.”

Steve hates him.

He’s about to shut off the call when he sees something flash in Eddie’s glasses, squints to get a better look at whatever is on Eddie’s screen.

“Hey, uh, forgot to mention my uncle had this watch he thought you might like— cause I got one, but you don’t wear silver do you?”

“Nope, never.” Steve shook his head, bile rising in his throat, he can’t figure out what’s taken up all of Eddie’s attention, “Tell him thanks though.”

“Got it.” Eddie muttered to himself, pressed enter on his keyboard, and a webpage popped up with large images of golden band rings.

“What are you doing?” Steve wonders quietly.

“Huh? Oh, just mixing some music still, like I was before. Just trying to think up what I should do next.”

Steve is not that stupid. He knows Eddie’s lying. He’s lying so hard right now.

Eddie grabs his phone, pulls it close to his face so Steve can only see from his nose up, and he begins tapping away at his screen.

“Sorry, I’ll put you down in a sec, cutie, just checking something.”

With this closer angle, Steve can see very clearly what Eddie’s checking on his phone. He’s checking his bank account.

He’s checking his bank account, looking back at the web page of rings on his laptop, then pondering something in his head.

“Everything okay, Eddie?”

“Yup, just thinking up some lyric changes. Got them all written in my phone, I’ll put you down now.”

He’s such a liar, Steve’s just confused. And hurt.

“Why are you so quiet?” Eddie wondered, his phone back down on the table like it was before, eyes back on his laptop as he scrolls through rings, “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” Steve nodded.

Eddie sighed, “Hey, would you still love me if we were animals? You never answered back.” Eddie said, “What if I was an otter and you were a little fishy?”

Steve hesitates, “You’d probably eat me.”

“I’d eat you right now, Steve.” Eddie said flatly, then he ducked his head and whispered, “I miss the taste of you. I love kissing you- Hey, can I suck your dick sometime? Been thinkin’ about it.”

“Oh, now you’re brave enough to ask whilst you’re a million miles away and not even looking at me?”

“Yup.” Eddie snickered, froze for a moment with his brows furrowed, clicked on a ring and zoomed in on it, glanced between his laptop and Steve a few times. “Uh, sorry, what were we talking about?”

Steve can see the description of the ring he’s looking at. He can see, clear as day, the description reads (backwards): “Solar - Gold embossed engagement ring.”

Steve can’t believe this. Eddies looking at engagement rings. Is he looking at engagement rings?

“How much do you love me?” Steve asked, a vomit of words.

Eddie smiled, hung his head like he’s all embarrassed about it, “A lot, Stevie baby. A lot.” Eddie chuckled, “I can’t believe I get you all to myself. Not to be poetic or anything, but my life was a dark, empty night sky before I met you, and then suddenly my life was summer sun, gorgeous. You’re my sunshine, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded, “I love when you call me that.” He squints at the reflection in Eddie’s glasses and can make out the pattern of the sun embossed on the ring.

“God, I miss you.” Eddie sighs, adds the ring to his shopping cart and keeps scrolling.

Jeff walks behind Eddie on his way out of the kitchen and stops in his tracks, walks over.

“Just working on that song, look good?” Eddie asks, and Jeff leans down on his shoulder, “I think if I add this in, this take could be the one. What do you think? Or do you think I’m being too stupid? Is it too soon for that big moment?”

Oh, fuck, he’s really looking at engagement rings.

Jeff smiles, squeezes Eddie’s shoulder encouragingly, “I mean, yeah, in theory. But you’ve never done anything by the book, and all your best choices have been a little crazy like that. If you feel it’s the right choice, and will work well with the music, then yeah, by all means.”

Eddie gins, looks back at Steve, “Yeah, it’s definitely the right choice.”

Jeff snickers, wonders off shaking his head, and Eddie looks so giddy as he takes one last look at the ring.

Eddie’s thinking about proposing to Steve.

“Don’t you think I’m clingy?” Steve blurted out, catching Eddie completely off guard.

Eddie glanced at him, sighed, carefully shut his laptop and set his attention on Steve, “Well, yeah? You are clingy.” Eddie shrugged, “Dude, you don’t understand how lucky I feel, I think. I like that. I mean, you love me so much that you wanna cling to me like a fucking koala. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten bored of me yet.”

Oh.

Oh, Steve feels so warm and fuzzy inside.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles, brings the phone close to his face to virtually kiss Eddie, “Do you want to move in with me?”

“What?” Eddie stuttered out, “Uh, are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious in this conversation and also about this relationship. About you.”

“Fuck.” Eddie sighed, laughed a little delirious, “Yeah, yes, I do. I’d love that, sunshine.”

“When you get back then. Just… just come over and don’t leave.” Steve nodded, “We can talk more then, about us, and everything. I just want you around me always.”

“God, Stevie, you don’t know how much I feel that in my heart.” Eddie said, two hands pressed over his heart to swoon a little.

Steve doesn’t tell him that he knows of Eddie’s plans, and five months later, when the special day comes, Steve doesn’t tell him that he’s already seen the ring. Though, he does mention it in his vowels, tells everyone watching just how much harder that evening made Steve fall in love with Eddie. That he couldn’t believe someone was falling so hard, so fast, just as he was.

Steve never doubted another relationship again, purely because his only relationship from then on was with Eddie.

He’d never felt as secure as he does with Eddie, since that night, never second guessed his intentions, never doubted their love.

They’re mutually head otter heals for each other. Robin was right, Eddie is the one.

#🦇 Stranger Saturdays 🦇#Eddie is SO in love #Steve asking him those questions makes his heart beat faster than a jack hammer #he’s also never been in love like that before #they move at the pace of lesbians it shocks Robin to her core #they’re married just after their one year anniversary #and they live happily ever after #the only thing Eddie thinks when Steve drops the bomb that he saw Eddie searching for rings online that night through the reflection of his #glasses is ‘oh wow he’s so observant 😍😍😍’#Steddie #ficlet #mini fics #Steve x Eddie #clingy Steve #demisexual Eddie #steve harrington #Eddie munson #they’re just meant to be your honour #jay writes

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aldisobey · 5 hours ago

Text

HE IS RISEN

Here to share some of my favorites with you from the first two bits. It caught the moooood tonight. This morning. Its my friday. Below because obnoxiously long? You're warned

Well, as immediately as whatever was living on his gloved hands would allow. He often had to let it go through the voicemail the first time as he divested himself of gloves, but there was almost always an immediate second call.

Storytelling masterwork. Look at the character building. Look at all the information we get. A glimpse at the work he does, the urgency of the previous nannies. I love stuff like this.

The other was an incident involving Johanna the cat, which resulted in Emmrich talking her through the process of dismantling the basement drop ceiling.

Here it is again. That world and character building. We get Johanna the cat. We get Rook and Emmrich being pretty capable as as a team too, or maybe I just hate audio instructions. Also cat shenanigans.

Rook had offered insight into what such a partnership might be.

The way I can feel a tiny heartbeat in my throat. Dangerous thoughts sir.

But then, that thought veered too closely to something that Emmrich had spent a great deal of time trying to ignore over the last six month

Ah he knows. But circling round it. Has that peace to think. The insight to want such perhaps?

He couldn’t be blamed, therefore, for answering the phone with a hurried and abrupt prompt of, “What’s happened?”

And all that build up and charcter leads to such a heavy drop, and a deep knowing of his thoughts without having to spell them out in moment

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing immediately to gather his things.

Few words heavy emotin. This paints the deep worry and concern. I live for it.

there was an odd quality to her voice—stifled, as though with congestion. She’d been experiencing no such ailment this morning at breakfast, when she’d come in from her apartment..."Oh dear," tutted Emmrich

You pepper the world building so perfectly. Now we now their living situation, their schedule, how aware he is how attentive she is, how they both might. Oh dear is alright Rook's having a medical emergency but skirt aaaaaaa. And the mug!!!

Minanter River the previous afternoon and likely wouldn’t surface until she’d gleaned the name of the man’s tax adjuster from the color of his liver.

More workd building more character building shile moving scrne along you do see how fuckin well balanced this is don't you

He comforted himself with it as he sprinted towards the parking garage, open suit jacket flailing behind him.

I just like this mental image. Pause here and watch him run a bit.

“You’ll be alright, my dear,” Emmrich said. “Where’s Manfred?”

AAAAAA the pause was worth it. Made that my dear SLAP

“That’s quite fine, darling. Breathe—slow, deep. You’ll hear the door open in a few minutes. It will be a neighbor coming to take Manfred. I don’t want you to get up. I’ll come find you when I get home.”

A DARLING THE SLOW THE DEEP A HALL OF FAME and just lay down he'll come find here??! Its wild over here!?

Nonetheless, he kept the touch as perfunctory as possible—a brief, chaste touch to the very apple of her kneecap.

He might tooo direct the preciseness of it. Thinkin a bit much about it him.

He’d nearly tried to convince her to let him carry her to the car.

Such a simple sentence. Having me grinding my teeth.

He made himself veer away from those thoughts when he realized that it was his own bed he was imagining tucking her into.

ITS ALL SO DOMESTIC wait i get it enlightenment later

“So you must be Mrs. Volkarin,” said Reldevar immediately, holding out a hand for Rook to shake.

Bless you Dr

“Your husband’s got it in one, Rook.

St. Reldevar I'm lighting candles in your honor. How he stayed silent snd not beat red. That strained smile oh he is GOIN through it

sort of car-crash impulse. It happened very quickly, and he couldn’t quite make himself look away;

This entire paragraph is simply wild i am. Its just a butt. Its just a man looking at a butt. Why cant I turn away something is wrong here

Emmrich floundered for his own self-control.

And then the

Rook tossed her head in Emmrich’s direction, seemed to almost wink.

I love you Rook you know EXACTLY what youre up to. I love you for it.

"Yes,” Emmrich murmured. “I can certainly do that.”

Ooh no look at the time intermission for me. I love this story. I'll read it again.

Nanny AU? Nanny AU.

Emmrich was somewhat used to receiving panicked phone calls at work. The nanny situation with Manfred had been tumultuous for quite some time—there had been a year or so there where Manfred had burned through nannies like a fire through kindling. Four professionals had come and gone, and Emmrich had learned that very few things were sacred when one had an overly precocious genius-level three-year-old at home; especially one’s work hours. He’d taken to answering the phone immediately upon feeling it vibrate in his back pocket. Well, as immediately as whatever was living on his gloved hands would allow. He often had to let it go through the voicemail the first time as he divested himself of gloves, but there was almost always an immediate second call.

That was, until Rook.

In the six months since hiring her, Emmrich had only received two phone calls at work. Rook seemed to almost pathologically respect Emmrich’s working hours, and only called during utmost emergencies. The first, only a week into the current arrangement, had been to inform him that Manfred had vomited at school and she needed him to call the school and give them her information so that she could pick him up. The other was an incident involving Johanna the cat, which resulted in Emmrich talking her through the process of dismantling the basement drop ceiling.

Rook’s respect of his work hours was one of the many reasons why Emmrich had come to deeply appreciate her presence in his life—aside from her positive influence on Manfred, of course, and her skill in helping to nurture and educate him. Emmrich had known, of course, that single parenthood was an undertaking not to be taken lightly, and he would certainly never regret the decision to create his little family, but the lack of a partner in the endeavor had rankled at times. Rook had offered insight into what such a partnership might be.

But then, that thought veered too closely to something that Emmrich had spent a great deal of time trying to ignore over the last six months.

In any case, the dropoff in sudden calls had allowed Emmrich to reclaim a piece of his own sense of peace that he hadn’t even realized had gone missing. He’d at least stopped walking into work while wondering what unplanned issues would arise during the day.

On the other hand, he now knew that on the occasions that his phone did ring at work—with Rook’s particular ringtone to indicate to him that it was her calling—it was truly an emergency.

He couldn’t be blamed, therefore, for answering the phone with a hurried and abrupt prompt of, “What’s happened?” when Rook’s ringtone pierced the calm and quiet of his office on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Manfred’s fine,” she said immediately, prompting yet another rush of gratitude from him—she was intuitive that way. The relief flooded back out of his system, however, when Rook followed it up with, “I’m really sorry to bother you, Emmrich, but I think I need to go to the hospital, so you should probably come home.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing immediately to gather his things. On a handful of occasions, he’d been summoned home to take over care if a nanny had some unforeseen event—issues with their own childcare, sudden mid-day illness, and on one occasion an on-the-spot resignation. That had been a memorable and unfortunate day.

A medical emergency was a new and horrifying occurrence.

“Manfred crawled under the hedgerow and I had to chase him through the field behind the house,” Rook said, and there was an odd quality to her voice—stifled, as though with congestion. She’d been experiencing no such ailment this morning at breakfast, when she’d come in from her apartment in the guesthouse and helped him clean up the carnage of Manfred’s oatmeal. She, herself, had smelled of strawberries. Her skirt had fluttered just a little too high as she ran down the driveway to hand him his forgotten travel mug as he ducked into his car.

“Oh dear,” Emmrich tutted, locking his office behind him as he swept into the hallway. He made the split-second decision to simply text Johanna—the person, not the cat—that he’d had a family emergency and would follow up with her about the day’s cases at a later time. Johanna was unlikely to notice his absence, as it was; she was elbows-deep in some unfortunate soul pulled from the Minanter River the previous afternoon and likely wouldn’t surface until she’d gleaned the name of the man’s tax adjuster from the color of his liver.

“And he’s fine,” Rook reiterated, as though she genuinely thought that that was still his major concern after she’d told him that she was intending to seek emergency medical attention for something that Emmrich’s very own three-year-old had subjected her to. “But there was deathroot? Growing in the field? And I’m super allergic. Usually I just break out in hives, but there was so much of it, and I was wearing a sundress, and anyway I’m having trouble breathing—"

“Do you have an epi-pen?”

“No,” Rook said, “Like I said—it’s never been this bad before. I think I might have inhaled some of the pollen.”

“Calm down,” Emmrich said, sinking into his medical training and pushing the alarm to the back of his mind. It had been years since his practice had taken its turn towards the deceased, and he was unused to treating living patients, but the knowledge was still there. He comforted himself with it as he sprinted towards the parking garage, open suit jacket flailing behind him. “There should be Benadryl in the master bedroom ensuite. Chew two capsules, open a window and sit down. If you feel your throat closing or start feeling lightheaded, you need to call emergency. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” Rook’s voice was faint—less assured than he’d ever heard her.

“You’ll be alright, my dear,” Emmrich said. “Where’s Manfred?”

“I put him in his room with some toys. He’s probably making a mess, but there’s nothing he can hurt himself with and I didn’t trust myself—”

“You don’t have to do that,” Rook said, and the fact that this was her token argument showed her state.

“I’ll not let you drive yourself to the hospital in the state you’re in,” Emmrich said firmly. “I’ll be there shortly. Stay calm.”

Rook’s low, mumbled agreement and the tone of the call ending sounded as Emmrich started his car and the phone connected to the sound system. As he peeled backwards out of his assigned parking spot and executed a maneuver of suspect legality to merge summarily onto the roadway, he initiated a second call.

The line picked up immediately, as he suspected it would.

“Myrna,” he said, even before she’d finished her cool, perfunctory Hello? as she answered the phone. “Are you or Vorgoth working from the home office today?”

-0-

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Emmrich.”

For at least the third time since a nurse had led them into this awful little room, Emmrich offered Rook a strained smile and patted her knee. She’d put on leggings before his arrival at the house, probably to cover up the scrapes and bruises from her excursion through the hedgerow and deathroot patch, and his hand met nothing but soft, body-warm cotton. Nonetheless, he kept the touch as perfunctory as possible—a brief, chaste touch to the very apple of her kneecap.

“Don’t apologize, Rook,” he said, shifting restlessly in his plastic chair. Rook was perched in a large vinyl medical recliner, knees drawn up to her chest and face pressed to her own thighs. Her breathing had become slightly less labored in the last hour or so, after he’d arrived at the house to find her sitting on the chaise lounge in the master bedroom reading nook, face ashen and hands fisted into one of his mother’s quilts. He’d nearly tried to convince her to let him carry her to the car.

As her breathing eased, however, she began to itch and the rash worsened—large plaques of urticaria covering a vast swath of her skin. Emmrich kept a careful vigil on the patches, on the color of her lips, looking for any sign of a worsening reaction.

They had her on a pulse oximeter, which was beeping steadily at 74 beats per minute and 99% oxygen saturation—both good signs. A nurse had taken her blood pressure upon their arrival, frowned slightly, and left. Emmrich suspected this to mean that it had been slightly elevated, which was to be expected with the stress of the situation and the antihistamine he’d directed her to take earlier.

They’d been waiting for over an hour for the attending physician.

“I don’t know what’s taking so long,” Rook sighed into her knees, as she itched frantically at a plaque of hives on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, with your vitals, you’re likely not considered top priority at the moment,” Emmrich murmured.

“I want to go home,” Rook muttered, a tone of abject misery to her voice, and Emmrich wanted nothing more than to fulfill her desire. Take her home, put her to bed and offer her something warm and comforting to drink.

He made himself veer away from those thoughts when he realized that it was his own bed he was imagining tucking her into.

A wholly inappropriate thought to have about one’s live-in nanny, said a voice in the back of his head, which unfortunately sounded too much like Johanna for comfort. You decrepit old popinjay, it added as though to confirm.

Emmrich indulged in a sigh of his own, buried his face in the heel of his hand, and said, “A little longer, darling.” When he realized what he’d said—and he’d used that word earlier as well, hadn’t he?—he looked back up in time to catch an odd, soft expression cross Rook’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wearily. “Habit.”

“I like it,” she whispered. She looked very small, sad and…young sitting there, wrapped around herself in a tense bundle.

Before Emmrich could say or do anything, the curtain of the triage room slid aside. This, of course, was for the best.

“Sigrid?” said the man who’d just arrived—the attending physician, by all indications, given he was wearing the darker blue scrubs that this hospital used to indicate such a role, and Emmrich in fact recognized him as one of the ER physicians he’d had encounters with in his role as medical examiner.

“Yes,” said Rook, though it took Emmrich a moment to remember that yes, that actually was her legal name. The one she never used and seemed averse to anyone else using, either. To evidence this, she added, “Though, I go by Rook—it should be in my paperwork as my preferred—”

“Oh, it does say that,” said the physician, tugging a rolling chair several unnecessary feet across the cramped room. He mounted it backwards and tapped his clipboard. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to this whole preferred name thing. Us old dogs have to learn a few new tricks, I suppose. So you’re Rook, she/her pronouns, and who’ve you brought with you today?” He looked to Emmrich, furrowed his brows, and said, “Oh, Doctor Volkarin. I almost didn’t recognize you out of the morgue.”

Emmrich offered a brief, wane smile. “Doctor Reldevar.”

“So you must be Mrs. Volkarin,” said Reldevar immediately, holding out a hand for Rook to shake.

Oddly, Rook didn’t deny it—she shook Reldevar’s hand, though unsmiling, and offered Emmrich a brief shrug when the good doctor looked back down at his clipboard.

“Oh, sorry, stuck my foot in my mouth again,” Reldevar said, still examining the clipboard, “You kept your maiden name, huh? Lots of women doing that these days. Anyway, Rook, it looks like you’re in today about some breathing trouble?”

“An allergic reaction to deathweed, it would seem,” Emmrich said, taking the burden of speaking away from her—which she offered him a small, grateful smile for behind her knees. “Poor Rook is very allergic, and crawled through a patch this afternoon after Manfred—that is, my son—ran off into the field behind our house. I believe she inhaled some of the pollen and received quite considerable topical exposure. She was badly scraped by the thorns. I directed her to take an antihistamine to stop the worst of the initial reaction, but steroids will probably be necessary to prevent another, worse recurrence of the reaction due to the extent of exposure.”

Reldevar hummed, pursed his lips, flipped through the pages of Rook’s paperwork for a further moment, then snapped his fingers and pointed in Emmrich’s direction. “Your husband’s got it in one, Rook. We’ll fix you up with a steroid injection here in the hospital and we’ll watch you for a little bit to make sure the reaction is going down, and then we’ll send you home with…eh, probably a prednisone prescription and a topical ointment for those hives. How’s that sound?”

“Um, fine?” said Rook, still itching, and Reldevar presented her with his hand to shake again.

“Sounds good,” he said, and leaned over to shake Emmrich’s hand as well. “Take care, Doctor.” He winked. “Take the missus home and give her a day away from the kid, huh? Sounds like he’s a handful.”

Emmrich responded with nothing but a strained smile, and Reldevar took his leave back out the curtain of the triage room.

As the curtain was still swinging, Rook took in a deep breath and said, “I just felt like it was harder to explain the situation—”

“Of course,” Emmrich said, wiggling his hands equivocally in front of himself. “That’s entirely—”

“—and I thought, maybe he’d listen to me if he thought—”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They fell into an odd, awkward silence of the sort that they’d never really had to suffer through. Rook was almost universally easy to talk to, at least so far as Emmrich was concerned, and conversation had always flowed easily between them—whether it had to do with Manfred, various professional conversations that had to take place due to Emmrich’s position as Rook’s employer and de facto landlord, or conversations of a more personal nature.

