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barefoothighlander · 2 years ago

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deluminate

summary: kylo ren stops at nothing to capture his target

kylo ren x fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), unprotected pinv, slight hunter/prey, force bondage, choking, dub con, mind reading?, creampie, idk how the force works, kidnapping?

a/n: having kylo ren brain rot so i needed to write this, i want to hear nothing about realism none of this makes sense, not proofread

Where are you.

His voice rings clear and heavy in your head, a tidal wave through the hazy ocean that was your mind, fogged and weary from his preferred methods of interrogation.

It was purely chance that you had gotten out, a fluke in timing on the account of the troopers that usually haunted your room, one small mixup in shift change and you were left unguarded for invaluable seconds.

You had no idea where you were going, simply letting your legs carry you on their own accord, twisting down hallways and turning the sharp corners of the black metal walls that made up the labyrinth of his ship.

It felt like weeks you had been locked in that room, the days fading into eachother as he searched your mind for any piece of information that could help him, reaching deep into your thoughts and fears, urging you to give up the location of the map.

Truth be told you were the last person he should’ve been asking, a minor ship technician that aided the rebellion with not the slightest inclination as to where the forces were keeping such a lucrative item.

I will find you.

The husk of his voice vibrates in you as fear sweeps your nerves, even if you did somehow outrun him, there was nowhere to go, you had no idea of the ship had landed somewhere or if it was simply tumbling through hyperspace, an eerie quiet settled in the air of the halls, only broken by the sudden hissing of pipes or clanging of armour as patrols made their way.

It didn’t make sense, how he was able to see into your mind, control your body the way he did, a simple twitch of his finger and your limbs were frozen, a nudge of his chin and he could see into your darkest thoughts, the most private and secret, held deep in your psyche for only you to see.

Why run? Come back to me and I’ll give you what you want.

A taunt, emphasized by the honey dripping from his tongue, even through the mask you can hear it. There was no trying to hide behind it, he saw right through you, that obscure primal attraction you held for him, the longing to see him beneath the cloak and mask, to feel that power on other parts of your body.

He was using it against you, like somehow he course sense the throb between your legs as his voice spoke to you, the heat that pooled as he used only his mind to restrain your body.

Sweat beaded your skin, falling in drops down your spine as you rest against a wall, legs screaming in pain, how far had you ran? There was no way to tell if you’d even gotten far, every hallway turning into another, every corner identical.

The conversation of troopers has you holding your breath, careful to keep quiet as they pass by, praying to the maker they were truly as stupid as people made them out to be.

You’re near, I can feel you.

Clasping your hand over your mouth and breathing through your nose, you turn a quick glance around the corner, no sight of the massive cloaked figure, there was no way he knew where you were, he couldn’t.

Down the hall you can see a pair of doors, if you could get in you could lock them, you’d worked on ships similar, nothing this large and nothing from the new empire but they had to have similar wiring.

You will your aching limbs to carry you the few feet toward them, slamming a palm to the panel, a whimper escaping your lips as the screen flashes red.

You drive your fist against the metal doors, willing them to open, to let you in but they don’t budge, a deferred breath falls as you rest your head against it, the cold bite of them cooling your skin.

It’s a gasp of shock that falls from your lips as the doors part, cool air rushing against your skin, how did they-

“There you are pet”

Fear strikes through your body like lightning, this time his voice sounded to close, the crackle of the mask like sparks in your ears. His presence is heavy enough that it sucks the air from your chest, a tear falling from your eye as you slump your shoulders, refusing to turn and face him.

He places a firm hand to your back, walking you forward into the room as the doors close behind you, the tell tale sound of a lock snapping into place as your legs give out, knees buckling sending you toward the hard ground.

You can hear the echo of his steps as he paces the room, damn him if he wanted to read your mind, there were no thoughts to be seen.

“It was a good effort”

Invisible arms will your body up, weak legs trying to regain balance as he emerges in front of you, dwarfing your figure.

His form sucks the life from the room, forcing you backward till your spine connects with the wall, harsh steel biting into your skin as he braces an arm beside your head.

“Are you ready to give me up?”

You shake your head, eyes refusing to look up at him,

“You know I can take whatever I want”

His gloved hand presses to your throat, holding you to the wall as an unseen force binds your hands above your head, leaving you at his will.

“Is this not what you wanted? I’ve heard every thought you’ve had, they’re very loud”

You squeeze your eyes shut at the words, your throat bobbing under his grip.

“I’ve seen what you dream of, how you want to be touched by me, it’s.. obscene, the way you offer yourself up on a platter”

There’s nothing you can do, he has you at his will, a simple prayer to the maker that he’d atleast bestow some form of mercy upon you.

“Do you want to see what I think about?”

His voice is gruff, laced with threat as his fingers squeeze your pulse point.

“Open your eyes”

You obey, parting your wet lashes to look at him, staring deep into the black visor as he watches you, you struggle in his grip as the force on your hands tightens.

He reaches his free hand to his neck, a hissing sound filling the air as the chin of the mask parts, the black helmet rising on his form to reveal his face.

Every sense in your body betrays you at the sight of him, obsidian hair that curls around his pale face, his cheeks flush from the exertion of power as plush lips and dark eyes stare back at you.

He closes his eyes, tilting his chin toward you as he wills his thoughts to yours, flooding your mind with images.

He too had thought about you, your naked body in front of him, legs parted and sex on display as you writhe against the sheets, the tip of his nose nudging against your swollen bud as he feasts on you.

The image sense shockwaves to your core, heat pooling as he continues to show you yourself, bent over a table, your ass arched in the air for him as his cock drives deep into you, practically forcing the air from your lungs with every thrust.

It’s too much, the visions, it feels too real, your skin flushing as he pulls back, his dark gaze glued to you.