Rook settled back into the recliner, looking small and tired, and Emmrich could do nothing but reach over to pat her knee again.

It took another half an hour for a nurse to arrive with the promised steroid injection.

“So this needs to go into a large muscle,” said the nurse. “We usually do the muscle in one of your glutes—meaning this area here—” the nurse gestured to her own rear, somewhere in the area where thigh became butt. “If that’s alright with you, I just need you to lift your dress and pull your leggings to the side.”

Rook sighed, but showed no significant reluctance to the idea—even despite Emmrich’s continued presence. He knew, obviously, that this was his cue to excuse himself or at least look away, but he was trapped by some sort of car-crash impulse. It happened very quickly, and he couldn’t quite make himself look away; Rook rose from her chair, pulled her sundress up around her waist and lowered her leggings just far enough to reveal the buttery expanse of one smooth thigh and asscheek. She was clearly wearing very scant undergarments. The only real indication that she was wearing panties at all was the barest peek of a dark purple thong cresting the apple of her hip.

“This might sting a little more than your average flu shot,” the nurse cautioned as she swiped an alcohol wipe onto Rook’s flank. “It’ll ache a bit tomorrow. But once we’re done, you can go home, so that’s good…”

Emmrich became aware of just how hard he’d been clenching his jaw when Rook gasped at the prick of the syringe and his mouth, quite involuntarily, fell open just slightly. He could feel his pulse in his teeth. His legs, crossed over each other in a habitual mannerism, ached from how tensely he was holding himself. Between them, his traitorous prick stirred, intrigued by a breathless sound from a beautiful woman and the sight of her nearly bare ass.

“Oh, shit, you weren’t kidding,” Rook said, fingers visibly whitening on the armrest of the chair she’d bent herself over. “That hurts. Oh, Maker, that fucking burns—”

“Sorry,” the nurse said, genuine sympathy in her voice as she capped the syringe. She dropped it into a nearby sharps container and fastened a piece of gauze over the pinprick of blood now welling up on Rook’s otherwise pristine skin. Emmrich floundered for his own self-control. “Good news is, you’re done! The doctor already sent your prescription over to your pharmacy on file. Your discharge papers are on the table here. Any questions?”

“Oh, I live with a doctor.” Rook tossed her head in Emmrich’s direction, seemed to almost wink. “He’ll take care of me, and I just really want to go home.”

“Medical examiner,” Emmrich said, perhaps a little louder than he’d meant to. Rook had yet to pull her leggings back up all the way—the purple thong abided, teasing him from underneath the hiked-up hem of her dress. “I do have—technically, yes, I’m a medical doctor—"

“Fair enough,” said the nurse, in what was perhaps the politest way possible to say I do not have time for this. To Rook, she added, “Feel better!” and then took her leave to the tune of the curtain rings rattling on the rod and the swish of scrubs.

“Your leggings, my dear,” Emmrich said into the subsequent silence—or, at least, the lack of conversation; the rooms around them were still full of sound. Beeping heart monitors, coughing patients and the tapping of shoes on tile.

“Oh,” said Rook, who in that very moment seemed to remember that her entire hip and most of her right asscheek were uncovered. She pulled them up, wincing at the drag over her recently abused flesh, and sighed into her palm. “Take me home, please?”

“Yes,” Emmrich murmured. “I can certainly do that.”

-0-

Upon walking through the door, Johanna immediately made her discontent at the hour of their arrival known. It was indeed quite significantly past her typical dinnertime, and she was a creature of habit—but Emmrich still considered the unrepentant yowling a bit excessive.

“Oh, hush,” he admonished her, ushering Rook in the door with a hand at the small of her back. She’d deteriorated rapidly on the car ride home—visibly tiring and becoming distressed and impatient with the persistent itching of her skin. She was bright red in places, including her shoulders and arms, and her normally pinned hair had come down in large drapes against her face and the back of her neck. At some point, Emmrich had offered her a discarded cardigan from the backseat, and she now wore it draped around her shoulders. It was gray, a little lumpy, and inspired an incongruous urge of possessiveness to curl itself around Emmrich’s heart every time he glanced at her.

“Rook,” he began as he turned on the foyer light, “It would comfort me greatly if you stayed in the guest room tonight, instead of returning to your flat in the guest house. It’s entirely up to you, of course, but it would ease my mind if—”

“Believe me, Emmrich, the last thing I want to do right now is walk all the way to the guest house,” Rook sighed. Hearteningly, she pulled his cardigan tighter around herself. “I’ll make up the bedroom for myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Emmrich said, in almost the tone he used to admonish Manfred when he indulged his more mischievous impulses. “I’ll make up the bedroom and run you a bath. It would be a good idea to remove any remaining material from your skin before you sleep.”

“Emmrich, I can’t let you—” Rook sighed, grunted, and attempted to reach her hand down the back of her shirt to, presumably, scratch at a patch of urticaria on an inaccessible portion of her back. “You’re my—I can’t put you out like that—”

“Nonsense,” Emmrich replied, determined to make that the end of the conversation. He mounted the stairs rapidly, using his superior height to his advantage for once, and he’d already begun filling the guest bathroom tub with nearly-scalding water by the time he saw Rook make her way into the bedroom through the cracked door.

Of the bedrooms in his house, one of them was the master—which featured a full ensuite bathroom with whirlpool tub and generously-sized rainfall shower stall. Manfred’s bedroom was attached Jack-and-Jill style to Emmrich's office via a childproofed bath that featured a toilet with a potty seat installed, child-height vanity and a shower bath strewn with all manner of toys. The fourth bedroom was smallest and therefore had the smallest bathroom—a simple three-quarters bath with only a tub, though it was claw-footed and generous in size. Emmrich knelt on the plush rug and ran the bath, peering through the cracked door and attempting to convince himself not to.

It was unlikely Rook wasn’t aware of his presence in the bathroom—she could hear the water running, and would almost certainly know that he hadn’t left it to run unattended, if only through habit given the current absence of three-year-olds on the premises. Even so, as she was meandering through the room and passing in and out of view, she was shedding clothes.

First the cardigan, which bared the angry rash on her arms and shoulders. Then the shoes and the leggings—when she next wandered by, Emmrich realized that she had scraped her knees up quite badly, likely while pursuing Manfred under the hedgerow. She stood center in the room for a moment (Emmrich drew a hand through the pooling water in the tub and, upon realizing it was scalding hot, switched the faucet to cool for a moment) and pulled the pins out of her hair. Disappeared. When she next came back into view—

Well, the dress had gone, and he discovered that the thong and bra set had a pattern of skulls.

Emmrich finally convinced his eyes downwards. He was unsurprised but nonetheless mortified to find the telltale swell of an erection evident against his inner thigh. He sighed and rubbed some of the cool water across his forehead.

If this woman was a test from the Maker—or something even more esoteric; a challenge to his vows as a physician perhaps? A sudden hurdle for his self-control and dedication to gentlemanliness to overcome?—she was certainly serving her purpose masterfully.

“Emmrich?”

She’d found a robe—fluffy and white, something he’d put in the closet long ago that might have been left behind when a lover made an unceremonious exit from his life. He’d laundered it regularly for years on the off chance that it would find use again, by a paramour or a guest. Emmrich was utterly unsure which of those labels Rook fell under, especially in the moment.

She seemed to almost know what she’d done—he would certainly not go so far as to say the parade in front of the bathroom door had been intentional, but she at least seemed not to care if he’d been watching. She at least seemed content with the idea that he knew the color of her underwear and the shape of the tattoo on her hip.

It was, interestingly, a black bird. A rook, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Yes?” Emmrich responded, with an only slightly-too-long pause as she stood in the bathroom doorway and he attempted to make his tongue form sounds.

“Do you have any of that oatmeal bath left from when Manfred had HFMD?”

“Oh! I very well may.” Grateful for a reason to flee and collect himself, Emmrich did so. The colloidal oatmeal was in the back of the cabinet in Manfred’s bathroom—half a box left over from Manfred’s recent bout of Hand, Food and Mouth Disease. A disgusting five days of Emmrich’s life which he was not eager to relive.

Manfred’s fingernails were still regrowing.

Luckily, the thought of weeping blisters did wonders for the exorcism of blood from certain areas of the body. When Emmrich returned to the bathroom, his erection had flagged, and he was able to finish running the bath with all of the professional courtesy demanded of his Hippocratic oath and the employee-employer relationship he held with the attractive and berobed woman sitting on the toilet lid.

“Test the water temperature before you get in,” Emmrich cautioned as he turned off the spigot. “I’m afraid I may have run it too hot to start.”

He’d expected Rook to simply agree, or wait until he’d exited the bathroom, or at least simply use her hand to test it. To his incredulity, she immediately slunk over, pulled the hem of the robe above her knee and dipped a toe in.

The color of her nail polish matched her underwear. He did not know why—or perhaps he was just lying to himself—but it was this particular detail that brought his cock instantly, painfully back to full hardness.

He could not stop himself from imagining those toes in his mouth.

“I think I will also start my nighttime ablutions,” he said, perhaps hoarsely—he could not bring himself to care in the moment.

“Sure,” Rook said vaguely, watching the oatmeal swirl in the tub. “Thanks, Emmrich. Oh—would you help me put the ointment on after this? There are places on my back that I can’t reach.”

“Of course,” Emmrich said, feeling like his head would pop off his shoulders.

He put as many doors between himself and Rook as he possibly could. The guest bathroom, the guest room, his own bedroom door and then the door to his own ensuite. He spent a moment against the back of the bathroom door, eyes squeezed shut, talking himself off the edge.

“Oh, fuck it,” he hissed, and tore into his trousers with the furiousness of a man possessed. He stumbled to the shower, removing clothes as he went, and almost stumbled into the shower stall with his socks still on. The cold water did absolutely nothing to soothe his hot skin or boiling blood—as he slid down onto his knees and tilted his head back under the rainfall of the showerhead, he was already stroking himself with a franticness more typically seen in those half his age.

Maker, she made him feel half his age. When she pranced through his kitchen wearing a sundress and a smile. When she poked her head into his study at night to tell him that she’d read his son to sleep, asked him how his day had gone, sat on the settee and talked to him for an hour. When she let him call her darling and pretended to be his wife.

Oh, it was almost too easy to imagine it. To pretend.

He stripped his cock, pictured her hand. Her mouth. Her small breasts in their purple skull-and-lace vesture. The way he would worship her with his hands and mouth. How did she taste, how did she sound, what was the color of her—

He gasped, fingers curled into the tile of the shower floor, and came into the lukewarm water swirling around his knees.

The shame kicked in almost immediately, even as he watched the evidence of his depravity vanish down the drain. He was a man in his fifties, a father, a doctor. This sort of behavior was so completely below him, so completely inappropriate—

But damn, had it felt good. The last three years, since the blessing of Manfred came into his life, he’d allowed himself to become almost completely divorced from his own sexuality. It had been over a year since he’d had sex, and even masturbation had seemed like too much effort most nights. When he did work up the energy to reach a hand down, he did so while conditioning his hair and making lists in his head.

The relief of a true release was almost as stark as the accompanying self-loathing.

Later, as he carefully rubbed the ointment onto Rook’s back and pointedly did not let himself look beyond the patches of rash he was focusing on, he mumbled, “I want you to know, Rook, that I…value you.”

Rook turned, hair pooled over her shoulder. She was not embarrassed of the fact that her shirt was hanging loosely off her neck, and he could not avoid seeing the peak of one brown nipple.

“I know,” she said, and Emmrich could almost convince himself that she was simply tired, or trusted him as a medical professional, or did not even consider that he might look based simply on his age.

Almost—were it not for the small, satisfied smirk he saw in the vanity mirror as she turned back around.

#this post is for me and no one else #but this fic. literally woke from the dead. i was languishing. what a day.#posted Easter the candles lit. twelve hours later. pope eats shit. coincidence?#thats a remake of some comments inside #it only gets better in the fic this is great #it has nothing to do with pope or candles. but it is blessed #i read it again so I'm blogging it again.#also for maggie i love loved this one #if you look closely you can watch my brain spin out tonight but i wrote!

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grandline-fics · 3 days ago

Text

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Slight depictions of injury/death. Some hurt-comfort. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,984

A/N: April's a rough month for me and I haven't had much creative energy if I'm being honest. Between life, work, and personal stuff writing sadly gets set to the side more than I'd like it to be. I know I have requests and the Valentines Event to finish but I don't want to force those out just to have them done. I want to take my time and post what I'm proud to have written and thank you all for your patience with those. Needed some Doffy to try and get things going again and help me out of my slump. Thank you all for the love and support, hopefully you like this chapter. The next one will be the party. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

——————

Doflamingo knew Dressrosa would be in safe hands with those in his family staying behind while he was gone. Long stretches of time away were rare but he always made sure nothing was left to chance in his absence. Counting in the time to get there, attend, and return he would be gone for nearly two weeks so he needed to settle preparations with the kingdom and his many other operations and work needed before departing. His subordinates and servants knew their daily tasks and duties and the higher ranking members were all given a fair share of additional responsibilities, everyone knowing that should anything be lacking on his return, all would suffer the consequences together. Finalising the last of the necessary details, Doflamingo rose from his desk and left the office, walking straight for the dining room. As he neared the room he heard Dellinger speak up. “So what time do you set sail?”

“First thing in the morning.” You looked up at the sound of Doflamingo’s voice answering the question that had been directed at Diamanté. With his usual chuckle and a building grin he added. “So those of you attending, make sure you get a good night’s rest because if you aren’t at the ship in time we’ll leave you behind.”

“Even me?” You asked as he slid into his seat beside you. You tried your best to look as innocently concerned about the prospect of being left behind even though it was because of you Doflamingo had even entertained the notion of attending this ordeal in the first place.

“I’ll drag you out of your bed personally.” Doflamingo answered with a grin when a challenging glint shone in your eyes.

“Hey, hey Doffy!” Trebol spoke up, leaning forward toward his King, getting as close as he possibly could and as always with with no regard for anyone’s personal space. You continued to eat, glad you were on the other side of Doflamingo and safe from Trebol’s overbearing reach. “Why are you going so far away this time?”

“Yes I was curious about that too.” Lao G added. “Is there something special out there? Are you planning something else while you’re away?”

“If something important was being planned it wouldn’t be so spontaneous and more of us would be going too.” Gladius argued, prompting more voices to join the conversation and theorise the reasoning behind this trip away to an event they knew their King tended to avoid as much as possible.

As they spoke amongst themselves you contented yourself to just enjoying your meal while also idly wondering what this event was going to be like. Beside you, Doflamingo had also said nothing to stop or encourage the current conversation, simply letting them be. After a while some became bored of trying to work out Doflamingo’s motivations behind his actions -as they normally did- and drifted into other discussions. Suddenly Baby 5 let out a gasp and she looked to Doflamingo with widened eyes and small blush dusting her cheeks. “D-doffy! Could it be your wedding?!”

Silence fell over the table among the family immediately. Some looked to Baby 5 first in silent fury, her overly romantic mind could be the cause they lose their heads because they get caught in the crossfire of angering their young master with her wistful and disrespectful question. Then again, they were all suddenly hit with the consideration that she may have been onto something. It made more sense than anything else they could have come up with so far. So they all looked to the top of the table where you and Doflamingo sat. Together you both looked at the other and immediately burst into laughter like this was the best joke you’d heard all week. Because that was the only way the both of you would even consider Baby 5’s words. It was ridiculous. At least it was to the two of you, everyone else on the other hand silently regarded you both and began to wonder if the time away was going to lead to any further developments between the two soulmates.

————

The Numancia Flamingo was definitely a sight to behold. You hadn’t been entirely sure what you’d been expecting before finally seeing and boarding the ship but when you did it was definitely the only thing you found that would suit Doflamingo. Had you put any thought into imagining the vessel it would have paled in comparison to the real thing. Truthfully it didn’t really matter on looks, it could have been a dingy little tugboat for all you cared because all that mattered now was getting to be on a ship again for the first time in months.

You stood leaning against the railing and let your eyes slide closed as you felt Dressrosa’s summer heat recede back and the cool sea breeze began to pick up and wash over your face. You took a long, relaxed breath and gave a small hum. Opening your eyes you turned around, casually bracing your hands on the railing and watched Doflamingo approach. You said nothing as he came to a stop beside you but you did catch Diamanté, Baby 5, and Gladius standing on the other side of the deck, watching with expressions of varied levels of curiosity. Since this was only day on of the journey you braced yourself for this being the calm, anticipating their behaviour to heighten over the days at sea. “You look peaceful. You miss being out on the water that much?”

“Can you blame me for feeling a little nostalgic?” You asked with a small smile, looking to Doflamingo as he adjusted his position to still lean by the railing but also face you. “The last time I was on a ship was when my unit docked to begin our mission on observing your little enterprise at the warehouse.”

“How long were you stationed there until I showed up?” Doflamingo asked with a grin, the memory of your dazed and pained face lit by the warehouse fire realise he was the one your unit had unknowingly been pursuing flashing in his mind. Even then on the brink of passing out and accepting of your fate you’d been stubbornly defiant.

“Nearly two months.” You explained, your smile lessening slightly. You were used to the routine tedium of keeping a low profile, watching for all activity, obeying the orders given on jobs like those but now that you thought on it and given that it was the last mission you’d ever have you couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it all. You thought fondly of your friends while also missing them but then would be hit with guilt. Did you even deserve to miss them when you were sitting and talking so comfortably with the man who was the reason they were all dead and gone. Quickly you cleared your throat and to distract yourself you added. “Now that I think about it, I suppose I was on a ship after that, right? To get to Dressrosa.”

“We didn’t sail. I carried you back while you were unconscious and used my strings to get back.” At Doflamingo’s words you tilted your head in slight confusion. At the time you’d never questioned how you’d gotten to Dressrosa. For one thing, you were certain you weren’t going to be alive much longer and that you’d woken to Doflamingo demanding to know how he couldn’t hurt you if didn’t give you much time to think about it beyond using logic to fill in the gaps.

“Being away from Dressrosa for so long is a bit of a hassle isn’t it?” You asked, his words now bringing a new thought to you. You couldn’t believe it but you were now beginning to share Trebol's curiosity from the night before. “Why did you pick this event to go to? You get countless invitations. I’m sure there were many a lot closer to home.”

“I don’t know why, this one seemed the most interesting.” Doflamingo shrugged casually, not making a comment on how you’d inadvertently called Dressrosa ‘home’ and also chose to ignore the feeling that it brought him. “Didn’t look at the location until you agreed to go.”

“Still I wouldn't have minded if we went somewhere closer.” You explained before smirking. “They're all the same right?”

“Right but it’ll be interesting to see you navigate this as a guest.”

“I’ll have to be careful though, won't get away with half the stuff I normally do will I?” You grinned playfully. “Also means I have to behave around you too. Guess I should practice my ‘yes King Doffy’s and ‘anything you say, young master’s on the way.” For emphasis you straightened up to give him your best attempt at an exaggerated bow fitting his title.

“As much as I loved that display, you don't need to worry about doing that in front of anyone. Just be yourself. It’s not like they can do anything to you if you annoy them anyway.”

“Not worried I could be a target of those ‘clumsy assassinations’ you told me about?”

“When they see you’re with me they’ll know to leave you alone.” Doflamingo’s voice took on a hard edge, the threat of what would happen clear, not that it needed clarifying further. You saw how furious he was when a mere servant opened a door against your face by accident. The bloodbath and Doflamingo’s ferocity that would come should someone else try to kill you when that was his goal didn’t bear thinking about. Strangely you didn’t feel fear from him when he was like this, you never did. While you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary violence or death as possible, you knew Doflamingo would do as he wished.

————

The members of the Doflamingo family on the ship had begun to become more observant when it came to you and their ruler. Most of the time back on Dressrosa you tended to keep to yourself up until recent events took place so there were things they were only noticing or getting to see now. When they had watched Doflamingo approach, you turned without him even making a noise. Whatever it had been you were discussing it seemed relaxed enough but what caught their attention the most had been how close you both stood to each other and how you and Doflamingo looked solely on the other’s face as you talked. Even more interesting was how neither of your called attention or seemed to notice that Doflamingo’s hand was over yours for the conversation and that your finger was curled around one of his.

Now they all sat in the ship’s lounge, relaxing after their dinner. Just as they would back in Dressrosa’s palace, they all settled into their own spots and contented themselves with idle chatter, a drink, and something to occupy them until they eventually would decide to go to bed for the night. Doflamingo took up most of one of the sofas all by himself, stretched out comfortably with a drink in one hand and the other draped over the back of his seat. Lazily he would twitch and arch his finger to move the chess pieces on the board between him and Diamanté who sat opposite him.