“Do you see pet, what you do to me, why I could never let you run away”

He releases one of your hands, gripping your wrist as he drags it to his groin, forcing your digits to cup his length as he grunts. Even through the thick cloth of his pants you can feel his size, massive and pulsing, like pure iron in your weak grip.

You part your lips in shock as he grinds his hips into your palm, his hand on your throat tensing.

“Don’t shy away now, not when you’re so close to getting what you want”

Another grind of his hips has your fingers squeezing his bulge, a primal grin forming on his lips as he ducks his head next to yours.

“That’s it, give yourself over”

His breath ghosts over your ear, tingling the hair on your neck as his teeth dig into your earlobe, nipping at the skin.

His fingers creep over your stomach, inching down toward the pulse that’s settled between your thighs, strong hands tugging at your bottoms as the skin of your ass is revealed, the cool air hitting it.

He cups your sex with his palm, grinding the leather of his glove against your aching bud, cheeks heating as the sound of your slick fills the room.

“So wet for me already”

His words give rise to a tinge of embarrassment in your face as you roll your hips into his hand, searching for the contact against your clit as his cock strains against his pants.

“M’gonna drive my cock so deep into you, there won’t be any thoughts for me to read”

The threat has your core aching, clenching around nothing as he rips his hand from you, the black fabric of his gloves glistening in your slick as he raises a hand.

His free hand moves to loosen his pants, biting back a groan as his cock springs free from the fabric, keeping his eyes on yours as he fists it, the harsh rub of his glove rough against the skin of his shaft.

“Open your mouth”

You move to reach a hand for him but it’s pulls to the wall with that same invisible force, keeping you flat to the metal as it digs into your spine.

“I said open”

You obey, parting your lips slightly to allow his fingers to tease around the flesh, pushing past your teeth to flatten against your tongue.

Swirling the muscle around the digits, the bitter taste of leather mixed with the sweetness of your own slick dripping down your throat as he forces the fingers deeper.

He teases the head of his cock through your folds forcing your eyes shut as you hum around his fingers.

“You’re gonna take every last inch, and you’re gonna keep your eyes on me”

Parting your lids in a haze your teeth dig into his fingers as he pushes in, one swift motion has his cock stuffing you full, forcing your cunt to adapt to the stretch of him.

The angle has him dipping below you, forcing his cock upward as he thrusts, the head of it grinding against that sweet spot into you as it drags against your soaked walls.

“That’s it, eyes on me pet”

His fingers tilt your chin to face him, eyes clouded in lust as you watch him bite back his grunts. His hand grips at your thighs, tugging them around his waist as he lifts you higher against the wall, length driving into you, forcing your body to collide with the hard metal behind you with every thrust.

“Wanted this since I first saw you”

The words come through gritted teeth, your eyes drifting to where the two of you meet, his hand withdrawals from your mouth allowing you to suck in a breath before it makes contact with your throat, pinning your neck to the wall.

“I said eyes on me”

It’s a struggle to even keep them open as his cock splits you in half, feeling impossibly full from him, the base of his length grinding against your clot with every stroke.

Your legs lock around his back, holding him to you as you roll your hips into him, meeting every thrust. A grin plasters his face at the sight, using his hand to tear at your shirt, the lose fabric falling around you as your breasts are revealed, nipples peaked from the cold air.

Like a beast to its prey he eyes your form, bound and free for his taking, he leans down, his teeth closing around a nipple eliciting a yelp from you as he nips at the skin, flicking his tongue over it.

“So good for me, letting me take you however I want”

Heat rises in your chest, it was true, he could have you, the sight of him alone that first day had your thoughts betraying you, his form oozing power and command.

You snap from your thoughts as an unseen pressure hits your clit, rubbing against the bud in a perfect pressure that has your back arching against the wall, pushing your breasts further into him.

It’s obscene the noises the flood the room, the sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the wracked moans that escape you, he peers down, his jaw slack at the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole with every thrust.

“Never gonna let you go pet, you’ll stay here with me, as my little play thing”

The words sting your chest, the thought of remaining captive to the man who could invade your very soul, but the feeling of his cock driving into you is too tempting, feels to good, the pleasure blooming from your core has you nodding”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, letting me stuff this little pussy everynight, getting used by me, fucking slut”

That invisible hand flicks against your clit as his cock drives deep into your walls, your legs tightening around him as your push squeezes him, keeping him inside you, letting your orgasm rip through your bones.

As your high lowers you open your eyes, straight to his gaze, his hair sticking to his forehead in a sheen of sweat as the slightest pink tints his cheeks, his cock sliding into your drenched walls.

In a second he slams his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you, hard enough that the grind of your back against the wall was sure to leave you sore.

His hand meets the flesh of your ass, squeezing the muscle with force as he holds your body to him, allowing his cock impossibly deep as he buries it inside you, his hips staggering with each thrust.

“Say you’re mine, fuck, say it”

He leans his head back, lowering it to your shoulder as his teeth dig into the flesh, tears pricking your eyes as your muscles scream.

“I’m yours”

The words trigger something in him, a growl from his chest vibrates against your skin as he spills inside you, the warmth spreading in your core as he moves his coco slowly inside you, shallow thrusts to force his cum deeper.

He holds your body to him, the force on your hands gone, allowing the now sleeping muscles to drop to his shoulders, your fingers splayed over the rough fabric of his cape as his breaths ghost over your skin.

“You’re mine”

The haze of it wares on you, your mind weakened from the combination of everything as your body fights to regain its strength, held up only by his body.

Slowly he pulls his cock from you, allowing his spend to drop down your thighs as his hands keep you still. His eyes glued to yours as he watches you wince from the loss of contact, a hand settling on your cheek, the leather dragging against the thin layer of sweat on the flesh.

He bites back the words in his throat as he closes his eyes, his fingers flexing against your skin as your mind goes blank.

You wake in a dark room, legs bare against the black sheets that have settled atop them, your chest covered only by the large cloth of a shirt, you can feel the soreness from earlier already settling into your body as you sit up, trying to look around.

There’s a stream of starts outside the large window, the only light in the room as you squint to see, it was some sort of bedroom, the furniture below you soft and cushioned, you were in a bed.

Turning to your left you can see the light shine on his pale skin, the expanse of his back visible, alongside the pink pines of scars the adorned it, his dark hair blending into the sheets as his body rised slightly with every breath.

You were in his bedroom, his private quarters, in his bed, shock hits you all at once, every nerve in your body telling you that you shouldn’t be there, but he had brought you there, changed your clothes as set you beside him in bed.

He had stripped off his cloak and leathers, tucked away the facade of Kylo Ren and went to bed, beside you.

Running a soft hand over the curve of his spine you feel him twitch, his breath remaining slow, he was still asleep, he didn’t look like that large beast that invaded your thoughts like this, he was softer, calmer.

The sheets are soft as you slip back below them, turning to your side to face him, watching his skin flow under the streaming stars as your eye slide grow heavier, drawing you back into sleep.

#kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #star wars fan fiction #kylo ren smut #ben solo #ben solo fanfic

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quandledlngle69 · 1 day ago

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⸻ 糸師凛 ITOSHI RIN.

TW; obsession, ritual, demonic things, blood, family trauma, deep detail of body, dolls, pain, corrupt religion, child abuse, mention of strangulation, vivification.

ever since you were young, your mother shunned you for your obsession with dolls. hours were spent crafting your first doll from scraps of fabric, straw and animal bones.

you didn't show your mother your perfect creation–knowing her lips would curl in disgust, and she would scoff, turning her head away while mumbling something hurtful under her breath. something about sin, something about god's unlove for such behaviour.

dolls were unholy, vile objects for the devil to merge with, a mockery of gods actual human creations. thats what she told you as she strangled you with a rosemary, the marks indented in your skin for weeks.

your father was an indifferent, absent man. he had spent not a nick of time with you–rather too engrossed in his scientific pursuits then being a family man. you grew up with no friends, a curse and a blessing; not having anyone to talk to beside yourself, but no one to judge you for your rather unnatural hobby. you recall your younger self passing by a workshops with a collection of dolls, always managing to captivate you; your little nose pressing into the glass, fogging it up with your warm breath until your mother yanked you away.

a part of you hoped for your future self that it was just an awkward phase that you would grow out of–though you never did. the gratification you felt making dolls, slowly becoming more life–like the more you matured–as if on the journey with you, made it unthinkable to ever let go. it was apart of you, and it soon surged into something more sinister; human hair, picked off scabs, even blood was shoved into the heart of the doll, sewn up or sculpted behind an imitation of the protective hard, white, calcium rows.

you wouldn't utter to any soul what you created in the dark, hidden behind excuses of intentions and an insatiable itch of something highly unethical.

the last straw was when a young man you were arranged to be wedded to shunned you once he found out about your 'hobby.'

that only instigated a heated screaming match with your mother, who promptly kicked you out once she realised her fears were concrete, that you would age alone, without a ring ever on your finger.

perhaps its the fact you were a misanthropist that coerced you to endure the next decade locked away in a shrubby attic–the rent cheap and no one to disturb you. you crafted what you had never done before, a life–sized anthropomorphic doll. you've had an image of the perfect man since you were a little girl. sketches ranging from little scribbles from when you were a wee thing, to fully fleshed out realism of this fictional man. sometimes he was in your dreams, a whisper away, smoke in the wind that couldn't be heard.

it was trial and error, and you had almost gone into a deep debt with the overly luxurious, top–quality materials and supplies you had gathered. your hands were rough and calloused from the work, your lungs damaged with the hard dust and particles you were too careless to filter out with a mask. from dawn till dusk, the hours not wasted, yet slaving away, a steaming cup of black coffee always on your wooden desk.

when you had finally concluded your work, you had taken a step back and admired it in all its glory. His face sculpted from your callous but nimble fingers, facial features eerily in harmony with each other, sharp like a cutting edge of a diamond.

his figure loomed over you, much taller than most handful of men walking the city streets. the doll's black hair was trimmed accordingly, bangs wispy sweeping across the right side of his eye; in the dim light, it flaunted a subtle seaweed–green tint. it's glass eyes were the most alluring part, most costly–worth an arm and a leg. a bright, opalescent teal–cold in nature, almost reticent. it's long lashes only tied them together like a ribbon of a bow, imagining if it blinked, they would flutter softly like butterfly wings.

you loved it–no, you were full of jubilation.

a familiar name abruptly popped into your mind, a man of a lover in a foreign book you once read. you quickly snagged a fountain pen, your hand carefully stretching out the dolls foot, scribbling heartedly on the sole bottom of the shoe.

Itoshi, Rin.

────────

you would spend the next few days observing, hours spent just staring rather hard at your masterpiece, never seemingly finding a flaw. you would talk to it, even if it was all one–sided, making you feel sheepish at times, yet you never stopped.

but slowly, the insatiable greed for more than this came to your mind. that this wasn't enough. it wasn't enough to just have this immobile showpiece of yours, hiding away in the darkest parts of your studio. in your dreams, it talked, breathed with lungs, a warm specimen as if it had blood running in it's veins.

it was gormless to think this wishfully.