You were the last to come into the room, having stopped by your room to grab a book. Entering you were already reading and immediately walked to the sofa Doflamingo was sprawled out on. You wordlessly dropped down onto the seat without checking if any space had been made for you, which to the silent surprise of the rest of the family there had been. The second you’d made your move, Doflamingo remained focused on the game while lounging but had adjusted his leg in time to make room for you to comfortably settle against the cushions and his side. With your back against him, you turned the page, continuing to read while Doflamingo made his next move in his game with Diamanté, neither of you uttering a word to each other. Both of you seemed completely unaware of how effortlessly domestic and cosy it all seemed but it practically slapped the others in the face. Part of them wanted to make a comment, even a light, teasing one but held back, unsure how either of you would take it. With the other members of the family back home depending on them to bring back all the juicy details, they didn’t want to risk ruining things by pointing out the unconscious moments between two of you especially on the first day.

————

“Your family have been staring a lot today.” You noted as you climbed into the bed you’d be sharing with Doflamingo for the duration of the trip. It had already been mentioned and while you’d both slept in each other’s presence before, you couldn't help but realise this was the first time it was happening without you being sick or sleep deprived. Still you found no issue in it deep down, it just meant another slight shift in things was happening between you and Doflamingo. “Are they expecting something to happen?”

“Like what?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle, his family hadn’t exactly been subtle with their observations but even he couldn’t work out what was suddenly so interesting.

“I dunno, they’re your responsibility so you tell me.” You shrugged with a yawn as Doflamingo switched off the light.

“Sometimes they’re a mystery even to me. They’ll get bored and move on to something else, they always do.” Doflamingo explained and you nodded.

Ultimately it didn’t matter what it was that had them acting stranger than normal. Whatever their motivations they were going to continue until what they were waiting for did or didn’t happen. Anything was possible in their imaginations, Baby 5’s ridiculous suggestion that Doflamingo and you were going to marry on this trip was proof of that. As long as they didn’t get too in your face about it, you were happy to just let them continue as they were. Besides you were too tired to give them anymore thought. With another yawn, this one deeper and longer than the last you lay back more and felt yourself fall over to sleep, carried there by the sounds of waves hitting against the side of the ship. It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep to the familiar sound and given your earlier conversation with the man asleep next to you, it was no wonder that your mind conjured the images that it did for your dreams.

It started pleasant enough. You were sat around a table with your unit sharing a meal, talking and laughing without any cares or worries. Then the laughter slowed and an almighty explosion came from the centre of the table, hurtling your body backwards through the air and plunging you into the coldest and darkest waters. You struggled and clawed with all your might to fight your way out of the depths but your limbs felt heavier and heavier with no sign of the surface in sight. Finally hands broke through the surface and hauled you from the water. You slumped onto the floor and took a few steadying breaths.

Lifting your head to thank your saviour you froze with the words lodged in your throat. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the young cadet that died in the warehouse explosion but it wasn’t as you knew him. Standing before you now was his burning body, the scorched remnants of his uniform melted to his skin and eyes literally ablaze as he looked down at you in fury, with laboured, crackling breaths smoke bled from his parted mouth. “Traitor.” You flinched at the low, agonising voice he now spoke with. “You’re a traitor.”

Numbly you sat cold and horrified, unable to speak. Trembling you could only stare helplessly at the cadet and shake your head. Suddenly he was behind you, charred and burning fingers clawing into your skull and forcing you to look forward. Against the fires of the destroyed warehouse debris you were faced with the bloodied and lifeless bodies of the rest of your unit. You didn’t see what had become of them personally but knew they’d died so in this nightmare, your imagination created the worst visions possible. Then they all spoke together, a chorus of haunting accusations. “Traitor.” “You forgot us.” “Dead because of you.” “Sided with the enemy.” “Our blood is on your hands.” “Your fault.”

Their unseeing eyes blinked and their heads turned your way, their rigid, bloodied hands moving to drag themselves across the space between them and you. While the burning cadet held you firmly in place, the rest of the unit drew closer and closer chanting the chorus of “Your fault” over and over again until they were swarmed on top of you and smothered you.

With a strangled gasp you bolted upright in the bed, kicking and pushing to try and rid the phantoms from your nightmare away from you but still their touch persistently clung to your skin. You jolted when the most determined phantom grabbed your wrists to stop your thrashing. At the sound of Doflamingo’s deep voice saying your name you blinked through your disoriented panic and swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to calm your rapid breathing. Finally you were able to remind yourself that it had all just been an awful dream and that the images weren't real but as rational as you were it all still had a vicelike grip on you.

You were pulled forward and Doflamingo adjusted you to settle on his lap. He wrapped his arm around you and settled his other hand on the back of your head, settling you against his chest. Hearing his strong, steady heartbeat finally helped you to relax. Following his breaths as a guide you began to ease and the small shake in your frame settled. For the longest moment you remained against him, your eyes staring at nothing and only focusing on the warmth of Doflamingo’s body against yours.

With a tired sigh you began to pull out of his hold. Now that you’d calmed from the nightmare you decided to let him get back to sleep. Except you stopped when his grip tightened. Silently Doflamingo lay down and kept you against him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I’m no stranger to nightmares.” Doflamingo told you, his fingers moving against your back in similar motions as you had with him when you proved he needed to relax more. “Only talk about it if you want. Or say nothing at all. It’s your choice.”

“Thanks Doffy.” You murmured, your voice already growing thick and in seconds you were drifting off to sleep in his arms.

————

While the nightmare hadn’t been brought up again and even though it didn’t happen again, the consequences of it were evident. For every night that followed, no matter what position you both settled into the two of you would wake fully rested and in each other’s hold; usually with your head on his chest. As always when it came to anything that could be perceived as soft or tender or actions fuelled by emotion, nothing was said about the sleeping arrangements. If anything, you both would merely convince yourselves it was for your own benefit; simply a way to have a peaceful night's rest and nothing more. For you both this was the best way to handle things, to just continue as you both were without looking deeper.

As you sipped at your morning tea you saw the outline of an island slowly come into view, a tiny dot on the horizon. Still far away but now a sign the first stretch of the trip would be over. So far the plan was to attend the party that evening, stay overnight at the host’s lavish estate and set sail in the next day. The time of your departure would depend solely on the hangovers of Doflamingo and the rest of the crew whose tasks involved sailing the ship back home to Dressrosa. You lifted the invitation again and inspected it curiously. There was no real occasion listed so it was an even greater mystery for what you’d be walking into and had no real way to prepare for it all. Still from what Doflamingo had said, it would be a gathering of people similar to him; those holding great power-most not attained morally- some nobility and even a couple royals or rulers of their own islands, others just so insanely rich they may as well have a crown on their head. Adding in the numbers of each guest’s entourage of supporters, bodyguards and fawning dates to make them look good it was most certainly going to be a large affair. Now a thought came to you that you maybe should have asked sooner. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“By your name, obviously.” Doflamingo smirked as he observed you set the invitation down and let out an unimpressed huff. “What other way am I to introduce you?”

“I meant what's my place here?” You asked with a roll of your eyes. “They’re bound to already know the members of your family and will know I’m not one of them. I don’t think you want these people to know you have a soulmate and even if they didn’t believe you to openly call me your soulmate seems…out of character.”

Doflamingo stared at you hard for a few moments. Quickly he moved passed your first remark and settled instead on the discussion of openly calling you his soulmate. You were right, most of the people who would be at this party only had their uses for what Doflamingo could exploit and manipulate out of them for his own profit or entertainment. They had no need for any private and valuable information about the depths of the connection he had with you. Plus a sinister thought crept into his mind; if it was made public knowledge some fool could try and use you to get to him in an attempt to gain the upper hand on him which was something he wouldn’t allow in any capacity. Still you had his mind spinning in another thought. “They don’t need to know you as anything other than my date, just think of it as the same situation when we dealt with our cheating pirate guests only without killing this time. Also, 'out of character’ how?”

“As far as these people know I’m your date, just some random person you’ve brought along to look nice and stop you from getting bored too easily. You don’t strike me as someone who’d remember a one-time date's name passed the next day, let alone call them something as strong as ‘soulmate’ for a pet-name at a party.”

Doflamingo’s laughter built in his chest at your observation. As to the point as your words were, they weren’t spoken to insult or offend him. They were a genuine statement, and a very clear view of him which had its drawbacks. It felt odd to be so seen by someone like this, to be known in this way. You were right, he cared very little for any previous lover or date’s feelings and their names were at best half-remembered the next morning or when he chose to kick them out of his bed when they’d served their purpose. “So what pet-name can I call you?”

“It’s only for tonight, right?” You asked with a casual shrug while lifting the paper to go back to reading it. “I’ve played the pirate’s lover before, remember? Call me whatever you want and I'll play along.” Doflamingo grinned broader and looked out the window at the island in the distance. Tonight was going to be fun.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover

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wrathofrats · 2 days ago

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Mushy May Day 1: sleepovers

Read under cut or on ao3! Prompts by @forlorn-crows

Ifrit asks aether who he has a crush on during a game.

Featuring 700 words of: truth or dare, ifrit is kinda stupid but we love him, i love writing early ifrit and aether as frat bros, they’re besties your honor, ifrit can’t make popcorn

“You didn’t even pop it?” Aether cocked an eyebrow at ifrit as he threw a package of microwave popcorn onto his lap, setting two cans of soda on the nightstand.

“I’m a fire ghoul, why the hell would I pop it downstairs and let it get cold?”

Ifrit crawled onto the bed grabbing the package off of aethers lap, picking at the plastic around it. Aether reached over him for his own drink. The can was a little warm, ifrit was sometimes bad at controlling his element. Should’ve asked him to grab a cup of ice but it wasn’t a huge deal. He took the plastic scraps and threw them into the small trash can by the bed.

“Didn’t omega tell you to stop using your magic for things that weren’t important? Tell me you at least grabbed a bowl” aether sighed. He knew ifrit didn’t, watching him hold the bag in his hands as it rapidly expanded. Ifrit stared at it intensely, mouthing numbers, no doubt counting the seconds between pops as if he was actually using the microwave. Aethers tried to explain to him it doesn’t work the same, ifrit never listens though. It makes him feel useful.

“No bowl. Omegas a stick in the mud. It’s faster this way too, look! Have some”

Aether rolled his eyes, sticking his hand into the bag and throwing a couple pieces into his mouth, wincing at the bitter taste.

“Ifrit this is burnt”

“Wow. God forbid a woman make a mistake” ifrit grabbed the bag back from him, shoving his own hand up into his mouth. He tried not to make it obvious he also couldn’t stand the taste, powering through to eat a couple more pieces before abandoning the bag between them.

“You’re not even …. Whatever.” Aether sighed “movie?”

“We always watch a movie. Can we play a game or something? We could even do each other's nails, have a spa bath or something.”

“A game? You want to play fucking truth or dare or something like kits-“

“Yeah!” Ifrit interrupted him, perking up at the mention. Aether furrowed his brow at him. There was no way he was serious right? Judging by the smile on his face and the way he turned to sit up facing aether, no, he wasn’t joking. “Ok, truth or dare?”

“You genuinely want to play?” There was a pause before ifrit nodded like it was completely obvious, “fine, truth”

“Boring. Who do you have a cruuushhhhh on?” Ifrit sang, hands in his lap and wiggling happily like a little girl.

“Dare.” Aether quickly corrected himself. A stupid blush was no doubt rising to his cheeks. The game was stupid anyways, truly he could just lie until he got bored and relented to a movie and some cuddles or something.

“Absolutely not. Answer the question, come on it’s not like it’s a secret”

“Fuck you asshole” aether scoffed as if ifrit wasn’t entirely correct, “no one thanks. Why, do you have one or something?”

“It’s obvious it’s dewdrop. You start tripping over yourself when he’s around.” Ifrit snicked

“You dodged my question”

“You dodged mine!”

Aether huffed, taking another bite of cold burnt popcorn as if it might taste better this time. Ifrit may be an idiot but god did that boy know how to read people.

“Maybe. Since you already know apparently. You can’t fucking tell him though ifrit i swear to god-“

“I won’t! It’s sweet. I don’t see him act nice to most but he’s always nice to you. Just thought I’d point it out”

Aether quickly took a sip of his drink, using it as a break to think for a second. There was no way dew liked him back, that shit head was in a different sisters room most nights. Hope sparked in his chest anyways.

“Your turn fritter, cough it up”

Ifrit laughed, leaning back against the pillows and crossing his hands in front of him in thought. He had a small smile on his face, swinging the leg that was hanging off the bed.

“Zephyr. They’re just …”

“I fucking knew it!”

“Shut up! Listen- they’re so smart and I like the way they take things seriously, I don’t know they’re just nice to be around”

“Gay”

“Fuck you”

#I love this #it’s mostly banter #they’re cuties #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #wrath writes #mushy may #mushy may 2025 #ifrit ghoul #aether ghoul

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alexanderlightweight · 3 days ago

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I know I prompted last week so feel free to ignore this one but I thought it might be a little amusing. I'm moving soon (new job woo!) and yesterday my work laptop bluescreened, this morning my kitchen sink stopped working, now my bedroom lamp is flickering. Given that we have some highly magical buildings in the series how do they (loft or institute) react to Magnus/Alec moving out? Perhaps Lorenzo's deal doesn't work so well if the Loft itself gets a say. I loved all the recent hair lore prompts!

this was a bit ago but jsyk I never mind people prompting in a row, I just have limited time/energy but my plans are always to get to everything answered eventually!

i hope that did not continue? but also I agree, everytime you move the place you leave and the place you go to, everything that can go wrong will happily do so!!! I hope you new job is going well and treating you good?

Magnus - did not lose his magic in this scenario because i hate that plotline. They made a deal, Magnus is bunking with Alec because he wants to, not because he has to. He changes his mind after one night and opens up quite a few properties because he definitely has more than a single loft in his territory.

I hope you enjoy <3

lumine

—-

Lorenzo doesn’t need Magnus Bane’s loft and it’s not even for the property value, despite how nice it is, it hardly compares to any of his own, old and kept in pristine condition estates.

It’s because for several centuries, Lorenzo has been living in the shadow of Magnus’ Bane reputation and the idea of cutting him down, even when he’s already low, is too delightful to pass up.

How can Lorenzo remain in the shadow of a man now at his feet?

It’s that thought, that power that adds a little swagger to his step and a swirl to his wrist as he makes himself a delicious drink.

Except a moment after he takes a sip, he frowns.

Something is wrong with the drink and it isn’t until he uses both magic and his nose, that he realizes somehow his bottles of expensive alcohol have been changed.

His old fashioned somehow ended up with everclear rather than the bourbon or rye whiskey that he uses.

It’s foul and he dumps it down the drain and carefully uses his own hands rather than magic.

It tastes better, but the spoon he used to stir the first is missing and no matter how hard he looks, or even when he uses magic, it doesn’t turn up.

Since Lorenzo has too much on his plate with his new duties, he doesn’t bother to waste anymore time or magic.

The drink is subpar without his spoon but the view is still stunning. At least until that night when — after a profoundly intimate dinner party reviewing art — Lorenzo wakes up to the entire loft not only shaking.

But moving.

Mere moments after he wakes, Lorenzo is barely managing to keep the loft intact, his magic unprepared and wildly incapable of keeping up with the sudden onslaught.

When he’s done, he chances a glance out the window only to find himself in an entirely new area.

One far from where he went to sleep and one he doesn’t recognize.

He dials Bane without hesitation, his phone never far from him.

“Alec Lightwood.”

Lorenzo pauses because... he was expecting Magnus Bane.

Not Magnus’ Bane’s infuriating shadowhunter.

“I need to speak to the former High Warlock.” Lorenzo can’t help the little extra dig, because Magnus Bane is no longer so high and mighty.

“Well, he’s sleeping. So that will have to wait.”

“You could just wake him up.” Lorenzo reminds him, because talking to Alec Lightwood increasingly becomes like talking to a brick wall the longer Lorenzo knows him. Perhaps he is in need of prompting, which Lorenzo is willing to offer.

“I could, but I’m not going to. Magnus needs his sleep.”

Lorenzo takes a long breath and rethinks his strategy, “can you at least ask him, the moment he wakes. Why has the loft he traded me for my help moved?”

“Oh, did you catch the street you’re on now? I can probably give you the address if you did. If your magick wasn’t strong enough to tether it to the new building then it probably reverted. Magnus explained to me about magical ricochet but, well you probably know what I’m talking about. Having magick and all that.”

Lorenzo admits he did not catch the street and Lightwood hangs up like he’s done anything but gives Lorenzo more of a crisis than he already has going on.

Lorenzo doesn’t know how but he somehow feels worse after the call.

“Tethered?”

Lorenzo really doesn’t like where it seems like this is going, but he needs answers and he finds himself calling in a few favors.

Because he still doesn’t know where he is but he is most definitely sure that it’s not because his magic is lacking in any way.

AN:

uh so, the loft is quite magical and it's not magnus' fault that Lorenzo doesn't have enough magic to maintain the property. like. that's on Lorenzo, wanting to take on a property he can't manage or afford the *magical* upkeep of.

magnus is planning to wait this out until Lorenzo either begs him to take the loft back, or eventually whoever Lorenzo manages to hoist it onto, also finds out that Magnus is the original owner/architect and tries to return it.

alec is currently moonlighting as Magnus' secretary since he doesn't have his normal communication wards up at the institute.

Magnus is not sleeping btw, he simply handed the phone to Alec because he didn't want to deal with Lorenzo and his boy is ride or die.

not that Magnus will let his alexander die, but still.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #magnus bane #malec #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #lorenzo rey

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laylasverse · 3 days ago

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IN LOVE WITH MY FUTURE

౨ৎ in love with my future is a shifting ask game inspired by random thoughts i've had ( and two songs ) with a focus on exploring yourselves in the multiverse. ﹙ reblog for asks & send emojis to ask ﹚

✉️ ◞ LETTER TO LACY jealous is surface level, it's a one-off feeling. but having a lacy is something much sinister. who is your lacy? the one person that makes you become riddled with guilt when you realize the envy you hold for them.

🍈 ◞ GROW A FIG create a moodboard of your fig tree. a moodboard of all the paths you could take in your life and what drew you to them.

👟 ◞ RUNNING OUTTA TIME some space for your current hyper-fixation. what it is? how did you find it? how long have you been infatuated with it? do you have a reality inspired on it?

🥝 ◞ MIXED MEDIA what is a piece of media you find memorable? how did you first get introduced to it? what particular parts of it have engraved themselves in your psyche?

🎧 ◞ IN THE PARALLEL who is your parallel? someone or something that represents you in an eerily coincidental way. the options are endless. is it the sweetest strawberry you've ever had? an old song that buzzes your veins? an idol you've been following for years?

🥒 ◞ SELF CARE when was the last time you did your self care routine without rushing? run us though your steps. where did you learn your steps from?

🗒️ ◞ JOURNAL PROMPTS speed-run of a few questions i found on pinterest. when do you feel the most whole? list three things that bring you comfort and why. what city do you really want to visit? tell us a compliment you love receiving.

🥬 ◞ SIMPLE PLEASURES in a world of complex relationships and attention-seeking screens what are the simple parts of life that remind you of our mortality? not in a great doom sense, but reminiscent of the love of life and time we have on earth.

🧾 ◞ HEART OF GOLD what is your heart made of? perhaps lines of flowery poetry? the beautiful colors of a sunrise? the cascading waves of the sea? or the knots of willow tree roots?

🌱 ◞ TEA LEAVES create a moodboard of a guide to being you.

ⓘ ALTHOUGH this is titled an "ask game" you do not have to only answer them when asked. these questions are to help you connect with your desired realities. it does not matter the audience.

#© laylasverse .#shiftblr #shifting #reality shifting #shifting blog #shifting realities #shifting ask games #shifting ask game #ask game #layla's ꫂ᭪ games

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thisapplepielife · 2 days ago

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Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Sympathy for the Devil

Prompt: Sold His Soul For A Donut | Word Count: 6666 | Rating: E | CW: Unprotected Sex, The Devil Doesn't Just Want Sympathy, But Praise Too, Mild Dom/Sub BDSM Vibes | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: AU, Accidentally Selling Your Soul, Like a Dumbass, But With A Happy Ending, Steve Harrington is the Devil (No, Really)

Also on ao3.

Now

Eddie runs right into the back of Gareth, not paying a damn bit of attention where he's going, like always. But this isn't all his fault. He didn't expect Gareth to stop short.

"What? Why're we stopped?" Eddie asks, looking around, like he might find the answer. They're supposed to meet Jeff and Goodie back at the hotel in fifteen minutes and they are at least twenty minutes away by foot.

"Don't you smell that?" Gareth asks, looking through the window of the bakery he's paused on the sidewalk in front of, hands pressed to the glass like an unruly child.

"Smell what?" Eddie asks. All he smells is yeast from the bakery. He guesses it smells good, but not so good that he needed to stop and drool on the glass.

"The donuts. They smell so good."