────────

arguably, this wasn't a good idea, standing in a grotesque cathedral, abandoned long ago. it was the witches hour–there was only pitch darkness, the air smelling faintly of wax, dust, and something unsettling–sacrifice. you stood outside of it, the ominous pentagram bold on the wooden floor panels, the stick of red chalk staining your hands. some of the symbols you didn't understand, almost an ancient text that spoke nothing but sinful deeds. five lit candles stationary on each sharp point, their fire threatening to flicker out.

you didn't know what was more unsettling, the fact this suffocating atmosphere was purely demonic or the fact you were still going through with it, aware of the potential consequences. you were sporting a dangerous game, playing as god. this was damning your soul, that truth was crystal clear when the ritual required your blood, a drop long smeared on the dolls cheek.

then came the words–latin, you think.

you stumbled over them, your speech ever slow, butchering the pronunciation; yet evidently enough to indulge in whatever demonic power you were summoning.

────────

It hurt.

it hurt a lot–why did it hurt?

it started from the inside out, the developing cardiac muscle forming a beat, squeezing and expanding. nerves emerged from seemingly nowhere, flourishing in sparks as they danced like undone pieces of thread to every crevice of his body. a warmth of muscle and fat melded together like butter, limbs jerking, fingers and toes flexible with their contraction and flexion.

for the first time, he involuntarily inhaled, like such a thing was a natural urge. it was sharp, painful, it burned like hot coal in his chest. his lungs, fixed behind rows of bone, spasmed and heaved. he could smell. it carved itself in his nose, it was musty, like mildew and sawdust. he could almost taste it on his tongue. he could blink, delve visually into the blurry world in front of him. his skin felt as though it was doused with gasoline and lit with a match, without the mercy of relief.

he throat ached with a sore.

someone was screaming. is it him? is that deep, agony–filled voice belonging to him only?

his head lolled forward, his whole body alamort, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he struggled to open them, his resolve too weak, eyelids too heavy. he felt a warm liquid running out of his nostril, something red and thick. his new given mind not being able to compose a simple thought in such a nebulochaotic state.

he couldn't understand the sudden cold feeling brushing against his cheek, the sudden invasion of aroma, something sandalwood and paint–like. something hoisted his slugged and limp body up, as if he was still a ragdoll. a sturdy warmth bloomed on his front, a muttering of a voice, his nose brushing against what seemed like a neck.

it was the last thing seared into his mind before the world went dark.

waaaaa i can't remember who to tag for this divider if you know pls lmk

#★ .・ DARKCON #itoshi rin x reader #bllk #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #rin itoshi #bllk rin #bllk itoshi rin #bllk rin itoshi

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sinligh · 10 months ago

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It’s early summer,

the hopeless romantic in me found her way to the surface when the heat melted couple of my overprotective layers.

so here i am, allowing her a moment of spotlight and myself some vulnerability.

it’s past midnight, I’m sitting in floor of my kitchen eating fruits with a knife

wondering, if it’s really safe to romanticize life?

I indulge myself anyway, and think about how fruits can be considered a love language if you’re starved enough to taste love that’s throughly stained with muted apologies.

I trust, that when the sun rises tomorrow all my attempts to romanticize life will sublimate and create a thick fog of melancholy that I’ll have no other option but to get lost into.

even so, tonight I’m tired enough to let it be and so i write this, my own report of pathology

officially it’s untitled, but I’m thinking: the pathology of love.

i start by resecting pieces of all the habits that i define my existence based on along with some of the heartache that i held onto for too long

deep down, i know some of it belongs to my mother

At least its mature flavor says so, that, balanced with the sweet essence of an overly ripe fruit that never belonged

Young and brash and an acquired taste.

it’s a poorly fixed microscopic tissue, preserved in a high percentage of feminine rage

Low expectations stained with love and paranoia alike and the question that asks itself:

is it benign or malignant?

is it infiltrating my soul, taking away from my potential to grow ?

It stays unanswered, an unforced error

because i always carry those little versions of me that vary in the percentage of their belief in my own bone marrow

a core biopsy will always show that i still believe.

•••

•Quotes: Anaïs Nin/ Sylvia Plath/ Virgina Woolf/ Franz Kafka/Marcel Proust/ Simone de Beauvoir/Anne Carson/ Andrea Gibson/Anaïs Nin

•Original context:

•Art reference:

1. British School - Head of a girl, c. 1850. 2. Painting ( details) by Richard E. Miller. 3. Paintings by Jen Mazza. 4. Neil Carroll Original Oil Painting Realism Impressionism. 5. The Gross Clinic (details), by Thomas Eakins 6. Wounds of the Earth by xis.lanyx. 7.painting by Herbert James Draper.

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phoenixrisingastro · 2 months ago

Note

Your astro observation no. III were so spot on in my case! Could you make a post about Jupiter in the 12th house please or Neptune in the 7th house? I think a detailed post about such placements would be helpful for the natives with these placements cause it's hard to grasp their nature and navigate them in day-to-day life

Neptune in the 7th house

It casts a veil of mystique over partnerships, creating an allure that draws you toward relationships that feel fated, spiritual, or almost otherworldly. People with this placement often find themselves yearning for a soulmate connection—something deep and transcendental that lifts them beyond the mundane. The romantic idealism is powerful, as Neptune whispers of fairy tales and eternal bonds. This can make love feel like an ethereal dream, where you see only the best in others and are drawn to partners who seem to hold a certain magic, whether they are creative, sensitive, or mysterious in nature.

However, Neptune is known for its illusions, and in the 7th house of partnerships, it can blur the line between reality and fantasy. It’s easy to get caught up in seeing partners through rose-colored glasses, idealizing them to the point of overlooking flaws or even warning signs. This placement can attract relationships that are built on dreams rather than reality, leading to situations where boundaries are unclear, or where you may fall for someone unavailable—emotionally or otherwise. The potential for disillusionment is high, as Neptune’s fog can obscure the true nature of your partners, leading to feelings of betrayal or disappointment when the reality doesn’t live up to the dream.