Okay? He should just get a donut. They aren't rich, but they definitely have donut money. However, there is a long line backed up to the door, and they don't really have time for that. But Jeff and Goodie know they'll be late. That's just a given. They have met them before. It's kind of their fault for letting them wander off by themselves, if you really think about it.

"I'd sell my soul for a donut right about now," Gareth says, and Eddie's laugh is cut short by a voice coming from the doorway of the donut shop, the bell jingling over his head.

"I can help with that," the man in a sharp black suit says, as they both turn to look at him. He pops open the lid of the red bakery box, and inside has to be one of every donut the shop Gareth's drooling over must sell.

Gareth may have been onto something, they all do look amazing.

The guy holds out the box a little further, and Gareth reaches for one that looks like it might be a carrot cake donut, from the little icing carrots piped around the ring of fried dough. Carrot cake is his favorite, he was never gonna be able to resist that one.

Then the guy then offers the box to Eddie, and Eddie shrugs, taking one too. The one he picked has Honeycomb cereal, Eddie's favorite, stuck atop a bright yellow glaze.

"Thanks, man," Eddie says, and Gareth nods in agreement, also saying thanks. The guy just stands there grinning, and it would look way creepier if he wasn't so good looking. He watches until they've both taken a bite. It's good, but not as good as Gareth's acting like it is, taking a stumbling step backwards like the wind has been knocked out of him.

And everybody says Eddie is the dramatic one.

The guy then reaches into his shirt pocket, balancing the box in one hand with ease. Pulling out a business card.

It's a striking red, and looks expensive. Eddie reaches for it. And it feels like it's linen or some shit that feels good under Eddie's thumb.

But he takes it from Eddie's hand, and gives it to Gareth instead, and that fucking figures that the hot donut man wants to fuck Gareth and not Eddie. Eddie pouts, just a little.

"In case you need to find me," he says, and Eddie would like to find him alright. Gareth, though, well. Dude's barking up the wrong tree. Sucks to be him. He was just used for his free donut.

Then he's gone. Gliding down the street, his black overcoat billowing behind him before he turns the corner, disappearing from sight.

Gareth hands the card back to Eddie. There's an address on the back and nothing else.

"Weird. What kind of business do you think he runs? A sex dungeon?" Gareth asks, and Eddie laughs. He fucking wishes.

It starts slow, a callousness that he's never had before. A bite. And at first Eddie assumes the tour is just getting to Gareth, making him pissy. That happens. Being trapped with each other for days on end. In cramped hotel rooms, living on top of each other.

But that doesn't feel right. Gareth's never acted like this before, he loves to tour, loves being in the van more than any of the rest of them.

Eddie can't put his finger on it, but it makes him feel unnerved.

The rest of them talk about Gareth in hushed tones behind closed doors. Something's wrong with him, and they're not sure what they should do about his new attitude he's been sporting. But they find there's no answers, no easy fixes.

Gareth just looks at them, staring blankly and uncaring. You can't shame someone that doesn't seem to have any shame left.

The final straw is when he makes Goodie cry. Goodie, for god's sake. The one well known for dishing it out and being able to take it in return. Eddie's never seen Goodie cry a single tear in all the years he's known him.

Until tonight.

Eddie has to do something. They can't go on like this.

In the morning, on his nightstand is the business card from the donut guy. He knows it wasn't there the night before, at least he doesn't think it was. Surely he'd remember that.

But his gut twists with gnawing clarity. What he's silently suspected.

Eddie holds the card in both his hands, like it might disappear if he doesn't hang on tight. The building is unassuming, and he pulls open the door. It's a big, spacious room with a single red elevator at the other end.

His boots click across the marble floor, and despite all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, he presses the single button.

The down arrow lights up.

Well. He guesses he's going down.

And down he goes. It feels like one of those expensive hotel elevators that moves way too fast. There's no floor indicator, so he's just along for the ride until it comes to a smooth stop.

His ears pop, and that can't be good.

When the door opens with a ding, he's right in the middle of an office, and Steve Harrington is sitting behind a large, ornate desk.

He motions for Eddie to take the seat across from him.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," Steve says, "I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year and stole many a man's soul and faith. I'm Steve Harrington."

"Uh, that's The Stones," Eddie says with a laugh, and Steve chuckles along with him.

"Perhaps it was written about me. Perhaps a deal was made. Long ago. A better one than for a donut," Steve says wryly, and Eddie swallows. No fucking way. He thought, but not really.

"You took his soul?" Eddie asks, just to make sure.

Steve nods, and waves his hand at the rows and rows of what looks like built-in mailboxes all along the wall behind him, "It's right back there. With all the others."

"Did you take mine?" Eddie asks. He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but maybe Gareth doesn't feel like anything has changed either. Even if it definitely has.

Steve shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.

"Why not me? Why not mine?" Eddie asks, sitting across from Steve, fingers digging into the ragged holes in the knees of his jeans just for something to do with his hands.

"You didn't summon me, you didn't make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Steve says, arms folded across his chest. Smiling.

"I ate a donut, too," Eddie argues.

"That was freely given, because you're so nice to look at," Steve says, and Eddie kind of hates that he's into that.

"So, what? You're the devil? Lucifer?"

"I prefer Steve."

"Yeah, yeah, what can I do to get his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"You want to make a deal?" Steve asks, leaning forward across his desk.

"Not like that! I like my soul right where it is, thank you," Eddie answers. He doesn't want to get tricked into anything, here. He knows he needs to be very careful.

"I could make you all very famous. I've done it before. Many times over. It's my specialty, actually. Keith and Mick struck a hard bargain, Mick studied finance, you know. I could give you the same deal. Not a ten year standard contract. Those are a dime a dozen. Boring."

Eddie hates that he almost believes this shit. If anyone struck a crossroads deal, it could have been Keith Richards. There's no reason he should still be alive and kicking, playing the goddamn guitar that well today.

There has to be a reason. And maybe that reason is Steve Harrington.

"I'm not giving you my soul to be famous. That's crazy."

Steve chuckles, and leans back again, "If you're not willing to part with your soul, then I'm not sure what you can give me of equal value. My hands are tied," he says. Folding his hands under his chin, elbows propped up on the desk. He's wearing a pinky ring, and Eddie can't look away from it. A signet, of some sort.

Now, Eddie's worn lots of rings in his life, but he's sure none of them have ever looked that goddamn hot.

He forces himself to look away from it.

"You said I'm nice to look at," Eddie says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He digs his fingernails into his kneecaps.

"I did," Steve says.

"You can't have my soul," Eddie says again, "I do not consent. Can you take it by force?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Why should I believe you?" Eddie asks. You don't trust the devil. That's like rule number one in all the books.

"I'm a man of my word. I only take what I'm offered. What are you offering me, Eddie?" Steve asks.

And a chill runs down Eddie's spine, making all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He never told Steve his name. He's sure of it.

"Is your dick weird?" Eddie blurts out, and Steve laughs, a truly delighted sound.

"Do you want it to be?" Steve asks, a glint in his eye, and Eddie can't help it, he laughs. Pulling his hair across the front of his mouth like he's a giggly schoolgirl looking for a prom date.

Not a fully grown man, propositioning the goddamn devil.

Eddie isn't sure what he's just signed up for, but Steve snaps his fingers and the room changes, shifts, and he's suddenly in a dark bedroom. All reds and blacks. Expensive draped fabrics.

It's a little on the nose for Lucifer, he's gotta say.

"What do you want from me?" Eddie asks, and he's equal parts concerned and excited.

Whips, chains, hot pokers. Maybe he'll be hogtied and helpless. It could be anything, everything. Pleasure, or pain. Maybe both at the same time. Eddie'd be lying if he didn't admit to being excited by the prospect.

Instead of any of that, he watches as Steve sheds his clothes, and when he lays down on the bed, it's facedown, head propped on his arms. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of fancy-looking lube is suddenly in Eddie's hand.

"That's a neat trick," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. He seems so normal, so human, it kind of scares Eddie that he's not terrified of him.

He's not human, he just happens to look like he is. No horns, no tail. Just miles of gorgeous skin. Eddie leans a knee down on the mattress, sinking in as he rubs his hand along Steve's back, over the curve of his ass. His skin is hot to the touch, a few degrees beyond warm, Eddie would wager. And always having cold hands, Eddie's immediately addicted to it. He glides along, caressing him, just barely brushing his hole with the edge of his thumb. Teasing him. Testing the water.

He's even hotter there. Goddamn.

Steve sighs contentedly, and closes his eyes.

Okay, then. Eddie smiles, so much for getting fucking freaky with the devil. But if that's not what Steve needs, well, Eddie will meet him where he's at.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods as his breath hitches in his chest at the endearment.

Well, good. He'll take care of him, then. He can do that.

He squeezes a good amount of lube on his fingers, and rubs them together. He wonders if this is even necessary. If Steve can just snap his fingers, and be loose, ready.

Where'd the fun be in that, though?

Instead, Eddie works him open, first with his fingers, and then his tongue. It feels like it's burning him from the inside out, and he could get addicted to this. He always knew he'd tumble face-first into hell, he just never imagined it'd be like this. Eating out the devil. His palm pressed into a warm ass cheek, keeping him spread. Getting him wet, and sloppy.

Getting him ready to be fucked by Eddie.

Goddamn.

Eddie's enjoying listening to him slowly lose control. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that it makes him feel powerful, having the devil himself bowing under his touch, his tongue. Opening for him. Begging for more, yearning for him.

Turning over his control, which must be deep and powerful. Everlasting.

When Eddie finally pushes into him, he's snug and extra warm. Like he was made just for Eddie specifically. Eddie's never put his cock in anything this inviting in his whole goddamn life. It feels like he was always meant to be here, doing this with him. For him. Eddie leans forward so he can brush Steve's hair out of his eyes. So he can see all of Steve's face. If he's fucking the devil, he definitely wants to see him.

And he has no complaints when Steve's suddenly on his back, legs up, Eddie never pulling out, never even missing a stroke.

That's another neat trick.

Steve stretches his arms up over his head, his chest raising, and Eddie's eyes focus on a previously unseen mole in his armpit, barely visible on the edge of all that dark hair. Then Steve's gripping the metal bars of the headboard, and Eddie watches as his hands are suddenly bound to the bars, red scarves perfectly knotted at his wrists.

That's an even neater neat trick.

Eddie knows Steve's not really restrained, probably can't be, but that he wants to at least pretend he is, is doing something for Eddie.

Face-to-face is so underrated. He loves seeing Steve's face, because he doesn't want to miss a goddamn second of this experience, and he reaches down, wrapping his fist around Steve's hard cock. It's thick, big, absolutely perfect. Like it was designed with every ridge and vein being what Eddie would choose, if his personal preferences were taken into consideration. Eddie wishes he could choke on it while he fucks Steve. He's not sure if Satan has a prostate, but if Eddie had the power to bend things to his will, he'd make sure he had one that was easy to hit for goddamn sure.

Top priority.

Eddie tilts his hips, and Steve whines.

"Look at you being so good," Eddie says, and Steve keens. Mouth parted, tongue wetting his lips. Interesting. That's very interesting. A subby, needy bottom isn't what Eddie had assumed he was getting when he agreed to hop in bed with the devil.

He rubs his hand against Steve's hairy thigh, fucking into him, "You like that. Don't you?"

Steve nods, white-knuckling the bed frame.

All in all, it's way more tame than Eddie had been expecting. He assumed he'd only leave here limping, scratched, bruised and scarred. But this isn't that. This is good sex, fuck yes it is, but it's not quite tormented sex dungeon.

Eddie jacks him firmly as he thrusts, trying to keep a good pace to keep those beautiful sounds escaping from Steve's parted lips.

"That's it, darling, let go," Eddie coaxes. And he does. Hips leaving the bed as he comes all over Eddie's fist and his own taut stomach. Thick ropes of white, clinging to the hair below his belly button.

Goddamn.

Eddie thinks about pulling out, that's what he'd normally do, but Steve can maybe read his mind, which should scare Eddie more than it actually does, as he wraps his foot around Eddie's ass. Pressing inward, a blatant invitation to stay exactly where he is.

To keep fucking him.

So, Eddie does. Keeps the same pace, listening to him moan with every thrust. It doesn't take much longer, and as Eddie's hips stutter, his rhythm lost, he presses as far into Steve as he can. Coming deep with a long, satisfied groan.

He stays buried to the hilt, eyes focused on Steve's chest, heaving with exertion underneath him. Sweat clinging to all the hair on his chest.

He's gorgeous.

When Eddie pulls out, his come is already leaking out of Steve's used hole. He presses his thumb against the hot, puckered skin, pressing it back into him as best he can. Fingers toying with him, unable to stop touching him. If he could get hard again right now, he would. He'd slide right back into Steve and fuck him all over again.

He'd never stop.

Instead, he gently lets Steve's legs down, and carefully unties his wrists, even though he knows Steve could do it on his own. He wants to, and when he's finished, he curls up against his side, wet fingers brushing through his chest hair, finding his nipple.

Steve giggles at the sensation, and Eddie laughs. Kissing both of his wrists, even if there's no indication he'd been tied up at all, before he presses his face into Steve's shoulder as they lay there together and catch their breath. Coming back down to earth, or wherever the fuck they are. Eddie isn't really sure, honestly. He might literally be in hell.

He can't find it in himself to care either way.

But he does have a question that's itching the back of his skull, demanding an answer.

"Why would you give us your card? Wouldn't it just be easier to disappear without a trace with his soul?" Eddie asks, laying in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, in his entire life. The silk sheets are a little much, but the mattress truly is to die for.

Steve turns his head to meet Eddie's eyes, and smiles. He looks a hundred percent human, with his tanned skin, moles and chest hair.

"Well, that's the general rule, yes."

"Then why—"

"—you, of course," he interrupts.

Eddie smiles, "Me? Seriously?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He's here.

"You don't bring everybody home after you try to steal their soul?" Eddie asks.

"First off," Steve says, a hint of bitchy in his voice that really works for Eddie, "I don't steal anything. I take what I'm offered. And second, no, this isn't part of the arrangement most people get."

"How unlucky for them," Eddie teases, and Steve laughs. "Besides making a deal with The Stones, who else did you make deals with?"

Eddie has to ask. He's super curious.

"In modern musical history? I'd say it starts with Robert Johnson," Steve says.

"So the crossroads legend is actually true?"

"Not fully true, no. I didn't tune his guitar. That was an embellishment to make the story better. I don't even know how to play the guitar."

"Who else?" Eddie probes.

"Well, the whole 27 Club, basically. Those are mine. You don't get that kind of talent and fame in such a short period of time without some help along the way."

"Steve Harrington, were you making deals with minors?" Eddie asks.

"Oh no, if you want to join that illusive club, you'll take less than the average ten years in exchange for the notoriety. It's only fair."

"Does Gareth only have ten years, if you don't give his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"No, we didn't make any such deal. Those aren't done so easily. He got his donut, I got his soul, end of story. Most people, you know, those that think these things through, keep their souls until the end of the agreed upon contract. Gareth was just one of those souls so easily offered up that I sometimes choose to go ahead and collect."

Eddie nods. Steve didn't say he'd give it back, but Eddie thought it was implied. Maybe not, maybe he's been played, too. Just in a different way. Maybe he should have got it in writing, but that would have felt too much like prostitution. He didn't sleep with Steve only to get Gareth's soul back. But that was what brought him here in the first place. Obviously.

Maybe Steve never intended to give it back.

He can't think about that right now.

"Stevie Nicks?" Eddie asks, going back to a more comfortable topic.

"No. No, no, no. I don't mess with witches. No way."

"Elvis?"

"Of course. (You're The) Devil in Disguise is about me too, you know. Basically anyone who's covered Crossroads is mine."

"We've covered Crossroads!" Eddie yells, swatting at Steve's arm, and laughing as Steve ducks away, and then gathers Eddie up against his chest. Holding on tight. The devil is playful. Who fucking knew?

"Recorded," Steve amends, "not covered in a dive bar. I don't have that kind of time in the day, or the storage space, honestly."

Eddie just laughs. It shouldn't be funny. These are people's souls they willingly gave away for fame and fortune, no matter how fleeting. It makes him sad.

But also, wildly curious.

"The Kennedys?" Eddie asks.

"No, I don't deal in curses, and that's a cursed family if I've seen one. Whoever lost that rabbit's foot fucked it all up for the entire bloodline. I ain't touching that with a ten foot pole."

Eddie grins, "Ooh! The Beatles?"

Steve nods.

"Wow. Paul must have struck a much better deal than John," Eddie comments, and Steve smirks, a shit-eating grin if Eddie's ever seen one.

"No way!" Eddie says, rolling onto his side, "Paul is dead?"

Steve just shrugs his shoulders.

"Holy shit. Tell me more," Eddie demands, curiosity getting the best of him. He wants all the dirty details. He loves to gossip, and this is the best pillow talk ever.

"Jacksonville in the sixties was a hotbed for dealmaking. You wouldn't believe the deals that could be made with people just trying to escape that swamp."

"You took Duane from us! And Berry!" Eddie accuses, pointing his finger at Steve, then thinks for a second, adding, "And Skynyrd?!"

"Who doesn't put fuel in a plane, honestly?" Steve asks, and Eddie knows the question is rhetorical. "Sometimes my job does itself for me."

Eddie goes through all the talented guitar players in his head that he knows came out of Jacksonville around that time.

"Mike Campbell?"

Steve makes a face, touching his fingers to his lips, looking like he's disappointed, "Unfortunately not. All his talent is god given. Tom Petty was mine, though. I wandered down to Gainesville, just to see what they had to offer. You know, I think that's what made their music together so good. The devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. In perfect harmony. Blood harmony, as only brothers can be. It was probably that prick Gabriel that touched him. And what does he know? I was the angel of music. He's just a baby."

Eddie can sense a family squabble when he hears one, and chooses to just ignore it. He's not sure he's equipped to offer guidance on a fight between archangels, fallen or otherwise.

He changes the subject.

"Stevie Ray Vaughan? Please tell me you didn't take SRV from us?"

When Steve doesn't deny it, Eddie flops his head into the pillow, "You are the devil."

"As I've said, repeatedly," Steve banters back, "pleased to meet you."

Eddie shakes his head, before the next name pops into his head, "Buddy Holly?"

"No! That was just a terrible accident. You're not pinning the day the music died on me! No way. I don't only deal in plane crashes, you know."

Eddie just laughs, "I know, sometimes you use motorcycles, apparently."

Steve just glares at him.

"Touchy, touchy. Easy there, Beelzebub. You just tell me who else if you're gonna get all bent out of shape about my guesses."

"Do you follow sports?" Steve asks. Eddie doesn't and shakes his head accordingly.

"Oh, well. The Chicago Bulls dynasty in the 1990s was thanks to me, and in football I signed quite the trifecta: a quarterback, tight end and the head coach. You want a dynasty? You'll have to pay for it."

Eddie laughs, he has no idea what he's talking about.

"So, yeah, I've done some sports deals. Tiger. Olympians, every four years, like clockwork. But I just have a preference for guitar players."

"Gareth's a drummer. Your aim was off," Eddie teases, and Steve just smiles at him.

"I don't know, I think I got exactly what I wanted out of that interaction," Steve answers, pulling Eddie tighter against him, and Eddie feels his face flush.

Eddie should run fucking screaming, but instead he slides closer to Steve, pressing his thumb to Steve's neck. He can feel the pulse thrumming there, beating against his skin. He's alive. But he's been around for decades, maybe centuries. Maybe forever.

Because he's the goddamn devil.

Eddie just can't find it in himself to care.

He slings his leg up over Steve's hip, and presses their lips together in another kiss.

Then he hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, holding onto him tight. They just hug in the silence for a while, before Eddie says, "I could teach you to play the guitar, if you want."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's back, letting it splay between his shoulder blades, fingers gently rubbing circles against Eddie's skin. It takes a few moments, but Steve finally speaks, "In all my years, nobody's ever offered to teach me to play before. Thanks, Eddie."

Steve falls asleep burrowed under the covers, back to Eddie, and Eddie wasn't sure if the devil needed to sleep, but apparently he does. The only reason Eddie's pretty fucking sure he's actually asleep is because the room shifted, changed, as if it couldn't be held in the state it was without Steve being conscious. The facade, gone.

It's a normal bedroom, now. Light gray walls, the bedding piled high on the bed, all so incredibly soft, and in shades of deep, stunning blues. It's cozy, and comforting.

It feels like a home. Not a sex lair out of some sort of B-movie.

And for some reason Eddie feels grateful that he was invited to peek behind the curtain.

There are pictures lining the walls. Some look old, very old, and others appear more recent. He wonders if these are of his chosen family, people, loved ones that he found after he fell from grace. If the devil is even capable of getting attached to humans.

He's definitely interested in finding out. He wants to know everything about Steve.

Eddie stills, frozen when he sees a shadow moving through the hallway outside of the door. His imagination runs wild. Hellhounds, demons, something straight from the depths of hell coming to dispose of him.

It's just a woman. In fuzzy slippers, and a long t-shirt. Her hair cut into a cute bob, even as mussed as it is from sleep. When she spots him, she stops in front of the door, and they stare at each other.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, and Eddie wonders if this is a warning. If she's trapped here, if she doesn't want him to meet the same fate. If—

She reaches forward and yanks him by the arm, tugging him into the hallway, hissing, "Steve doesn't bring anyone home, how'd you get here?"

"Uh, he fell asleep, I think," Eddie answers, and she looks around him, back into the room, like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth or not.

Then she grins, "Did he really?"

Eddie nods, and she slugs him on the arm, "Look at you go, little weirdo."

"Who are you?" he asks, rubbing his arm. "His wife?"

"Ew. No. I'm Robin. His lesbian best friend. Don't hurt him or I'll make you pay," she says, and he swears her eyes flash red, just for a second.

"I'll try not to hurt the devil," he says sarcastically, but she just smiles, looking him up and down.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Eddie," she says, and he swears to god, is he wearing a nametag he's not aware of?

She just gives him a push back into the bedroom, and then she's gone.

The devil has a lesbian best friend named Robin, and they live in the suburbs? As if his day could get any weirder.

Eddie turns and looks back at the bed. If the room changed, Steve probably did, too. A nervousness twists in his gut. The urge to look, but also the urge to stay in the dark. To not know what he really looks like. To not know what he just had sex with.

But, bad news first, always.

And he creeps to Steve's side of the bed, and the comforter is pulled up over his shoulders, but his face is visible. Cheek pressed to the cotton pillowcase, features slack, as he very slightly snores on each exhale.

He's still Steve.

Eddie shakes his head at his overactive imagination. He doesn't know why he expected him to suddenly have red skin and horns, but he definitely did.

So, the room is a facade. But Steve isn't. That's really what he looks like, and isn't that just unfair. A handsome devil, indeed.

Eddie stands in front of the window, the moonlight casting shadows, a single street light illuminating the corner where a black cat sits and licks its paw. He could be anywhere. In any neighborhood. But looking out at it, all he cares about is that it looks peaceful.

Eddie carefully crawls back under the pile of bedding, and slides an arm over Steve's side, pressing his face into Steve's back. If he lives until tomorrow this will be a hell of a story, that's for goddamn sure.

When he wakes up, he's back in the dark, silk-covered cave of a bedroom. Not the homey one. Steve's already up, dressed in an all-black suit, the only color is his deep red tie.

Once Eddie's up and re-dressed into yesterday's clothes, Steve walks him to the rows of mailboxes, and his hands still in front of one. They aren't even marked with numbers. They all look identical to Eddie.

"Is that his?" Eddie asks.

"Yes," Steve answers.

"Do you have, like, a chart? A logbook?"

Steve laughs, "No. I have a good memory."

Eddie finds that to be a little suspect, but he watches as Steve adjusts the dials, using the combination to unlock the box.

"What if you're wrong? What if that's not his soul? What if that's Ted Bundy's soul?" Eddie asks, his hand covering Steve's.

Steve laughs, "Just trust me."

Eddie pulls back his hand. When he does, Steve opens the mailbox and a swirl of pure white light escapes, it's nearly blinding as it bounces around the room, nearly frantic in movement, before slipping into the crack of the elevator, suddenly gone from sight.

"That was Gareth's soul?" Eddie exclaims, and Steve smiles, closing the door on the box once again.

"That was his soul," he confirms, "Feisty little thing."

"And it'll find him on its own?" Eddie asks, needing to make sure. He can't have it just bouncing all over the world. He needs it back inside Gareth, like, yesterday.

"It will," Steve answers, "but let me assure you, this won't be fun for him. Once you're here on earth, souls are only supposed to go one way: out. Through death, or a trade. A deal. Going back in isn't really advised."

"But it'll work? He'll be okay?" Eddie asks, nervous. Gareth needs his soul. The rest of them won't be able to stand him without it.

"It'll work, but he might wish it hadn't for a few days," Steve says, and Eddie nods, swallowing hard.

Eddie stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Unsure of what happens now. Does he just leave?

"So, we're good? He has his soul. I have my soul?" he clarifies.

Steve grins, "Yes, you have your soul. I can't take it without it being offered. Without you making a deal, a trade for it, no matter how fair or unfair the terms and conditions."

Eddie nods, but Steve keeps talking.

"And I kind of like it where it is. It's what makes you, you," Steve says, rubbing his palm against Eddie's sternum. Eddie reaches up, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck, kissing him.

When they break apart, Eddie looks into his dark eyes, "Will I see you again? Or, will this place vanish the second I step out of the elevator?"

Steve giggles, a delightful sound, "You watch too many movies. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, quite literally for eternity. And as long as you have my card, you can always find me. The address may change, but the place will not."

"Fuck, I gotta keep track of the card?" Eddie asks. He's not the most organized person on earth. He's lost four wallets in six years.

"If you lose it, I'll know. I won't let you get away that easily," he says, "you still owe me."

Eddie feels momentarily uneasy, but it passes looking at Steve's open face, "What do I owe you?"

Steve cradles Eddie's cheek in his large palm. It feels so warm against Eddie's skin, "Another night together. Dinner. A date."

Eddie laughs, leaning into his touch. He's gonna date the fucking devil, and he's somehow a thousand percent on board with that idea.

"Deal," Eddie says, and Steve laughs, brushing his thumb against Eddie's cheek.

"Don't say that word. Don't make deals. I'm not the only thing out there that can take advantage of it."

Eddie swallows, and nods. No deals. Got it.

"Okay," Steve says, pulling back and Eddie knows that's his cue to go.

Steve walks him to the elevator, and presses the single up button, the arrow lighting up red over their heads.

He guesses this is it.

It's not until the elevator doors close behind him that he realizes he's got an extra ring on his finger. Steve's gold pinky ring is now on Eddie's own hand, standing out against all the silver. He twists his hand under the lights in the elevator, watching it gleam, and he grins.

That's when he recognizes the drum beat, the familiar guitar lick that leads into the riff coming through the elevator speakers. That sultry, laid-back sound.

Eddie smiles as the lyrics kick in. Steve's giving him permission. To love him, or to not. A direct message that Steve thinks he won't run away, and well, he's right. Eddie won't.

He's definitely feeling like it's love, even if that seems ass over teakettle crazy.

"It's alright...it's alright," he sings along under his breath, as much to himself as anything else as the elevator makes the long, smooth climb upwards.

Then, the ascension finally stops, the elevator chiming, announcing his arrival topside.

The doors open, and Eddie feels rooted to the floor. They start to close again, but he shoots his hand out, and sees that golden ring, leading the way.

And he finally steps out.

It feels warm on his finger all the way back to the hotel across town. Like Steve's own fevered skin is touching him, constantly. A reminder. He adjusts his half-hard cock in his jeans at the idea of somehow being claimed by Steve.

That should terrify him, but it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.

When he opens the door to the room, Gareth is shivering in bed.

"Are you back to fucking normal?" Eddie asks, crawling into bed beside Gareth. Hands finding his face, checking him over. Looking for some sort of sign. A light in his eyes.

He knows what his soul looks like, now. How bright, how energetic.

Gareth nods. He's shivering, and fucking bawling. Good. Maybe next time he won't make a goddamn deal with the devil for a fucking donut. He's burning up. Steve said this would happen. It's supposed to be a one way exchange. Putting one back isn't as easy as it sounds.

But he did it, for Eddie.

Eddie climbs back out of bed, runs cool water over a washcloth, and presses it to Gareth's forehead when he climbs back in bed with him.

Eddie pulls Gareth into his side, pressing the damp cloth to his skin, "It's fine now. You're fine. I fixed it."

Gareth nods against his chest, and then croaks out, "What'd you have to do?"

"You don't want to know," Eddie answers, but the smile that spreads across his mouth is wide. Steve's card is burning a hole in his pocket, and he can't wait until he gets to see him again. It may be a terrible idea, but for some reason he's choosing to trust the devil he now knows.

"Eddie," Gareth pleads, coughing, a wet hacking sound, "Was he the devil?"

"Yeah. That's Steve. You'll like him."

"He took my soul, Eddie," Gareth whines.

"Yeah, but he gave it back, so you better be nice and grateful the next time you see him. Got it?"

Gareth mumbles under his breath, but Eddie flips the washcloth, offering the cooler side, and he settles against Eddie, "But what did you have to give to get it back?"

"Don't you worry," he says, pressing his lips to the top of Gareth's head, "it was nothing I didn't want to give away freely."

Later

Eddie stands on the stage, and wraps his hands around the mic as it's secured in the stand, center stage. Guitar slung loose at his side. He grips the mic, and can't help looking at the gold pinky ring, the stage lights making it gleam.

The crowd screams for the encore. The stadium is packed to capacity. Another sold out show, on another sold out tour. A career other bands envy and have tried desperately to emulate, with little success.

Clamoring for the secret, the one Eddie isn't willing to share. It doesn't matter, there isn't another deal like it, and never will be.

Four souls, fully intact.

Only his love, given freely.

The deal that wasn't really a deal at all. But one he'd make it again, and again, all the same.

Eddie smiles as Gareth starts gently banging on his conga drum, setting up the percussion loop as Eddie entertains the crowd. Then he does the maracas, and the guiro. Eddie hears when the loop is set, and is ready for Gareth to start in on his snare groove, using one stick to bounce off the head, and the other to hit the rim. Wood on metal.

The crowd screams, knowing what's coming, what song they always end their shows with. The same song, night after night, tour after tour. The one constant.

Glancing stage right, Eddie sees his familiar arms folded over his chest, the black suit making him nearly invisible in backstage darkness. But Eddie can see his own silver ring, a shining beacon off-stage. Catching his eye, and his heart. A promise, a commitment.

A love.

Eddie pulls the mic closer to his mouth, grinning wickedly before he starts singing the familiar song, written about the devil himself, who just so happens to also be Eddie's whole goddamn world.

"Please allow me to introduce myself…"

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Welp. Sympathy for the Devil will now forever be tied to Steve Harrington to me. I don't make the rules.

This was one of those fics that I didn't know what I was going to write for the prompt until I opened the doc, and it just kept pouring out. Those are always so much fun! The first 5,500 words were written in 24 hours! And once I realized I was in the ballpark of 6,666 I had to go for it. Obviously.

It was fun to run with the age old myths and conspiracies theories that celebs sell their souls for their fame and fortune: That Paul is dead. That Keith will outlive us all. That the Kennedys are cursed.

The football trifecta was left intentionally open. It could have been the Patriots (Brady, Gronk & Belichick) or the Chiefs (Mahomes, Kelce & Reid) - it was readers choice, lol. Or if you weren't into sportsball, like Eddie isn't, it truly didn't matter. There's just no universe in which Steve Harrington, sports enthusiast that he is, wouldn't be putting his thumb on the scale for sports, too.

Duane Allman and Berry Oakley, both members of The Allman Brothers Band, died in separate motorcycle wrecks, almost exactly one year apart, the wrecks happening three blocks from one another. Both were 24. They are buried beside each other in Macon, Georgia.

Something was in the water in Jacksonville, Florida with all the guitar talent that came from there in a very short period of time. I couldn't resist giving Steve credit for it here.

The elevator song was Breakdown by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, that starts like this:

it's alright if you love me, it's alright if you don't i'm not afraid of you runnin' away, honey i get the feeling you won't

And finally, here's a playlist of some of the mentioned artists that may or may not have sold their souls to Steve Harrington. I had fun picking out songs that either directly referenced the devil, or at least could be interpreted that way. 🤘

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #steddie ficlet #stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #devil steve harrington

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followsfrankiep · 2 days ago

Text

Don't Worry About Her (Eddie Brock x Reader)

Summary: They always say, when a guy tells you not to worry about his girl best friend, you probably should. Izzy's wild and free-spirited nature has always contrasted with her best friend Eddie's quest for stability. Now that Eddie is engaged, he never expected Izzy to complicate things for both of them.

TW: Mentions of Sex, Physical and Mental Abuse, Anxiety, Trauma, Explicit Words, Cheating, Minors DNI.

Word count: 6.7k

A/N: HERE YA GO. Don't mind the incorrect spelling or grammar okay. Sorry to disappoint but no smutty part here bc our fave duo is on their version of "breaking up" or whatever u guys call it. Also, characters would often use "this" or "that" because they can't even label their own fucked up relationship. LOL. Just mind the warnings though. Very emotionally heavy and flashback heavy part of the story. I don't have a mood board for this chapter but this was heavily inspired by this song:

No pressure tag 💕 @rei-is-still-here @potter-solomons @feveredvisions @tickettride @lovebydaylite @dreamygirli3 @rach5ive (let me know if u guys want to be added as well 🥰)

Previous Part

Part 7 - Parental Figures

"We are live in 3, 2, 1!"

In front of the camera, what everyone sees is the Eddie Brock who is the charming fiancé, the fearless journalist, or the guy who always seems to have it all together. He is all smiles for the camera and for the people who recognize him walking down the streets of San Francisco.

What they do not know is he is internally screaming inside.

Four months before the wedding. A month after he and Izzy last talked and saw each other. He was restless. Eddie sat at his desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, yet his thoughts were miles away from the article he was supposed to write. The cursor blinked mockingly at him, like a reminder of all the deadlines he was missing, all the expectations he was failing to meet. After some time of inactivity, unable to type at least a word, the picture of him and Anne as his screensaver popped up, his laptop in idle. He let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his disheveled hair before slamming his laptop shut.

He tried to act all fine around her, giving the fiancé she once had, but it was the small things that caught her attention. Eddie buried himself in work even at home, never taking his eyes off his laptop, though he never seems to accomplish his deadlines on time.

When it came to the wedding preparations, he was a yes-man, well, more like a nod man. He was not at all enthusiastic about it. It became Anne's wedding rather than theirs. When she asked for Izzy's help with Eddie, he did become more present. He was at home early; he was able to attend all the necessary appointments they had, and most importantly, sex was back on the table. However, the man she loved was on autopilot. He was navigating life with her; their love boat was sailing, but Eddie, himself, was not there.

His heart was not there, it was with Izzy, and she was more absent in his life than she ever was before, even though he knew she was just one car drive or bike ride away.

His newfound best friend was an unexpected one: a bottle of whiskey and drinking it over the kitchen counter.

It wasn’t his style—he wasn’t the type to drown his sorrows in alcohol—that tonight, it felt like the only option. He drank on several occasions, mostly for the happy ones like boys' night out or when Izzy forced him to finish a bottle of beer during their movie nights. He did not like drinking during his down mood since it reminded him so much of his father, though it seems like as the days go by, the more he understands the numbing effects it has for the emotional fucking boulder he's been carrying inside.

"Eddie?" Anne called.

"Yeah?" He answered flatly.

He did not even spare a glance and it prompted her to step closer, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the man she used to know.

“Are you okay? This is the third night you've been drinking. Is there something wrong?”

Hell yeah something's wrong. Everything. He thought.

Instead, let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “Just tired,” he muttered, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease.

“Eddie, I—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Look, Anne,” he hissed. “Can we not fucking do this right now? I don't want to talk!”

She flinched, biting her lip as she nodded, retreating from the room. Eddie closed his eyes, the guilt washing over him in waves. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to push her away. But every time he tried to stay present, to focus on her, all he could think about was Izzy. He took out his phone, typing another message to send her, knowing like the ones he had sent days before would end up ignored like this one as well.

Then he heard a sobbing noise coming from their bedroom...

Eddie sighed heavily, closing his eyes as the guilt crashed over him in waves. He hadn’t meant to hurt her and for a moment, he stared at the empty glass in his hand. He knew his emotions got the best of him again, and how is he going to explain his unreasonable outburst tonight? Setting the glass down, he followed her into the bedroom, as he saw Anne was sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping away her tears. He stood in front of her, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. Eddie leaned in, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that was more apologetic than affectionate.

He was trying to convince himself as much as her that he wanted this and Anne she leaned into it, her hands reaching up to rest lightly on his arms. As if suddenly, everything between them was okay and he was still hers. Her fingers were slowly undoing his buttons, Eddie mentally sighed in defeat knowing where this would lead.

That night, all he could ever think about was Izzy. He had sex with his fiancé as passionate as apologies can be that night with his eyes closed. He had sunk to a new low, using the woman who loved him to chase the ghost of the one he couldn’t have. But he can't bring himself to do so without it. His best friend's pomegranate-tasting lips, the way her body moved in perfect rhythm with his, the way she moaned his name—he longed for all of it. Afterwards, as Anne lay beside him, the bliss came crashing down on him once again.

Anne is the woman he was going to marry. The woman he'll spend the rest of his life with. But there's this constant uneasy feeling whenever he touches her, it feels like he was cheating on Izzy instead.

Eddie stared at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts once again. The last words Izzy spoke to him that night before she left replayed on his mind.

"Don’t come to the mansion, Eddie. I know you’ll try, and my parents won’t turn you away since they love you like their own. But I will. If I see you near that house, I swear to God, I’ll leave San Francisco again just to get away from you.”

Izzy had begged him, in her own way, to let her go. To stop clinging to what they had shared and to stop chasing a future that could never be theirs. But Eddie couldn’t. He loved her in a way that so consuming that left him hollow when she wasn’t there. And yet, he had chosen stability over chaos, predictability over passion—a choice he regretted more deeply with every passing day.

Since then, Eddie had been trying to reach her in every way he could—calls, texts, messages that varied from heartfelt to angry to pleading. But Izzy had gone silent, leaving him drowning in their goodbye.

Somewhere on the other side of San Francisco, Izzy was staring at the package that arrived a week ago. She did not want to open it since she already knew what it was. It was the dress and heels she bought using Eddie's credit card when they were still lovey dovey. It was a bittersweet reminder of the man, she was working so hard to avoid. She was not planning on going out that night yet she threw on the dres, wore the heels, and took a good look on the mirror inside her walk in closet. It looks so stunning. She imagined wearing this out with him, and felt a sting of pain in her chest again.

"Who says I can't wear this at home, huh?" she muttered to herself.

Izzy retreated back to her bed, still wearing the two grand worth of dress and heels, opened another tub of this artisanal popcorn her dad bought for her, and flipped through the TV for another all nighter of reality shows. She thought that at least the drama showing in her screen was paid for. The drama in her personal life was not.

"I'd like to get paid for being that dramatic." she grumbled, nose flaring, and popped another fistful of popcorn inside her mouth.

That was Izzy on a tamed night.

She carried her own burdens. Letting him go had been the hardest thing she had ever done, and yet she had done it, knowing it was the only way to save her bestfriend's engagement.

There were times she'd come home late and drunk from a party, wobbling her way up to her room. One time, her dad woke up cocking a gun at her when she accidentally broke a vase by stumbling upon it, thinking there was an intruder inside their house at 3AM. Turns out, it was their daughter who they barely recognized because of the smudged make up and messy hair. It got them worried. Usually, Eddie would bring her home in one piece, saving them both the head ache of dealing with their havoc of a daughter.

But what got them more concerned was when Izzy wouldn't come out of her room, obviously hurting. Her mom would wonder why it was almost past lunch time and she still has not come out of her room yet, seeing her deep asleep in her bed when she took a peak. Tubs of unfinished popcorn on the floor, crumpled can of sodas, and a salt covered blanket. All they can do was wait for her to open up.

That night. Bay Area.

She felt the numbness in her face creeping in as her jaw stayed tightly clenched. Izzy stood barely rigid, her fingers trembling despite her best efforts to steady them, her lips quivering with each confession.

She recounted everything. The conversation with Anne at the café—the guilt that had been breathing down her neck ever since, and the pain of realizing the role she had fully played in Anne’s heartbreak. The guilt she carried wasn’t just for Anne; it was for herself. For the ways she willingly stayed in Eddie’s life for so long and for the moments she knew she could have stepped aside but didn’t. She had taken something that wasn’t hers.

Her hands balled into fists, fighting the tremor that threatened to undo her entirely. Anne didn’t deserve the heartache she’d been dealt and Izzy knew that no words or apologies could make it better being the catalyst for it alll. When her words finally stopped, her gaze flicked towards Eddie, who was looking at her with an evident heart break and desperation. He knew where this was going and what has going through her mind, slowly nodding in defeat. His hand raked through his hair, leaving it tousled and even more disheveled as the wind blew through it, his gaze drawn toward the rippling water.

“Izzy, don’t do this,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “Whatever it is that we have, it’s not... it’s not just sex. You’re my best friend. You’re the only one who really gets me.”

“And that’s the problem, Eddie!” she burst out. “I shouldn’t be the one who gets you. She should. She’s supposed to be your fiancé, not me. This—” she gestured between them, her hands trembling—“this has to stop.”

She hated the heartbreak engraved into his features and the way she was standing here tearing his world apart even as her own crumbled beneath her. But she couldn’t stop knowing it was the right thing to do.