Despite its challenges, Neptune in the 7th house is a journey of spiritual growth. It asks you to embrace the romantic and compassionate aspects of relationships while also learning to discern truth from illusion. This placement is about balancing your ideals with reality—recognizing that while love can be magical, it’s also imperfect. By cultivating clear boundaries and staying grounded, you can attract partnerships that are both inspiring and authentic. The key is to see others as they are, rather than as you wish them to be, and to allow yourself to experience deep, meaningful connections without losing touch with reality.

Ultimately, Neptune in the 7th house is a call to explore the depths of love and connection with an open heart, but also with eyes wide open. It challenges you to integrate the spiritual with the practical, to honor your dreams while staying mindful of the real world. It’s a delicate dance between hope and realism, where true intimacy is found not in illusions, but in genuine understanding and acceptance.

#astro placements #astrology #astro community #astro observations #astrology content #astrology observations #pluto astrology #solar return #vedic astrology #astro notes

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hitlikehammers · 14 days ago

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so maybe steve strikes a bargain with unknown eldritch upside down gods in exchange for eddie’s life, what of it? ♥️ the hell else was he supposed to do, don’t even judge him ✨what’s a hades/persephone kinda deal among soon-to-be-more-than-friends, anyway?✨

✨future fic (because somehow steve signed them up to be 💫star-crossed-adjacent guardians of the seasons ❄️☀️ or some shit)

but they’re canny motherfuckers; they can make the arrangement bearable their own

(kind of.)

They’d been lucky. They’d been lucky that Steve had come back on his own to the boathouse that first night. Had talked Eddie down, made sure he wasn’t alone—held him, a stranger at best, a pariah at worst, and never once shamed him, fucking soothed him when he couldn’t fight tears. They’re lucky that the walk through the woods somehow short circuited any remaining shred of sense in him, or maybe shocked it into overdrive as he’d grabbed Steve behind a tree thick enough to hide from either of their compatriots turning around and catching it, catching them when he carefully—those bats hadn’t been kind—but a little bit crazedly pressed Steve against the fragile-rotting bark, where Steve stilled, stared, and then closed the distance between them. Eddie’d had his taste on his lips right up ‘til the end. Not even his own blood had taken it from him at the last. He’d felt death, though, like a limbo, a haze rather than a darkness, a liminal fog and he’d screamed, he hadn’t felt quite alone, even before a voice echoed: “We are freed from him now.” Eddie’d shouted questions long after his throat started stinging for it, before realizing the echoing voice hadn’t been talking to him; most especially when he’d felt warmth in inexplicable places in the form he’d been walking around in that he wasn’t wholly sure was even really and truly a body, but then— “You can’t take him.” Eddie turned, knew it fruitless to try to find the source but it hurt so bad because that voice was absolutely tortured, and it was— It was Steve. Or: of course Steve bargains with the ancient eldritch deity beings of the Upside Down for Eddie’s life. And maybe they end up some ill-defined guardians of the seasons in weird Persephone-style twist as a result. What the hell else was he supposed to do?

rating: m ♥️ tags: post-S4, everyone loves, getting together, magical realism✨, established relationship, future fic, of course steve makes a bargain with the eldritch ancient god being things in the upside down to save eddie’s life, what ELSE what he going to do?, don’t even pretend to judge him, eddie and steve become ✨guardians of the seasons✨, it’s a task they definitely make their own, very Persephone coded, fluff, romance, softness, let me repeat that last one: SOFTNESSSSSS ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-one: “If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“How can you even stand it?” Dustin whines, his leg bouncing frantically as he tries to hide how he’s scanning the edges of the park for any hint; and sign: “If Suze and I—

“You’re missing him hard, aren’t you?”

Eddie asks it from behind his sunglasses—how bright the glare sparkles off the ice is the outward sign that it could be today, that it could possibly happen today; but for Eddie, there’s no need for the kinds of hints that drove Dustin to his door, bouncy and frantic, anything but the impressive computa-chemical-whatever-nerdy-as-fuck-genius-level professional he’s grown into, with his own mini-brood of Hendersons, no: he’s immediately fifteen years old again asking Maybe today, could he maybe come today, is it close enough, like, not on the calendar but sometimes he shows up unexpected, right, so maybe today—

It would be unexpected; it’s late January. Far too early, by rights. But again: Eddie doesn’t need any outward signs.

Ever since it started, ever since the deal was struck with powers beyond their ken, with sense beyond their grasp or even want of it: they’d neither of them wanted sense if it could have cost them the chance at this, it’s just—

It’s hard, still. Easier every year but: hard. Eddie thinks it’ll always be hard. He loves too deep, like this, for even a breath without to be less than a tiny agony.

But fuck if he’d trade it for anything.

Eddie’d had his taste on his lips right up ‘til the end. Not even his own blood had taken it from him at the last.

He’d felt death, though, like a limbo, a haze rather than a darkness, a liminal fog and he’d screamed, he hadn’t felt quite alone, even before a voice echoed:

“We are freed from him now.”

Eddie’d shouted questions long after his throat started stinging for it, before realizing the echoing voice hadn’t been talking to him; most especially when he’d felt warmth in inexplicable places in the form he’d been walking around in that he wasn’t wholly sure was even really and truly a body, but then—

“You can’t take him.”

Eddie turned, knew it fruitless to try to find the source but it hurt so bad because that voice was absolutely tortured, and it was—

It was Steve.

It was Steve and Eddie recognized the warmth, then: his body on the ground being cradled close so his still-cold chest touched a living one, arms around him, and he’d reached with his own version of a hand to trace the feeling.

“We killed Vecna, we set you free. You cannot take him.”

Oh, Steve.

Eddie was right, in all that he’d wondered if he was being fucking insane even by his measure, to think he could love this man, maybe even already was a little by the time they’d parted ways. But after what he hears?

And then piecing it all together, Steve fighting something that trembled otherworldly in the air for the sake of keeping Eddie like Eddie was worth it. Like Steve cared that much.

Time passed, and then the voice had come through clearer; something shook in Eddie’s chest like an echo, and the sick taunt of a pulse to a corpse:

“This nature has been perverted. Abused. It has been tied for purposes indefensible and profane to another realm. You will take guardianship of the tempers of your dimension, in exchange.”

Eddie’d been pretty fucking sure that the words had meant as little to Steve as they had to Eddie himself, but Steve hadn’t let more than a second pass before he was all in:

“Done.”

And Eddie had gasped in a breath more painful than he’d recalled death being in the first place, save that this time it’s soothed by the way he blinks to waking with Steve’s hands on his face, fingers trailing to his neck to check his pulse thrown back to racing—mostly?

Just…Eddie’s coming to find that most things are soothed, made bearable by the fact of Steve Harrington.

Back to the point though: since the very beginning, opening his eyes when he thought he’d never do something so mundane, so human, so alive even again, and to the sight of an angel’s face at that, tear-streaked and staring at him and him alone: Eddie didn’t need tangible proof to know, coiled and warm behind his sternum, that change was on the air.

And they’d both absorbed the terms spoken only to them—a fact they later discovered, annoyingly, in trying to explain to everyone else—that they were in charge of keeping watch of the seasons, and naturally, then, they’d be apart for the work of it most of the year. Steve watching summer, Eddie manning winter—save for the middle-grounds; the overlaps inside the ends of autumn and the beginnings of spring—windows they’d know innately, though how?

Fuck if they understood the mechanics of it all.

It was heartbreak. It was a miracle.

They would have until that year’s autumn equinox to prepare for…for maybe always.

“Like Hades and Persephone,” Robin had said, horrified and marveling in equal measure, gripping hard to Steve’s hand.

“Seems worse, though,” Dustin had chimed in—typical. “Like it’d be less time, depending on what counts as overlap.”

Eddie and Steve had…not disagreed. And had made the most of the embers of what they’d started to feel in the boathouse, in the Upside Down: they leapt without looking, and fell fast—the way Steve did too often, but never like this before; the way Eddie had quietly daydreamed about every so often, all the while knowing it could never be for him.

Eddie—then to now—doesn’t think anyone ever expected the thing they make for themselves, for each other, in those scant months, when they imbued so much, trusted hearts and souls to a word as small as love.

And when the time came, and they parted—they were neither of them ever unoccupied, they realized quick, Steve feeling physically pulled across the fucking equator all the stronger by the day: but when the time came?

Dying hurt worse. Eddie swears it without a fucking ounce of doubt in him, no hesitation.

It’d been a bleak fucking season.

But they’d both known their share adversities, if dressed up different across time. They weren’t…they mourned, for a little while.

But then Eddie, in the dead of his own winter, found a bright bouquet of fresh wildflowers he’d never seen before his doorstep, from fields he’d never set foot upon.

He can remember, just in closing his eyes and breathing in, how his heart had leapt; had hoped, and he’d—

“Why can’t we take a day?”

Eddie can hold his breath and relive it right now, just how that voice had stolen the air from his lungs as he’d stood just past the solstice, so much time left before he could even hope to see the other half of his fucking heart—how he’d spun toward the sound of it but was dizzy already before he moved a single inch, how he’d slowed the distance and crashed into Steve’s waiting arms, the steady strength of his welcoming chest with enough force to shake his own heart into beating with real gusto, with an intent he hadn’t realized so so dimmed, maybe wholly snuffed out in these months without.

He hadn’t questioned the how—plane, just a plane on the credit card he still had from his dad’s account, probably a one-time opportunity but worth it, more than, and proof that they could split the difference of the time, they could find ways, make money, spend all of it on how they needed each other now just to be able to breathe right.

“We have to keep the bargain,” Steve had always held, the steel in his gaze something Eddie knew in his bones not to question even at the start, especially not when it was followed by the kinds of kisses that convinced Eddie that a human soul was a real thing, for how it got teased from his throat, tongue to tongue.

“That can’t possibly mean there isn’t any,” Steve had gasped, just as sure and unwavering, but the steel giving way to a neediness, a softer resolve, if still just as unshakable: “any flexibility.”

Eddie couldn’t have agreed more.

And it hadn’t been easy, especially not out the gate; but they’d learned. They’d both left tokens, Steve leaving flowers, Eddie bringing holly and pine, surprising Steve on hot days with icy hands on his shoulders when he packed snow in a cooler just for the sake of the bit; Dustin had found out further into their working through a balance and had declared that—

“That’s like,” he’d frowned, less from distaste and more from actually to puzzle out something unexplainable: “long-distance flirting but, metaphysical? Meteorological?”

Eddie had been the one to hear that dedication with his own ears and had felt distaste, forbade Dustin on the spot from speculating before he got to—

“Primal-magic phone-sex on steroids,” Dustin had muttered himself and yep. That.

Before he got to that.

He’d shared it with Steve, who was as entertained and appalled as Eddie in fairly equal measures, but had made a point come his own time in Indiana again to impress, in no uncertain terms, that Dustin needed to shut his fucking trap about his and Eddie’s love life, lest Steve cause the temperature of his petri dishes to unfortunately shift by half a degree and spoil his weird ass mold experiment.

That’d been a pretty effective threat, even if Steve wasn’t actually capable of delivering on it without the aid of fire.

Which he wasn’t above employing.