Izzy held her ground but Eddie knew her well enough to recognize the bravado she wore like an armor, but he also knew the trembling in her hands. And even from the pain of receiving her words, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer.

“You think ripping us apart fixes anything? None of us come out of this okay, Izzy. You don’t get to decide what’s best for everyone just because you feel guilty.”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered sharply. “Don’t you fucking dare say like guilt is all I feel. You think this is easy for me? Standing here, telling you it’s over, while everything in me is screaming to just... keep going?!”

Eddie froze. He knew it. Deep inside her, beyond her words, he knew Izzy did not want to end things between them.

“Why can’t you just let it be what it is?” he pleaded.

“Because what it is,” her voice trembling, “is already hurting her, Eddie. She doesn’t even got a clue how bad this shit is. Do you know what she said to me today? Huh? She said she loves you so much she doesn’t know how to reach you anymore. She’s begging me to help her understand you, Eddie, while I—” Her breath hitched as she broke off, shaking her head. “While I’m the bitch causing it.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. “You think she gets me like you do? You think she’s the one who keeps me together when everything’s falling apart? No, Izzy. It’s you. You’re the one I call. You’re the one who keeps me breathing when I can’t deal with the rest of it. It’s always been you.”

It was the gut wrenching fact that it was Izzy trying to save his relationship with Anne from falling apart that made her stomach churn. And as much as he wanted to fight, as much as he wanted to hold onto her, he knew she wasn’t wrong.

But that didn’t mean he could let her go. Not without a fight. Not without trying to make her see how much she mattered.

And somehow, Izzy knew how much Eddie clung to her, but she also knew the reality of their situation. They had to stop somewhere at sometime.

“It shouldn’t be me, Eddie. It should never have been me. She’s the one who signed up to love you. She’s the one planning a future with you.”

"You don’t get to say that, Izzy. You don’t get to decide that whatever this is doesn’t matter.”

“What I know is that it can’t go on anymore!” she snapped, tears pricking at her eyes. “Not when it’s built on lies and cheating. Damn it, Brock, don’t you see what we’ve done?”

His chest sighed as he stepped closer. “I see that I want you, Izzy. You have no idea how long I've waited. I wanted you since that night you kissed me for nothing."

Her breath hitched, the raw honesty in his words was breaking her stand but she couldn’t afford to soften up to him again. She was determined to make things right.

“You can’t just throw that in my face. You’ve already chosen her.”

“I didn’t choose her!” he growled, his hands flailing in the air like a frustrated lunatic. “I fucking settled, Izzy. All I ever wanted was you but you were never here.”

A scoff escaped her lips as she wiped her eyes using the back of her hands while shaking her head. It was painful to hear those words. Why now? Why not before when it was just the two of them?

“Eddie, you proposed to her. You promised her forever. And now you’re standing here, begging me to let you keep both of us like that’s something sustainable.”

“I’m not trying to keep both of you,” he muttered. “I’m trying to keep you."

Izzy tried so hard to keep herself to stand tall, her hands balled tightly at her sides, taking a deep breath, she said. “It's not me you should keep, Eddie.”

His voice dropped to a quiet broken whisper. “And what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Just... let you go?”

Her eyes glinted for the briefest moment, forcing herself to smile and nod slowly in confirmation.

There was a moment of silence that filled the space between them. Eddie’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths as he stared at her. He looked heart broken, hurt, and somehow in frustrated.

“You’re bailing out on me again,” he muttered. “You always do this, Izzy. Whenever things start to feel right, you find a way to blow it up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with her arms crossing defensively over her chest as she stepped closer. “Excuse me?” she shot back. “Are you seriously accusing me of bailing? Of all people?”

Eddie stepped even closer. “Yeah, I am. You did it before when you told me to find someone else who could give me the stability you didn’t think you could. And now, you’re doing it again.”

Izzy let out a harsh laugh, her head shaking as she jabbed a finger into his chest, her voice trembling with anger. “Fuck you, Brock.” she spat. “Let’s get one thing straight—I didn’t bail. I told you to find someone who deserved you because I wasn’t about to play house with you.”

“And there it is... You keep throwing me fucking scraps—just enough to keep me close—and then you yank it all away when it gets too fucking real for you.”

Her hands dropping to her sides as she took a deep breath to calm herself. “You want to know why I’m doing this, Eddie? Because Anne asked for my help. Because you couldn't hold it together!"

“Izzy,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “Don’t—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You don’t get to tell me not to do this. She loves you, Eddie. She’s trying so so so hard to hold on to you, and you’re not giving her anything to hold on to. And I can’t—I won’t—be the reason she loses you.”

In that moment, as much as he wanted to fight back, to make her see that she was wrong, deep down, he knew she wasn’t. Izzy had chosen for him since she knew his answer.

A week later, the wedding preparations were in full swing since the date was closing in. Over the chinese take out containers, Anne handed Eddie this huge wedding binder she carefully crafted from her childhood imaginations to Pinterest wedding ideas. He was skimming through the book when Anne asked something that struck a nerve.

“I know you’ve already asked Izzy’s parents to stand in,” she began, his hands stilling as he registered the direction this was heading. “But... wouldn’t it be better if your dad came instead?”

Eddie hesitated, his grip tightening on the edge of the binder as he met her gaze. She didn’t know the full story—the depth of the rift between him and Carl, the years of anger and silence that he endured.

“The Knights have always been there for me. They treated me like their own when I didn’t have anyone else. It's only right to include them.”

“I understand that,” she said gently. “And I’m not saying they don’t mean a lot to you. I just wonder if... I don’t know, if tying them so closely to this part of your life could be complicated.”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “Complicated how?” he asked.

“It’s just... they’re Izzy’s parents,” she said finally. “And I know you’ve been close to her for as long as I’ve known you, but... doesn’t it feel a little... off?”

“They’re more than just her parents to me,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “They were my family when my own father wasn’t there. That man can't even drag himself to my own graduation.”

The heavy emotions were starting to take over him again as he forced himself to take a deep breath before he continued. “It’s not something I need to reconsider,” he said, his voice softer now. “The Knights are my family. And that’s final.”

Anne nodded slowly, her gaze softening as she took in the tension etched into his features. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I understand..”

An awful amount of awkward silence filled their apartment and Eddie did not care. Carl Brock was a sensitive topic to him. He had to learn how to live without a loving parent because of that man, and he refuses to bring him in his wedding.

The next day, after a long day of work, Eddie was driving back to their apartment. The conversation he had with Anne regarding his father kept replaying on his mind, and he remembered that specific memory during their High School graduation.

He was standing alone in the auditorium, clutching his cap nervously, waiting for his name to be called. It was their high school graduation. His eyes scanned across the venue, each student had their own parents and guardians to come up with them on stage, yet his own father was nowhere to be found. He was still holding unto the tiny bit of hope that Carl would somehow show up there and be with him.

Izzy knew his father did not show up again. She’d been furious—not just at Carl’s absence, but at the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make an excuse. He hadn’t called, hadn’t sent a message, hadn’t done anything to acknowledge his son’s achievement. Her eyes constantly peaked to her best friend's seat, seeing how he was still hoping that his father would miraculously swoop in.

"Edward Charles Allan Brock." his name was called up stage.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking deep breath to brace himself from the humiliation of having to receive his medals and diploma alone. No one there to accompany him, no one to share his achievement with. He moved forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. While walking slowly up the stage, he felt an arm loop around his, his eyes immediately flicked to see who was it.

It was Izzy's mom.

"I hope you don't mind, sweetheart." she said, giving him a soft smile similar to Izzy's.

He felt a heavy yet warm tap on his back and saw Izzy's father standing on his other side. "We're proud of you, son."

Eddie felt like his heart was going to burst. He did not expect Izzy's parents to step in as his. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—not just the presence of someone, but them. Izzy's parents. The two people who had always been there for him, treating him like he was one of their own, even when his own father couldn’t be bothered.

When they walked him across that stage, for the first time, Eddie didn’t feel alone. He didn’t feel like the kid abandoned by his dad. He felt loved, supported—like he mattered. From her seat, Izzy was a force of nature. Holding the camcorder with shaky, excited hands, she cheered so loudly it echoed across the auditorium.

“That’s my best friend! Go get it, Brock!” she yelled, her voice full of pride, her energy infectious.

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the lump in his throat. Typical Izzy—always there to lift him up, even when he didn’t ask for it.

As the ceremony ended and the three of them walked off stage, Eddie found himself glancing back at Izzy’s parents. He didn’t have the words to thank them—not properly, anyway. All he could do was nod, swallowing the emotions threatening to spill over. But they didn’t need words. The way Mrs. Knight squeezed his arm and the proud gleam in Mr. Knight’s eyes said everything. They celebrated with him afterwards, even got him a graduation gift as well.

When the Knights dropped Eddie off at Carl’s house later that evening, Izzy’s anger boiled over. She didn’t wait for Eddie to say goodbye or for her parents to drive away. She stormed out of the car, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she marched toward the front door.

“Izzy, wait—” Eddie called after her, but she didn’t stop. Her dad started to follow, his protective instincts kicking in, but her mom grabbed his arm, shaking her head. “Let her handle it,” she said softly.

Inside, Izzy didn’t waste a second. She found Carl lounging on the couch, a beer in hand, the TV blaring some sports game. He barely glanced up when she entered.

“Are you kidding me?” she snapped. “You didn’t even show up. Eddie was waiting for you. Do you even care about your son?”

“Who the hell are you to barge in here and talk to me like that? Is he just following you around like a dog now? Who do you think you are, coming in here and running your mouth?” Carl hissed, face darkened, his grip tightening on the beer bottle.

For a young woman, freshly graduated from high school, Izzy’s fury ignited like a match. She was not taking this sitting down. Not with Eddie who deserved so much more than this. Her heart was broken just by seeing his face earlier.

“Dog? You call your own son a dog?" she scoffed. “Then you are a pile of dog shit, Carl. You don’t deserve to call yourself his father.” she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

There was not any ounce of respect left with her words. Carl then stood, towering over her, Eddie burst through the door, his heart pounding. “Dad, stop—” he started, but his father's hand was already raised, his anger boiling over.

The slap came fast, but Eddie moved faster. He stepped in front of Izzy, taking the blow himself. Izzy's eyes widened at the scene. The sting burned across his cheek, but he didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, his eyes locked on his father’s.

“Don’t you ever touch her,” Eddie said, his chest heaving. “You want to hit someone? Hit me. But don’t you dare lay a hand on her.”

Carl stared at him for a moment before scoffing and turning away. “Get the hell out of my house,” he muttered, collapsing back onto the couch.

But Izzy wasn’t done. She grabbed Eddie’s arm, pulling him toward the door. As they reached the doorway, she paused, her grip on Eddie’s arm tightening. She turned back to Carl, her gaze sharp, and without a word, she reached for a vase sitting on a nearby table—a harmless, decorative piece—and hurled it to the ground. The shattering sound caused a raucous as her final act of defiance that left Carl staring at her in stunned silence.

She didn’t say anything else. The look she gave Carl said it all: You’re a worthless piece of shit.

Outside, half way in the front lawn, Izzy spun around to face Eddie. Her hands reached for his face, her fingers brushing gently over the red mark blooming on his cheek. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she pouted. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice cracking. “It was meant for me. I could’ve taken it.”

He chuckled softly despite the sting on his face. “I’m the one who got slapped, and you’re the one crying?” he teased.

Izzy’s lip quivered as more tears spilled over, and she pouted like a stubborn child. “Your dad is a horrible man,” she said, her voice breaking as she tried to hold herself together. But she couldn’t, especially when it came to Eddie.

Eddie’s heart ached at the sight of her like this. Izzy was the strongest person he knew, someone who rarely cried, who took on the world as lightly as she can, laughing her way out of the most ridiculous situations. But here she was, her tears falling freely—not for herself, but for him. And that, more than anything else, was what broke him.

Her parents stepped out of their car, the urgency in their steps shifting to alarm the moment they saw Eddie’s face. Her mom gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she took in the sharp red mark on his cheek. Her dad’s expression hardened, restraining his anger as he approached them. Their questions poured as Izzy answered through stifled sniffles. It was a no-brainer for them—they couldn’t let Eddie go back to a house like that. Without hesitation, they told him they would cover his dorm expenses and any other needs he’d have in college, just to ensure he wouldn’t have to endure his father’s cruelty again.

Eddie froze, caught completely off guard by their offer. It was too much, too kind—something he didn’t think he could possibly accept. Shaking his head, he started to protest. But before he could get much further, Izzy broke down. She yelled at him.

“Just take it!” she yelled. “Don't be a dumbass and choose yourself for once!”

Eddie looked at her, really looked at her—at the way her face was streaked with tears, her lip trembling as she pleaded with him. She wasn’t just crying for him; she was crying because of him, because she couldn’t stand to see him hurt anymore. No one advocated for Eddie the way Izzy did at that moment.

“Alright. Stop crying.” he said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

As he pulled up to the apartment, Eddie shook his head, exhaling deeply with a faint smile tugging at his lips. No matter how much time passed, he could never think of that day without feeling indebt to Izzy’s parents since they had been more than just stand-ins—they’d become his own family in ways Carl never could. And Izzy, as stubborn as she is, had always been his number one. His chest ached, considering how distant they both are now.

Sliding the key into the lock, Eddie stepped inside the apartment, tossing his keys onto the counter, and running a hand through his hair as he closed the door behind him. The place smelled faintly of takeout, and he braced himself for another round of wedding discussions with Anne, his mind already beginning to shut down from the exhaustion of the day.

But then he saw him.

Sitting on the couch, legs casually spread and an empty beer bottle balanced on one knee, was Carl Brock.

Eddie suddenly can't move his legs.

His father looked older now but he was still carrying the condescending smirk he hated. For a moment, Eddie thought he was hallucinating, the ghost of his childhood trauma sitting in his living room, but then their eyes met.

“Well, if it isn’t the golden boy,” Carl drawled, gesturing lazily with his bottle. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

Literally, he was too stunned to speak.

But before he could say anything, Anne appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly. “Honey,” she started, “I invited your dad.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched, his chest tightened as emotions he’d tried so hard to bury began clawing their way to the surface. The apartment suddenly felt smaller around him as he stared at Carl, the man who had caused him so much pain, sitting smugly in the middle of his couch, drinking his beer as if nothing ever wrong happened between them.

He couldn’t decide which hurt more—the past he couldn’t escape, or the betrayal of the person who had brought it into his home.

“You’re looking good, kid. Thought it was about time we had a little chat.”

As if his father's words were an unpleasant smoke breezing through his ears, Eddie didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him. His eyes immediately sought Anne, standing in the corner of the room.

“What is that doing here?” he asked coldly.

Anne flinched slightly at his tone but stood her ground. “I invited him,” she said, trying to meet Eddie’s gaze but failing. “I thought it was about time the two of you talked. He’s staying for a few days so you can... fix things.”

He didn’t look at him. His eyes were focused on Anne as she explained her decision, but Eddie could not hear her words. All he could hear was the loud thump of his heart from the anger bubbling up from a place so deep he almost didn’t recognize it. She brought him here. How ironic considering he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with the woman who was reviving his deep seated trauma. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he finally looked at Carl.

Fucking ridiculous.

“Fix things? Really?” he said with disdain as he turned back to Anne. “He’s not welcome here. You should’ve talked to me before doing this.”

“Eddie, he’s your father. I just wanted to give you both a chance to—” she pleaded.

“To what? You don't get to make that call, Annie.” Eddie snapped, cutting her off. “He doesn’t care about fixing anything. He never has.”

The years of buried resentment, the disappointment, the anger—it was all in the surface now, demanding to be acknowledged. His father’s presence felt suffocating, and Anne’s attempt to reason with him only made it worse.

Carl chuckled then, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s no way to talk about your old man,” he said, shaking his head mockingly. “Especially when your dear fiancé went out of her way to include me in your life. Funny though—you didn’t even tell me about your wedding plans. Imagine my surprise when I hear you’ve got that girl’s parents standing in for me.”

“You don’t get to talk about them,” Eddie hissed, trying to keep his composure. “They’re more of a family to me than you’ll ever be.”

Anne stepped forward, trying to talk some sense into her fiancée. “Eddie, please. He’s your father. At least try to show him some respect.”

Carl’s smirk widened at her words. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if enjoying the show. “I see your ‘friend’ has been rubbing off on you,” he said, his gaze fixed on Eddie. “How is she, by the way? Izzy?”

Eddie’s fists clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled with tension. The mere mention of her name coming from Carl’s mouth felt like someone had dumped gasoline onto the fire already burning inside Eddie. He was already sensitive just thinking about her, now he has to hear her name coming of out his father's mouth. He has been struggling to keep himself together without Izzy for more than a month now, and somehow, the universe found another way to fuck him over.

He was shaking in anger.

"Keep her name off your fucking mouth." Eddie growled.

As if Carl expected this reaction from his son, he leaned back with his legs spread, the beer bottle still dangling lazily from his hand, his smile widening.

“See, Annie?” Carl said, dragging Anne into his game without hesitation. “This boy’s been wrapped around his best friend’s finger since they were kids. Following her around, doing whatever she wanted him to do. I said this before but, it's pathetic, really.”

Eddie clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, his lips pressed into a hard line, and when he spoke again, his voice trembled with the effort it took to keep himself calm. “Get out."

But Carl wasn’t finished. Of course he wasn’t. “You’d be surprised, Annie,” Carl continued, his eyes locked on Eddie. “The things my boy will do for that girl. It’s almost funny.”

It wasn’t funny. It was cruel. Eddie felt the words hitting him like punches, each one targeting the weakest, most vulnerable parts of him. The room blurred slightly as his emotions took over him. He couldn’t stay—not with Carl’s presence polluting the air, not with Anne standing by him like he deserved to be there.

I can’t be here. I can’t breathe. Finally, Eddie snapped.

His voice rose, unrestrained and raw, as he turned to Anne, the betrayal still stinging like salt in an open wound. “Annie!” he shouted. “If that man is not going, I will.”

Carl chuckled softly that wasn’t just mocking—it was dismissive, like Eddie’s anger was beneath him and it didn’t matter. Anne’s hesitation only made things worse. She looked at Eddie, her gaze pleading, but her words felt like the final nail in the coffin. “It’s late,” she said gently. “I promised Carl he could stay. It’s for your own good—a path to healing.”

Healing.

The word twisted in Eddie’s mind. There was no healing here—not with Carl, not with the man who had torn him down at every opportunity. Without another word, he turned sharply, grabbing his leather jacket, his helmet, and his keys. The door slammed behind him. He was done. He stormed down the stairs to his bike, his heart pounding, his mind racing. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t breathe. He was trembling but pushes to hold himself together.

Back in the apartment, Anne froze. She glanced at Carl, unsure of what to say or do. But the old man shrugged and said, “Let him be,” lounging back on the couch like he had every right to be there. “He’ll come home. He always does.”

His bike roared down the empty streets of San Francisco over the speed limit. He screamed his anguish into the void along the howl of the engine. He was angry. At Carl, for tearing open old wounds. At Anne, for betraying him in ways she couldn’t even understand. At the world, which can't seem to give him a break. His life should’ve been going well. He had a career, a home, a fiancé, a wedding on the horizon, and a best friend. Yet, piece by piece, it felt like it was all crumbling around him. The streets blurred past him, and he didn’t care where he was going. He just wants to be away from his father as far as possible.

That same night, Izzy was preparing herself to go to bed, tying her hair into a loose knot as she got ready for sleep. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she reached for it lazily, not expecting much at this hour. But when she saw Eddie’s name on the screen, she immediately straightened.

My father’s back.

That’s all it said.

"Fuck." she muttered. She didn’t need more details to understand the gravity of the message. She wasn't speaking to him for more than a month now but this time, without hesitation, she typed back:

Send me your location.

Her cab halted at the same place they last saw each other: at the bay area. She quickly crumpled a bill on the driver's hand as the bolted out of the vehicle. His motorbike was parked there. She walked around the damp sand, while the cold night wind blew through her dark locks. Good thing she was already wearing her oversized hoodie and sweat pants to fight the cold.

There he was. Eddie.

He was sitting there alone in the sand, curled into himself. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was loud but she can hear the uneven sound of his crying. Her best friend was a proud, solid bull yet there he was, crying alone in the middle of the night, where no one could see him or hear how broken he felt. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see how far he’d fallen.

Izzy ran towards him without hesitation as she dropped to her knees beside him, the cold sand biting through the fabric of her sweatpants, but she didn’t care. Wrapping her arms around his shaking frame, she pulled him close, burying her head against his shoulder. The faint, familiar scent of wild honeysuckle perfume enveloped them. He didn’t need to look up to confirm it was her. The moment he felt her embrace, he broke even further, his sobs coming harder, heavier. She tightened her grip, her lips pressing against the top of his head in a soothing kiss.

“Let it out,” she whispered. “You’ve been strong for too long, Brock. It’s okay to cry. Just let it out.”