Regardless—

They’d worked hard, built slow, and as they learned that the only cost that time seemed to extract from either of them was missing one another worse than a limb, they had the time to invest in something lasting.

They never let another season pass where they saw nothing of each other, ever again.

Now, though.

Now, they have it down to an art. Eddie makes music—has had all the time in the world to wait until the right someone hears and understands what he’s saying in the notes, and he does. Steve teaches at a community college, flexible enough for his real job, and funnily enough—gorgeouslyenough—sells flowers. Invests, here and there, because it was one thing his father had drilled him into knowing enough about before giving up on him as a lost cause. He picks underdogs, mostly because they’re cheap and the very idea of not spites everything his father stood for. Expected of him that was all so far from everything Steve is.

A couple of those underdogs make them a pretty fucking penny. It makes their ongoing trial-and-error of how to do their jobs—to maintain their end of the agreement, to the minimum viable product, and love on each other to the maximum possible extent in every interim possible—it makes the experimenting of it all easier; quicker.

It has to cut the hurting time in half, at the very least.

They never do hear directly from those voices again, the ones who struck their bargain—but they can feel direction, displeasure, satisfaction. They know they’re kept watch of, in the same way they both somehow know how, and what to keep watch of in doing the work for themselves: they don’t change things, can’t change thing; they’re not…powerful, not that way, just some degree of timeless, ageless—which is a whole other hill to climb, and cross to bear, especially when Steve sees Robin, is part of why they made the exception that is Robin; but then increasingly when either of them see the kids, and now the kids with their own kids—but.

They learn that the winds, the magnetic poles, fucking nature magic: it pushes them when their traveling aligns with the seasonal shifts, rather than their own desires—those have racked them up significant benefits from frequent flyer miles—but if they’re pulled by their callings, the callings they can fucking feel—they could fight it. But if they’re give in to it, assent to it, they can blink and end up where they’re meant to be.

Trippy. But kinda cool.

(Would be way cooler if it’s was just straight-up teleportation but: still neat.)

They’ll feel off a day or two, queasy before they overstay their hemisphere, their season outside the natural overlaps. They both of them push it by design, by their own nature—they come to suspect the powers that entrusted them with this, gifted and cursed with this task while blessing them with each other: they think those entities appreciate their commitment to the task alongside, second only to their commitment to each other. They both assume those eldritch gods are responsible for the minor barometric oddities that crop up if they push the limits too far, not-so-subtle nudges back to what they promised; what they’re bound to.

And Steve never lets them push too far, too afraid even after all this time to risk the bargain being taken back, rendered void, quite literally; Eddie, who never shared that sense of preservation regarding his own self, sure as shit shares it tenfold when applied to what he shares with Steve so: he never argues.

He cuddles Steve harder those last days, always, because while he knows they could have languished an eternity literally split from one another for half a year at least, for always, the way he’s grown to feel differently, to gauge time both as shorter and longer and inconsequential depending on the context: it all fades away against the backdrop of how much bigger his love is, and how an hour is a day and the fortnights are a century in his chest, nonetheless.

But as time passes, as the world changes and technology shifts and he can call Steve easier, he can hear his voice, then when webcams came around—it got better. It gets better all the time.

But still: he always feels less whole, whenever either of them has to leave, no matter for how long.

“Shut up,” Dustin shakes him back to the present with the snippy tone he shoots Eddie’s way—some things truly never change—but Eddie honestly doesn’t remember what the fuck either of them had said, but then he glances over and—

Ah. Still staring at the trees. Waiting.

“Think about how Robin feels,” and it’s a little disingenuous, seeing as Robin sees more of Steve than any of them, but Eddie means it as a sympathy. A commiseration.

Dustin scoffs.

“Maybe Robin flaunts that whole capital ‘P’ platonic soulmate thing left and goddamn right,” he bites out with narrowed eyes; “but that’s my fucking brother—“

“You’ll get to see him all the time, all summer long, shithead,” Eddie flicks his ear fondly—Dustin squawks and again, it’s refreshing. No matter how old they might look in comparison now, they’re still who they’ve always been to each other.

And yes, Steve’s still his brother. Steve didn’t forgetthat, never had for a second. And Eddie’s spent all winter with Dustin and Suzie and their munchkins—Steve’s gonna lose it to see how much they’ve grown in just a few months. Eddie’s excited for it, will go straight there with them if that’s what Dustin wants, will understand if Dustin would rather some one-on-one first, this surprised out-of-season visit quite possibly a fleeting one. Eddie gets it, he’ll—

“But these are the only times I get both of you,” Dustin trains his eyes on the trees more intently, now—less to avoid looking elsewhere than to seek out what might comes out from them; “together.”

Eddie’s throat tightens a little. He won’t pretend it doesn’t swell his heart the way it does to hear it.

He swallows, clears his throat, and tries his damnedest to not trample prominent but also not actually fall into the amount of feeling that’s behind the admission, all the history inside it. He’s never been good at that shit.

Except with Steve.

“It is earlier than usual,” Eddie comments, tries to make it encouraging; “that global warming thing, think we’re both gonna start to linger longer in the overlay as a rule,” Dustin frowns and yeah, okay, maybe that part’s less encouraging.

“Might end up sucking hardcore for you guys, though,” he adds, a little sheepish. “Sorry, man.”

Because seriously: he and Steve, they don’t make the seasons. Just watch over them, as best they can. Conduits for whatever the Upside Down really is—they still haven’t ever understood the powers that had receded under Vecna and returned to make them as them are, and frankly, they don’t mind overmuch, so long as whatever that power isallows for the life they lead that, they’d never had had a chance at otherwise—but they’re mostly messengers. They can’t…fix, what’s looking like it’s happening. And the buzz they both feel from the power that made them this way is concerned, but in a distant way. Like hearing sad story about another life, a century removed from yours.

“We’re working on that,” Dustin says and, yeah. Eddie’s pretty sure somewhere in Dustin’s massive government lab of geniuses, they are. Fuck? But he’s so proud of his little sheepie, all grown up.

And then there’s how Steve feels—

“Hmm,” Eddie hums as he nods; “plus the overlap will work down south, too, so,” he muses, pulls his with his hair across his mouth the way apparent immortality never knocked out of him.

“Down south?”

Oh. Right. Oops.

They don’t flaunt how they’ve made the most of the flexibility—or those long shot investments—and perfected a schedule to live more like businessmen with long company trips every few weeks than quasi-magical beings who traded death for this, and made out so much more the richer. It’s not that they don’t love everyone, the kids, their families, the Party at large. As he made a point to notdivulge before: Robin is the only one who knows, because of course she does, but they keep houses in both halves of the world, not sprawling but not modest, comfortable and welcoming to the two of them plus one occasional platonic soulmate. They can each of them stretch their time away from their own season to near two weeks—it’s too disruptive to switch straight back with whoever is leaving their current home-turf just just returning with a stowaway, they have to rebalance for another two weeks but then, if they switch, of Eddie visits first, they wait, and then Steve makes the journey next? It holds.

And so they do exactly that.

They’re just…Steve committed them to a fantasy life, the bargains of a Labyrinth crossed with the whimsy of the fae, he’d done it without question just to save Eddie’s fucking life, okay, so it can’t be a fucking surprise that when they fell whole-heart in love, it got a little co-dependent.

Eddie actually fucking adores that about them, and Steve does, too—it’s everything they missed out on in the first part of their lives, and ached for worse than they’d realized until the space was filled, then overflowed; now they get to have it in spades, and forever.

“Oh, just musing about the state of the mortal coil,” Eddie rolls his head over to Dustin to give him an answer, even if it’s not a whole one—if he told him the full story of just how often they see each other, he’d absolutely push his way into what Eddie needs as just for him. Maybe it’s selfish.

But Eddie’s not wholly human anymore, so far as he can tell, so he’s gonna just lean into that’s a limitation no longer relevant to my being argument.

He’s honestly grown pretty fond of that argument.

“Fuck off, man,” Dustin shoves him, more than used to giving him shit when he plays high-and-mighty for serving as co-chief chronicler of the weather and still looking 20.

“Let me see him,” Eddie’s voice slips serious, because his heartburn thumping, his nerves are shivering, it doesn’t fucking matter that the two weeks apart has only been two weeks—the same senses heightened to feel his other half approaching on the breeze more than on a round trip ticket: it heightens everything.

And there is something special, unique, in the first natural shift where Steve gets to step into Eddie’s space and be held tight in Eddie’s arms because the seasons will it, because their bargain holds and keeps them.

“Just let me see him for a bit on my own,” Eddie turns to Dustin, pleading him to stay put on the bench where they’ve been waiting, Eddie knowing that this park, along these woods, is where Steve will come if he comes at all—but he has not qualms begging for just a minute alone as feels himself start to rise to his feet because the cells of his body know that Steve’s near, now, and call him to move, to run to his partner, his only.

He sees the unspoken protest in Dustin’s eyes

But you’ll have him forever.

Eddie gets it, sighs; tries to explain.

“When we,” he pauses, tries to find a better word but really there’s only one: “changed, we became something,” and Eddie, see, they were never told the details, the how’s and whys never explained. They just know how it feels.

And how much it feels is more than enough to serve as an explanation, as is.

“My heart’s got this bigger capacity to feel, now,” Eddie tries just being blunt, and not trying to logic out what transcends the concept as a rule; “my soul’s, just,” he shakes his head a bites on a grin in a battle that he’s ecstatic to lose:

“It’s just his in a way I never could have dreamed of before. It was already basically true before but that truth was a,” Eddie sighs, and doesn’t bother fighting the grin this time because it’d be a lost cause before he even starts, the very same heart he’s talking about is stretched to bursting and he, he wants, he needs him to understand that because Dustin’s become his brother, too, in a different but still profound way and Eddie loves him, so he wants him to understand it’s not about shutting him out, or denying him a single thing, but what Eddie knows a normal person can feel, like, not by choice but by design is, is—

“A fuckin’ pittance, man, in comparison.”

Dustin eyes him, and—thank fuck—reads not only what Eddie says but what he means; that Eddie also feels bigger for what they have, for Dustin’s family, for the whole Party and the sun and snow and the trees and then—

Then there’s his whole heart and soul, that he can feel is about to be waiting in those trees—another level. A wholeness he couldn’t put to words if he tried, which is how he knows it’s both real, and other; not what he was or could have been before they were given their duties; gifted their whole fucking lives.

In each each other.

Dustin finally sighs, theatrically in a way that makes Eddie chuckle as he’s shooed away with a sage “Public indecency is still a crime!” —to which Eddie offers his middle finger as he bounds through the tree line and only stops when he finds the clearing that feels right.

Then he waits.

And waits.

He lets his eyes close, reaches inward where his heartbeat’s ramping up; reaches outward to the trees, still barren but never quiet, never dead.

He feels.

Feels something slip behind his ear: a stem, petals tickling his cheekbone when nothing here is blooming yet; when everything is blooming nowunder Eddie’s ribs, blossoming in the smile that stretches across his lips as a warm breath tickles his neck and weight presses behind him, familiar arms wrapping around his waist:

“Gorgeous weather you’re a having, hmm?” Steve teases and the shell of his ear, nips the lobe and turns Eddie around at the hips and fuck yeah.

Fuck yeah

It’s gorgeous.

🌷🌺🌷🌺

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