Eddie clung to her, his muffled voice shaking as he finally spoke. “Anne... invited him,” he choked out, his head still buried against her shoulder. “She invited him to the apartment.”

Her heart was breaking for him again, but she didn’t ask for more. She didn’t need the details. Whatever had happened, whatever had pushed him to this point, she knew it wasn’t something he could face right now. She took a deep breath to compose herself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmured, her hand running gently along his back. “There’s no way I’m letting you go back there. You’re coming home with me to the mansion."

His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as if she were the only thing keeping him together. His fingers clutched at the fabric of her hoodie, holding onto her like a lifeline. Izzy sighed deeply, pressing another kiss to his temple. She had avoided him for weeks now, keeping her distance out of respect for his engagement to Anne. But seeing him like this, so shattered and vulnerable—there was no way she could turn her back on him. Not now. Not ever.

The waves continued their relentless dance against the shore, but for Eddie, the only sound that mattered was her whispered reassurance and the steady beat of her heart against his ear.

It was her who advocated for him then. She fought his battles even though he did not need her to. And now, even without realizing it, she was saving him again, bringing him back to the version of himself he had nearly forgotten. Eddie felt like himself again with Izzy in his arms. All because of her.

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veryace-ficrecs · 3 days ago

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The Pitt Fic Recs Part 1

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

This Is The Day In Chaos by NameStartsWithN - Rated G

As the Pitt descends into its usual chaos, Dr Robby brings coffee and encouragement to his beleaguered team. Samira Mohan and Dennis Whittaker bond, while Mel King finally makes a joke -- intentionally!

The Dead Don’t Answer by NameStartsWithN - Rated G

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch learned a long time ago that death isn’t quiet—it’s a symphony of chaos, a brutal soundtrack of screaming monitors, cracking ribs, and the rush of hands fighting the inevitable. At Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, there are always calls for help. Because the dead don’t answer. But the living don’t have a choice.

The Aftermath by AGirlHasNoName20 - Rated T

Two weeks after Pittfest, Robby is presented with a choice. Or: The one in which Robby starts therapy. Don't read unless you've watched the entire season 1.

Rules of Law by jumpfall - Rated G

The night Robby signed his attending contract, he was introduced to the Laws According to Adamson. He likes to hope that if he leaves his trainees with nothing else, it'll be the Addendums According to Robby. - Alternatively, is it really a fandom until there's a five things fic?

To Be A Doctor by mossterious -Rated G

Four student doctors. Four paths to get there. Four points of view. One hospital. — Aka I need to get used to writing different character povs SO HAVE SOME TINY CHARACTER STUDIES I GUESS?!

people come and go on the breeze by sweetmuses - Rated M

Redemption is a hard, long journey. She knows this probably better than most people. You have to keep yourself afloat amongst the madness, being acutely aware of tipping back into the ether. It’s easier to live within the boundless ocean of guilt than to take accountability - because to take accountability means that you’re willing to work for it, and there’s no way of knowing when you’ll slip up and fall.

Or: A reflection on the in-betweens of life, ghosts, and the human condition, through the eyes of Cassie McKay.

In Memoriam by fundotperiod - Rated G

How Robby has grieved and remembered his mentor.

Reflection by ZHH123 - Rated G

She thinks back on all the moments she almost couldn’t bear. The moments that prompted her to question if she belonged in the pitt. Then she thinks of her triumphs.

Last Call by jumpfall - Rated T

“Sorry if I woke you,” Robby says. Jack shrugs. “Middle of the day in my time zone.” He waits a beat, and then asks, “You want to talk?” “No.” “You want a drink?” “You'd allow that?” “No,” Jack says. “Just lets me gauge how concerned I should be.” – 1x15 episode tag.

The Pitt Crew! by megas217 - Rated G

Welcome to the Pitt Crew a story about the doctors and nurses who work in the Pitt.

Sursum Corda by Celebratory Penguin (cpenguing) - Rated M

A few hours after Pittfest, Langdon returns to the ED.

The Way, Way Back by jumpfall - Rated T

Robby, post 1x13.

And I Said Nothing by elpopooley66 - Rated T

Trinity Santos is not okay. She’s never really been okay. But she’s held herself together this long — on caffeine, adrenaline, and silence sharp enough to cut. The Pitt sees it. Langdon sees it. And for once, maybe she lets herself be seen. They don’t fix her. They just don’t leave. Sometimes, that’s enough. Featuring: unresolved trauma, a lobster named Greb, a borrowed hoodie, and the terrifying prospect of letting someone care. Or: the one where she stops pretending she’s fine — and someone finally calls her bluff.

what a weight to live under by shirelings - Rated T

Mel’s convinced she’s made it to the door without anyone noticing her before a voice stops her dead in her tracks. “Dr. King.” It’s said in that sort of way that’s not really a question even if someone else would frame it like that, and Mel lets her shoulders rise up a little towards her ears as she slowly turns. Oh, boy. - Mel does, in fact, talk to Abbot at the end of the day.

Change of Watch by jumpfall - Rated T

When Robby's phone vibrated twenty minutes ago, he'd been dealing with a critical GSW to the adbomen and unable to answer. Now there's a voicemail from Jake.

Even Grouches Need to Go to the Hospital by lolathatch - Rated T

Trinity Santos finds a video of Doctor Robby from his younger days and makes it everyone's problem.

singing in unison by dotsayers - Rated M

Leah's sick the night before Pittfest. Robby gets his ticket back.

just a drop of water in an endless sea by evening_spirit - Rated G

Robby’s going to be fine, a rational part of Frank’s mind says. You’re the last person Robby needs right now, says another part, the one that hates himself. But Frank saw the look in Robby’s eyes and he knows that Robby is not fine. Not this time. And no one else will help. But should it be him? Maybe he should go get Dana? Abbot? Damn, if at least Collins was here. But Collins is not here, Dana doesn’t have anything more to give and Abbot is a pragmatic, a doer, not someone who would comfort another. Then again, neither is Frank. Or--a 1x13 coda where Frank and Robby talk, but it doesn't really solve anything.

Aftershocks by jumpfall - Rated T

Ways they are (and aren't) coping with the mass casualty incident.

living weighs heavier by Antumbra - Rated T

Maybe none of them were ever meant to be alright, not once they’d chosen to devote themselves to this career that could only tear them down and break them apart. Or: an alternate take where Jack finds Robby after his breakdown.

#veryace recs #the pitt #the pitt max #doctor robby #michael robinavitch #heather collins #dana evans #jack abbot #frank langdon #dr. mel king #trinity santos #cassie mckay #victoria javadi #dennis whitaker #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3 #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fic

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iinksplatserver · 2 days ago

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iinksplat!—a server run by writers, for writers.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

What is iinksplat?

iinksplat is a server dedicated to writers connecting with each other and promoting their work! Our server is open to not just fanworks—we welcome original works; including but not limited to: poetry, short stories, novellas, books, songwriting, etc.! While this server is geared towards writing, we do welcome other creators :) we have channels for photography/pictures and art.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

If that was enough to catch your eye and make you want to give it a try (see what I did there?), you can click HERE to check out our server!

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

But if that’s not good enough for you, read below the cut to learn more about our server !!

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

You just sound like every other writing server… is there anything that I might like?

Sure! In our server we have bots like Sprinto to help writers overcome writer's block and to help them get things done. We also have helpful staff who are willing to go the extra mile to answer your questions, resolve any problems for you, or make sure you’re included! And finally, we have what we like to call fandom spaces.

Well, what are these ‘fandom spaces’?

I’m glad you asked! Fandom spaces are channels in our server specific to fans of a media where they can share fics, ideas, headcanons, gifs, rambles— well, really anything.

See how little we have? We’re hoping YOU can change that! Fandom spaces are available on request to be added to the category, and we’d love if you joined with some of your fellow fans so we can create one for you :)

Maybe that’s kinda cool. Still not sold though. Anything else?

Hmmm… well, the fandom spaces and the community are sort of our center pieces, but— we have 18+ rooms available for adult members (NSFW chats and proship chats, the roles to access these are available upon request!) to share general things or to promote their writing! We also have solid rules designed to help things stay civil in our server and to protect writers against evil AI… and these rules are open to suggestions! We have a wonderful team of staff who are open to any proposed rules you think would make the server better, but not just rules! We have tickets you can open for any kind of feedback, concerns, or suggestions you have for our server :)

Yeah, that’s boring; I meant COOL stuff?

Ohhh, I see now! Well, I'm here to inform you that we’re playing with the idea of doing various writing or prompt based (so our artist friends can join in) events! This helps our writers get more out there as part of a collective masterlist and gain more recognition when these masterlists roll out! Currently, server staff are thinking about both a May event and a summer (June through July or August) event!

Any last things you wanna add?

I mean, I think I dovered it all! OH oh OHHH WAIT! Did I forget to mention that we have a prompts channel to give you ideas when you’re running low—and best part about that yet? It’s completely open to everyone in the server so we can all share prompts we’d like to see written ;)

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

HERE is another invite link!

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

if you have any more questions, you can message @hiighlighterr on tumblr or @whatifiwasrosie on discord! happy writing :)

#writing #writer #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers and poets #ao3 writer #writer stuff #writer things #writing server #spn #fandom #writing community

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8turning · 3 days ago

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☆⠀⠀BYUN.EUIJOO — silent company !

shy ! shapeshifter ! ej x gn ! mortal ! reader ft. sunoo (enha) & yoonsung (8turn) ★ fluff. humor. uni au ★ wc 4281 + some text messages

warnings: ej is referred to as euijoo formally and as ej by friends. playful bickering/name-calling. prominent cursing. ej is a bit delusional (he's convinced you put a spell on him😭). proof skimmed. let me know if i missed anything!

... (🌏) — ji's computer ... if this fic possibly sounds familiar, you might have read it from my old blog. this isn't stolen. thank you ♡

if you enjoy, please consider reblogging

power. a simple word that can mean many things: power can be a skill; the power of being musically talented, the power of helping others when vulnerable.

power can be intangible; the power of fame, the power of smarts, the power of emotion.

with all of this, what truly is power? power is control. power is the ability to control. whether it be yourself or others, against the strong or the weak - if you have power, you will be on top.

power also comes in other forms; how a boss has power over a worker or a teacher has power over a student - or how a project has power over 45% of your final semester grade, apparently.

45 fucking percent? euijoo thinks to himself as he stares at his anthropology professor, absolutely stunned. the pencil he was twirling came to a halt as he gulped shallowly, his tense gaze drifting to his laptop in an attempt to calm his racing mind.

he needed to do well; that’s the first thought that flooded his mind as his teachers voice began to dull, his hands clamming up as he hastily opens a fresh document. euijoo felt his shoulders shake rapidly, a familiar voice right next to his ear. “ej! let’s be partners!”

“partners?” euijoo asks, his brows knitting together as he stares up at his friend from his seated position. only then does he notice the several other students in his course also standing, speaking around to those nearby.

“were you not listening? this is a group project - i want you in my group!” sunoo says excitedly, his hands returning to euijoo's shoulders to shake him once more.

“do you not remember what happened last time we partnered with each other? we almost got kicked out of the fucking class,” the older responds, his sentence coming out warped from the jerky movements he was enduring at the hands of sunoo.

“okay, we don’t talk about that. plus, we’ve grown, we’ve matured-”

“it was last year-”

“we’ve grown. we’ve matured,” sunoo enunciates, his head nodding with each word while euijoo rolls his eyes at his friend's antics. “we should find more people, too.”

“you know more people than i do; you can go find them,” euijoo says, his voice sounding uninterested as the signal for lecture ending sounds throughout the room.

“i always have to do all the work …” sunoo sulks as he leaves euijoo's side.

“maybe that’s why we failed that project last year!”

“we don’t talk about that!”

“he asked you to be in his group?” yoonsung asks as he sits across from you at a lunch table, the commons quiet as you two spoke.

“yeah ... when i told him i already partnered with you, he said we could both join,” you answer. you didn’t know sunoo very well, only noticing him when he would walk into class late or let out loud groans about assignments.

“what’d you say to that?”

“said i’d get back to him about it through some kind of social - figured i should talk it over with you first,” you smile.

“i mean, it’d give both of us a smaller workload splitting it between four people ...” yoonsung trails off, looking away and sighing dramatically as you chuckle.

“you wanna be in a group with them?” you ask, awaiting his confirmation or declination to the offer. with a nod of his head, he agrees, prompting you to attempt to contact sunoo.

“pretty sure i have his number from a past project from, like, freshman year ... maybe i can find him ...” you say out loud, yoonsung nodding along as he continues to eat.

“okay, how do you think we want to start?” yoonsung asks as he looks around the round table, speaking softly as others inhabit the campus library.

“who pays attention in class?” euijoo says, following yoonsung’s actions as he exchanges glances with everyone. when no one spoke up, embarrassed smiles were seen on everyone’s faces. “okay, so, we’re fucked.”

you chime in. “alright, uh, maybe we should just wing it and hope for the best?”

“not again ...” euijoo sighs, a light chuckle leaving him as he looks down at his keyboard.

“speaking from experience?” you ask, looking at the man before he glances up, a nervous blush on his cheeks as he smiles.

“ej. do not,” sunoo deadpans.

euijoo's eyes crinkle as his smile grows wider, tilting his head once again. “he doesn’t like when i talk about it,” he says.

“that bad, huh?”

“shut up!”

the table turned quiet - after the initial chaos of choosing a slides theme, everyone was working diligently.

euijoo couldn’t help the small glances he made in your direction as he shifted his gaze between his laptop screen and his notes. he found it very cute how one corner of your mouth would lift every now and then when you got stuck, then turn into a small smile once you solved your internal debate.

“sunoo, can you get the fuck off my slide,” you say, feigning anger as he laughs.

“i don’t like the color you chose, trust me, this will look way better,” he says, continuing to change all of your elements to bright yellow. “did you just delete my slide?!”

“there was nothing on it!” you say, laughing as he pouts in your direction, creating a new slide and moving off of yours.

euijoo couldn’t help but watch how you two interacted, wishing he could get along with you as easily as sunoo could. he swore his friend asked you on purpose, somehow knowing about the small crush he’s had on you for the past couple months.

was he obvious about it? if it was obvious, were you just oblivious? euijoo broke out of his thoughts when your phone dinged, that being the first noise made in the library in a while with the exception of pages turning and keyboard clicking.

“shit, i’m sorry guys,” you say, preparing to pack your bag. “i have to cover a shift, i’ll work on my slide more once i’m off.”

“where do you work? i can probably drive you if it’s far,” euijoo offers without hesitation, shocking himself slightly - you don't fail to notice the nervous glint in his eyes.

“it’s not far, just the flower shop a little past campus - thanks for the offer, though,” you smile, shoving your laptop into your bag before slinging it over your shoulder, offering small waves to everyone before leaving.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom, i’ll be back,” euijoo says, leaving his bag next to his chair and laptop open before heading into the back of the library.

thinking quickly, euijoo suddenly shrinks, his vision skewed as he becomes an ant and slipping underneath the crack of the library’s back door. thankful for his still-conscious human mind, euijoo looks around, making sure the coast is clear before transforming again, this time into a fluffy squirrel. with a deep breath, he swiftly climbs a nearby tree, jumping from branch to branch to try and find you walking away from the building.

he could vaguely make out your form, leaving the tree and hiding behind bushes to watch as you walked. he completely understood what he was doing right now was creepy, but he couldn’t help wanting to be near you, even if you didn't realize it was him.

he walks close behind, being sure to be cautious of other people on the sidewalk until you look down at your feet.

“aw, you’re cute!” you say to the small animal, and euijoo couldn’t help that his tiny heart started beating faster. “i’m sorry, i don’t have any extra food.”

euijoo just stared up at you, tilting his head to the side as he nodded. while the action wasn’t uncommon in day-to-day life, it was uncommon to see a squirrel respond in any way to such a statement.

your eyes widen, visibly confused. euijoo freaks out, ultimately choosing to run into a nearby bush and leave you crouched on the sidewalk.

“first crows are acting weird, and now squirrels?”

power. a simple word that can mean many things. power can be a skill; the power of articulation, the power of confidence.

power can be intangible; the power of love, the power of strength, the power of vulnerability.

with all this, what truly is power? power is control. power is the ability to control. whether it be yourself or others, against the strong or the weak - if you have power, you will be on top.

what hinders euijoo the most is that his power is something he must always be quiet about. you can boast about fame or money, you can brag about your skills or your smarts; he wasn’t allowed to talk about his - even past death.

euijoo sat in his university’s cafe, laptop open to his empty presentation slide while his form slouched in an uncomfortable chair. his eyes felt heavy as they bored into his computer, the dimmed screen not doing much to keep him alert as his fingers toyed with the small bundle of daisies he held.

deciding to call it a night, euijoo shoves his computer into his bag and daisies into his jacket pocket, making his way towards the door of the cafe and beginning the small commute to his dorm room.

sometimes, euijoo absolutely adored his unwanted power; if he was hungry, he would shapeshift into a seagull or a crow when no one was looking, walk into a convenience store, grab something, and walk out. what was the clerk gonna do? chase down a bird over a bag of chips? no, and so, euijoo got home with a new snack.

but other times, he dreaded his power. wanting nothing more than to hide away forever, never being able to change again. he doesn’t remember when or how he got to this point, all he remembered was that he was having a nice dream about a dog he saw at a dog park, then when he awoke, he was covered in golden fur, a tail wagging behind him and his nose now a prominent snout between his eyes.

after the sudden shock, he thought of himself again, and poof - he was back to his normal self, anxiously laying against his mattress with wide eyes as he looked down at his hands.

over time, euijoo was able to learn about the regulations and rules that came with this power:

firstly, he could only shift into other living things. animals, bugs, if it has a respiratory and nervous system, he could become it.

he couldn’t shift into a different person. whatever granted me with this shit doesn’t like identity theft, i guess, euijoo thinks to himself as he continues down the sidewalk.

whatever he was holding and wearing would disappear into thin air, as well as be on his body again once he transformed back. i can somehow defy the laws of physics?

he couldn’t shift into anything that was bigger than himself. but with his stature, that wasn’t much of a limitation. he couldn’t think of a single instance he would need to become an elephant or a giraffe; at least not yet, he supposes.

he drags himself up the stairs, skipping every other step before walking towards his dorm. closing the door swiftly, dropping his bag from his shoulder as it hits the floor with a loud thud, curses falling from his lips at the possibility of his computer breaking on impact.

he couldn’t care less, not in the mood to work on his stupid anthropology assignment as he lays across his bed, limbs fully extended and dangling off the mattress. his face was mushed into the pillow, exasperated sighs being muffled into the material before his phone dings, his sighs turning into a slightly aggravated groan.

reaching his hand into his pants pocket, he pulls out the device, the screen illuminating his dark dorm room.

euijoo shuts his phone off, not needing to be a part of the conversation between his group members any longer. a thought plagued his mind: if you were going to the cafe to work with them, would he have walked all the way back?

he hated the fact that his answer was most likely yes.

what got into him? you were just another student in his class. at least, that’s what he's been trying to tell himself these last few months.

you were special, he knew it. you had to be like him; you had to possess something similar to him that made him feel a magnetic pull, that’s the only logical reason he feels gravitated towards you.

he turns over on his bed, staring into his tiled ceiling as he purses his lips. should i work on the project by myself? i mean, i haven’t even done my introductory slide yet, euijoo thought to himself. with a heavy sigh, he lifts himself from his bed, grabbing his bag and sitting at his desk.

“thank god,” he says as he opens his laptop once again. “not broken…”

“y/n, are you able to do your part soon? if not, i’m willing to take on a bit more,” yoonsung says from beside you in the crowded hallway.

“i can get it done,” you start, offering him a small smile as you maneuver yourself around the mass of people. “they keep having me stay later on my shifts ... it’s getting on my nerves.”

“i’m sorry. again, i can take over some of your parts! i don’t mind,” he says with a smile. “i’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

you nod, watching as he walks ahead towards another group, all welcoming him with smiles as you push open your building’s doors. it was colder than usual, the normally humid air feeling crisper, the sun barely visible through the dense clouds.

your hands remain in your pockets as you make your way over to the small flower shop across campus, already being able to make out the colorful bouquets you displayed just the day before.

although sometimes you feel like they’ve taken advantage of your kindness when it comes to working longer hours or taking over shifts, you did enjoy your time there. meeting the different people, arranging bouquets for different occasions, even sometimes hearing someone's story of love or loss; it makes your job a bit more interesting.

as the automatic doors open, you take in a deep breath, the somewhat overwhelming scent of flowers and other greenery filling your nose as a small smile graces your features. you toss your bag into the backroom, grabbing your apron and sliding it over your clothes, tying it around your waist before making your way behind the small counter.

it felt much nicer in the shop than outside, the fresh smell overtaking your senses as you inhale deeply. you look down at your hands, playing with your fingers out of boredom before the sliding doors open.

a shocked expression fell on your face; this was the third time this week this same crow - at least, you assume he's the same crow - had waltzed into the shop, made a b-line to the same bouquet of daisies, and looked in your direction before tilting his tiny head and leaving the store with a small bundle in his beak.

all you could do was watch as a crow steals your supply. there wasn’t much that you could do to prevent it; you didn’t have the heart to shoo him away. what if he was gonna give that to his crow partner? or maybe use it to decorate a grave like many others have bought flowers from you for?

in reality, just around the back of the shop and out of view of the bustling street and people on the sidewalk, that crow transforms into a person you’ve come to know, school attire on and his bag on his back. he pulls the small flowers from between his lips, the faint feeling of freshly sprayed water drops still on their stems as he removed them from his mouth.

he sighs to himself, trying to remember what brought him to this point; trying to remember how and when he started to fall for you. maybe you were some sort of sorcerer, you casted some admiration spell on him and that's why he couldn’t stop thinking about you for the last few months. that’s gotta be it, euijoo concludes as he moves to a small patch of dirt, digging a tiny hole and attempting to plant the daisies again.

“this isn’t gonna work …” he sighs, grabbing his water bottle from his bag and dripping it around the freshly planted bundle. he stands and tilts his head at the attempted gardening job, another troubled sigh leaving his lips as he heads out of the alcove he found himself in much more often than he would like to admit.

it was unfortunate for euijoo, truly - despite his attempts to cleanse himself of your spell, rid his mind of your person, and stop transforming into a damn crow to see you more often, he couldn’t bear to break the cycle.

he thought you looked adorable in your work apron, the shocked look you would show him when he would first waddle into the shop, only for it to turn into a small smile and a light chuckle by the time he left.

he couldn’t get enough. and he hated it.

today, he wanted to try something different; he didn’t want you to see him as some bird or squirrel, he wanted you to see him as him. and with newfound confidence, he started his new plan:

euijoo found himself smiling at the small interaction, quickly wiping his grin off his face once he caught himself. it’s just for class, dumbass, that’s why they agreed, he thinks, his flushed cheeks very obviously contradicting his thoughts.

if only he could see the smile you had plastered on your face once he responded.

surprising even himself, euijoo found that his pace walking to the cafe was faster than usual, eager to open the doors and find a table. would going to a secluded table be weird? he thinks, eyes shifting around the interior and other cafe-goers before deciding on a table near the front.

he sits, setting his bag next to him and pulling out his laptop, anxiously awaiting your arrival.

“a crow?” euijoo asks, looking at you in disbelief as you take notes, looking up from your paper with an unamused stare.

“yes, a crow!” you answer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “he comes in every day, and has been for a few weeks.”

“what does he do? just stare at you?”

“no, he comes inside the store, like- waits for the doors to open and walks inside, goes towards the daisies, picks some, looks at me as if he isn’t stealing from me in front of my eyes, then walks out! who does that?”

“crows, apparently.”

you laugh, a smile gracing both of your features as euijoo looks at you fondly; you continue: “it was a rhetorical question.”

“i know,” he says softly, looking back down at his slightly shaking hands above his keyboard, his screen blocking your view of them. “i’m just teasing.”

“tease someone else, then,” you say, your voice light as it fills euijoo's ears, your tone indicating you weren’t actually upset with his words. “i know what i saw.”

euijoo felt uneasy; how could you hide the fact you put a spell on him so easily? how could you seem to show no remorse for your actions? even when he knew it was simply a spell, he couldn’t help but feel warm inside whenever you smiled, how his mind seemed to cloud over whenever you called his name to catch his attention, or even your shy laugh and warm cheeks when you caught him staring.

he enjoyed those small instances so much, he wasn’t sure if it was the trance that made him think these things anymore.

“i’m not sure how convinced i am of your crow story, y/n,” he says, earning a glare from you as he tries to hide his smile. “might need to see it myself.”

“i have to go to work in a few minutes, i’ll show you the crow. i’m pretty sure it’s the same one every time, too,” you say, looking down at your note-filled paper in thought, raking your brain for any defining features of the black bird.

what the fuck would be a defining feature for a crow? you think, only to shake your head of the thought.

you begin packing your bag, watching as euijoo's eyes follow your rushed movements. “c’mon, don’t wanna miss the stupid bird.”

“hey, i’m sure the crow is smart,” euijoo replies, packing up his belongings into his bag. “he seems cool.”

“he’s a thief! do you want me to get fired from my job because of a bird?” you over-exaggerate, knowing that a few plucked daisies in the beak of a bird isn’t enough to jeopardize your job.

“oh, please,” euijoo says, his eyes feigning judgment as they glance up at you, your breath getting hitched in your throat from the small smirk he offered with it. “you won’t get fired, y/n. it’s not exactly ethical to charge a bird for daisies.”

“nice apron,” euijoo comments as he watches you emerge from the backroom, hands behind your back as you tie off its strings.

“thank you so much for that totally genuine compliment!” you say, sarcasm present in your tone that causes euijoo to chuckle as you go behind the front desk. “its uniform.”

“i assumed,” he says, his eyes shyly looking away from your form and around the plant covered shop. “it looks cute.”

you face flushes as you look at him, more specifically, the soft blush that fell upon his cheeks, his eyes still not meeting yours. “it’s just a black apron.” you reply.

“and? it’s cute on you,” he says smugly, titling his head as he looks at you, a smile on his face as he watches you play with your fingers. “what? that doesn’t get a ‘thank you so much for that totally genuine compliment’?”

“thank you for the compliment, ej,” you say, and you don’t fail to notice how his eyes change. they appear softer, the blush on his face becoming more apparent before he clears his throat, looking towards the sliding doors.

“where’s this crow that you were talking about? thought you said he always shows up at the start of your shifts,” you could sense that same teasing tone he had earlier when he questioned the validity of your statement at the cafe.

“i’m sure he’ll show,” you say, a pout present on your lips, and euijoo couldn’t help but silently coo at the action, finding it adorable.

time passes slowly, the sliding door never opening to reveal the feathered thief that graced your presence for the last handful of weeks. a sigh leaves your lips, accepting defeat before euijoo speaks.

“i was actually thinking about getting some flowers for my dorm; bring in some color. wanna show me some of your favorites?” he says, his request taking you out of your sulking state as you nod, moving onto the main floor with him following close behind.

you go over to some arranged displays, pointing out some of your favorite pieces and flowers, ranging from favorite smells to appearance. euijoo listens intently, enjoying the sight of your eyes lighting up when talking about the plants and how your smile seemed to shine brighter.

he didn’t mean to, but he stopped listening once he got caught up in how happy you looked explaining everything to him. “you okay?” you ask, your soft voice bringing him out of the trance he lost himself in, seeing as you held a small bouquet of hyacinths in your hands.

“i’m fine,” he answers, his eyes still offering you a gentle look. “it’s nice to see someone so excited about their job.”

“really? what do you do?” you ask curiously. euijoo reaches forward and gently takes the flowers from you, his fingers closing around yours for a brief moment before he examines them.

“just a video game shop in the mall, i don’t hate the job itself-” he pauses to look away from the flowers and hold eye contact with you. your eyes were trained on his and he felt himself falling back into his trance. “-i hate that i’m constantly surrounded by things i can’t afford.”

“no employee discount?”

“no, we have one,” he says, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he softly smiles. “i’d just rather not go broke. knowing myself i’d buy our whole stock in one sitting.”

you chuckle lightly, and euijoo couldn't help but smile when you turned back towards the flowers. “i think i’ll buy these - you have any other favorites?”

“wanna meet to work on the project again tomorrow?” you ask as you give him his small handwritten receipt, leaning over slightly on the counter.

“yeah, i’ll text the group,” he says with a smile, and he doesn’t fail to notice how your smile fell slightly before you quickly wipe it away. were they hoping it’d be just us again? euijoo questions as he tilts his head to the side.

“okay, i’ll see you then,” you answer softly, nodding as he exits the building with the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

you let out a breath of relief; it was nice to see euijoo in a non-school-related atmosphere, and watching as his form exits through those sliding doors made you feel a bit sad. you smile to yourself at the thought of seeing him again tomorrow, mindlessly fiddling with your fingers as they sit atop the counter.

you grab the small spray bottle from under the counter, walking away to spritz a few of the plants that lined the main floor and the walls. the sound of the door opening prompts you to turn around, preparing to welcome your new customer, only to be met with the black-feathered bird.

your lips purse into a thin line, sighing quietly before following behind the bird slowly so as to not scare it. “you couldn’t have shown up earlier like you normally do?” you say, the bird continuing his natural actions; picking a few daisies and preparing to leave. “i made a fool of myself because of you.”

the crow turns towards you as you crouch down in an attempt to get a better look at the bird, pulling your phone out and snapping a quick picture to prove it to your project partner. what shocked you was how calm he was, how he began to approach you slowly and dropping the plucked daisies by your feet; instead moving behind you to the counter, grabbing a small decorative paper card from a rotating display - and if birds were able to run - what he did would be classified as sprinting out of those same doors.

what the hell? you couldn’t help but stare as those doors close, the bird turning with the card in his beak and waddling away as if he didn’t change his routine ... mid-routine.

you pick up the daisies, twirling them in your fingers as one corner of your mouth lifts into a confused half-smile. standing again, you bring out an old book from the back, deciding it was best to press the plucked flowers.

you lay wax paper on each side of the book’s pages, placing the flowers between and closing the book, weighing it under the other books before walking back out onto the main floor.

behind the shop, in the same alcove he found himself in all too often, euijoo was sitting on the dirt ground, back against the cement wall with his face in his palms. his face was warm in his hands, leaning against his bent knees with his backpack and flower bouquet to his side.

he lifts his head, leaning it against the wall with a smile on his face. he was awestruck by how infatuated he became with you in such a short amount of time. you had him turning into a bird - a fucking bird - just so he would learn more about you - so he could see you more often.

he lets out a sigh, standing up and dusting off his jeans, grabbing his bag and the flowers, placing that small card in the bundle of flowers as he walks out of the alcove. his phone dings, pulling it out of his back pocket as he holds the device in his hands.

he chuckles to himself, looking at the picture you attached of him with the flowers in his mouth - his beak.

he smiles to himself, turning the corner and taking a quick peek through the unopened sliding door, catching a quick glimpse of you smiling down at the phone in your palms while you twirled the abandoned daily between your fingertips, and he couldn’t help but hope that smile was because of him.

he felt nervous as he stood in front of your dorm's door the next morning, the bouquet in his hands with the small note pushed between the array of flowers. he regretted writing in pen, thinking about the cringy “can i go out with you?” that he tried his best to neatly write.

he swallowed his worries as he knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the hallway before the door slowly opens. he hadn’t thought he came super early, but from the sight of you rubbing your tired eyes with the side of your hand and the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas, he thought he might have made a flaw in his timing.

“i-i’m sorry,” euijoo stutters out. “did i wake you?”

“nah, i needed to be up anyways,” you reassure him with a sleepy smile, euijoo didn’t quite believe you, but let it be. “was something wrong with the flowers?”

“oh! no, nothing’s wrong. they’re uh, they’re for you, actually,” he says, extending his arm a short distance as you do the same, taking the flowers from him with a smile.

“actually?” you say, smiling to yourself as you look down, noticing the small card. “they’re beautiful, almost as if i picked them out myself,” you comment, glancing up at him with a smug look as he just chuckles and looks down. his hands nervously shove themselves into his jacket pockets as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“you want me to go out with you?” you ask, although it was written clearly on the card now in your hand - very different handwriting from his anthropology notes - you still felt you needed confirmation.

“yeah, if you’d let me take you out,” euijoo confirms, his head lifting so his eyes could meet yours, a small but visible blush dusting his cheeks and ears. you smile, and in turn, euijoo smiles as well.

“i would love to,” you say, watching as his eyes light up at your answer.

“in that case, i will not text the group chat about meeting up to work on the project,” he says. “instead, would you maybe want to go to dinner with me?”

you nod quickly, and he swore the sight in front of him was the cutest thing he had ever seen.

do they have a power; what even is power? euijoo thought to himself as he watched you fill a vase with water and place the flowers inside softly. power is control. power is the ability to control. whether it be yourself or others, against the strong or the weak - if you have power, you will be on top.

maybe he was wrong; you weren’t a sorcerer who put an admiration spell on him. maybe you two aren’t as alike as he thought you were, but he knew for sure that you were not just another student in his anthropology course.

he knew you were special, not in the sense of supernatural powers, but in the sense of making yourself known in his heart and his mind. being able to have him bending over backwards and transforming species just to see you. you were special to him, and after today, he thought maybe he was special to you as well.

#&team fluff #&team x reader #&team fanfiction #andteam fluff #andteam x reader #andteam fanfiction #ej fluff #ej x reader #ej fanfiction #euijoo fluff #euijoo x reader #euijoo fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #(🐸) — mine.#.&team #.euijoo

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cruelsummerwhump · 2 days ago

Text

oh, hi! introducing to you-

Cruel Summer: A Taylor Swift Themed Whump Event

FAQ

Q: hey mari what the heck A: So a little while ago I put an interest check on my blog (@todaywasamaritale) to see who would be interested in a Taylor Swift whump event based on lyric prompts. By a slim margin the answer was yes, so I decided to go through with it!

Q: So what is this, exactly? A: Cruel Summer is a whump event just like any other whump event, the only difference being the theme. Each day, there’s a lyric prompt to write from (with some trope examples to help), as well as a couple alternatives you can choose from if a day’s prompt doesn’t suit you.

Q: I’m a writer, but what’s whump? A: Whump (like the sound) refers to writing where Bad Stuff Happens. Captivity, torture, experimentation, emotional distress, all of that falls under the big ol’ whump umbrella.

Q: When is Cruel Summer? A: The event takes place during the month of June. There are 30 main prompts in total for each day, and 7 alternative prompts. So, for example, June 1 is Day 1, June 2 is Day 2, and so on and so forth.

Q: Do we have to pick one of the trope examples for each lyric? A: No! Those are just in case you get stuck. The only thing guiding you is the lyric of the day. Interpret that however you like!

Q: How do I join? A: You don’t have to sign up, per se, just mark your calendar and get ready to write.

Q: Then how do I participate? A: Every day of the event, this account will post the prompt of the day (WITH A TAGLIST THAT YOU CAN BE ADDED TO! JUST ASK IN THE COMMENTS OF ANY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT!), and all you have to do to submit your entry is tag @cruelsummerwhump in your post! You’ll be reblogged from there!

Q: I don’t get it- who are we writing whump about?? Taylor??? A: Nope. You can write about anyone you like (EXCEPT irl people or celebrities). This includes characters from fandom or original characters. Someone else’s original characters, even! Crossovers? You bet!

Q: Help! I saw this mid-event and want to join! Is it too late? A: Not at all! Do as many prompts as you can! No catch-up necessary either, and if you want to go back and do a prompt you missed, feel free!

Q: But what if I wasn’t late and I just don’t want to do all of the prompts? A: No obligation whatsoever. If you miss a day or skip on purpose, that’s alright! The only rule is that you just can’t skip ahead!

i’ll update this section as asks start rolling in

PROMPT LIST

Day 1: Renegade

“I tapped on your window on your darkest night; the shape of you was jagged and weak. There was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway.” Trope example: fever care

Day 2: Dear Reader

“Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Dear reader, get out your map, pick somewhere and just run.” Trope examples: escape, running away

Day 3: Haunted

“Come on, come on, don’t leave me like this! I thought I had you figured out!” Trope examples: betrayal, death

Day 4: Out of the Woods

“Remember when you hit the brakes too soon? Twenty stitches in a hospital room. When you started crying, baby, I did too, but when the sun came up, I was looking at you.” Trope examples: hospitals, surgery, tandem injuries

Day 5: Nothing New

“I’ve had too much to drink tonight, and I know it’s sad, but this is what I think about, and I wake up in the middle of the night, it’s like I can feel time moving.” Trope examples: drugging, alcohol poisoning

Day 6: Castles Crumbling

“Power went to my head, and I couldn’t stop. Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off, and here I sit alone, behind walls of regret.” Trope examples: losing control, magical manipulation, cursed artifacts, corruption

Day 7: I Did Something Bad

“They’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one. They’ve got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons.” Trope examples: magic misuse, false capture, torture

Day 8: Last Kiss

“I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.” Trope examples: amnesia, brainwashing

Day 9: this is me trying

“Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could’ve followed my fears all the way down, and maybe I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m here in your doorway.” Trope example: showing up to the door injured

Day 10: Anti-Hero

“I’m a monster on a hill, too big to hang out, slowly lurching towards your favorite city, pierced through the heart but never killed.” Trope examples: monster whump, experimentation

Day 11: The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

“Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?” Trope examples: betrayal, carewhumper

Day 12: Guilty as Sin?

“If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly.” Trope examples: stockholm syndrome, loss of a loved one

Day 13: ‘tis the damn season

“There’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me, but if it’s all the same to you, it’s the same to me.” Trope examples: aftermath of betrayal, whumper turned into caretaker, carewhumper

Day 14: Getaway Car

“Well, he was running after us, I was screaming ‘go, go, go!’” Trope examples: escape, jailbreak

Day 15: Sparks Fly

“Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain.” Trope examples: brainwashing, drugging, fever

Day 16: I Hate It Here

“Now I seem to be scared to go outside, if comfort is a construct, I don’t believe in good luck now that I know what’s what.” Trope examples: scared animal whumpee, aftermath of experimentation or torture, shaky recovery

Day 17: Down Bad

“Did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust just to do experiments on, tell me I was the chosen one, show me that this world is bigger than us - then sent me back where I came from?” Trope examples: sci-fi, alien abduction, experimentation, stockholm syndrome

Day 18: So Long, London

“My spine split from carrying us up the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill.” Trope examples: fever, escape

Day 19: All Too Well

“Check the pulse and come back swearing it’s the same after three months in the grave, and then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame, and you held my lifeless frame.” Trope examples: near-death, death

Day 20: ivy

“Crescent moon, coast is clear, spring breaks loose, but so does fear. He’s gonna burn this house to the ground.” Trope examples: stockholm syndrome, escape, carewhumper, arson

Day 21: Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.” Trope examples: psych ward, asylum, experimentation, labs

Day 22: Midnight Rain

“He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain.” Trope examples: whumper x whumpee

Day 23: You’re Losing Me

“We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t.” Trope examples: sickness, lethal illness

Day 24: Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

“You needed me, but you needed drugs more, and I couldn’t watch it happen.” Trope examples: drugging

Day 25: So It Goes…

“Cut me into pieces. Gold cage, hostage to my feelings, back against the wall.” Trope examples: gilded cage, dolled up whumpee, pet whump

Day 26: exile

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending. You’re not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending?” Trope examples: recovery, conditioned whumpee

Day 27: cardigan

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding.” Trope examples: carewhumper, caretaker turned into whumper, betrayal by fellow whumpee

Day 28: The Prophecy

“A greater woman stays cool, but I howl like a wolf at the moon, and I sound unstable, gathered with a coven around a sorceress’ table.” Trope examples: witchcraft, monster whump, corruption

Day 29: Bad Blood

“Bandaids don’t fix bullet holes.” Trope examples: gunshot wounds, unsafe medical care

Day 30: Cruel Summer

“Said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true.” Trope examples: hiding injury

ALT PROMPTS

You’re On Your Own, Kid

“I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.” Trope examples: overtraining, willing experimentation

Sweet Nothing

“They say the end is coming, everyone’s up to something. I find myself running to your sweet nothing.” Trope examples: hypnosis, brainwashing, mind-numbing, drugging

Call It What You Want

“My castle crumbled overnight, I brought a knife to a gunfight.” Trope examples: royalty whump, fight sequence, gunshot wounds

The Great War

“Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I’d been betrayed: your finger on my hairpin trigger.” Trope examples: battles, betrayal

tolerate it

“You assume I’m fine, but what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins? Took this dagger in me and removed it?” Trope examples: escape, betrayal

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

“His hand, so calloused from his pistol, softly traces hearts on my face.” Trope examples: carewhumper, gentle whumper

us.

“The curse or a miracle, hearse or an oracle; you’re incomparable, fuck, it was chemical.” Trope examples: conditioning, drugging, experimentation, stockholm syndrome

FILE: SECRET SESSIONS ACHIEVEMENTS If you’ve scrolled down this far, the Department would like you to know about a few classified achievements during the event. - From the Vault: ??? a?? ?? ??? a?? ???????. - Taylor’s Version: ???????? a?? ?? ??? ?a?? ???????. - Sing-Along: ??? a ?????? ????? ?? ??? ?? ???? ???????. - Sad Girl Autumn: ??? a ????????? ????? ???? a ?????? ???? ??a? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????. - Surprise Songs: ??? ???? ??a? ??? ?????? ?? a ?????? ?????. Hm. There seems to be a visibility issue. Maybe complete them first? Otherwise it would be prudent to check back later . . .

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