#I’m job hunting again but man I hope something comes up quick so I can just quit

[snailsfall]

I can’t sleep because I keep getting myself worked up over all the shitty things in my life and I can’t even talk about it to anyone because I have no one to talk like that with, but man my job is killing me and I’m on the verge of just giving up man

[klausinamarink]

klausi!! 🤍 i wanna bombard you with all these prompts but!!

91 "Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it." and/or 12 "I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

or

64 "Can I hold your hand?” and/or 79 "i like being close to you. you’re warm."

am i being too demanding :/ feel free to ignore this mwah! 🫶

dio!!! omg so great to hear from you! And don’t you worry you’re not demanding! these prompts are fantastic and I hope I did them justice for you 🫡 hope you can excuse the slight length and lateness

—

Steve loves Eddie.

It’s a fact as obvious as the monsters underneath everyone’s feet that haunted his sleeping state for years. It’s the truth that he has since accepted as part of something under his heart and bones, but is well too aware that if released, it can be ugly for everyone else.

Even with Robin, Steve just knows that if he even mumbles a fucking vowel, her first reaction would be, “Eddie would not like you.”

Okay, that’s just disrespectful to his platonic soulmate. Her first reaction would definitely be happy gasping, begging for details, using his love advice against him and strike multiple tally marks on the YOU RULE whiteboard.

But everyone else? Yeah, Steve can already see the disgust and contempt on their faces.

It would hurt more if Eddie’s one of them.

But fuck it. Steve’s always been the ‘rip the bandaid off’ kind of guy, especially when it comes to crushes. That’s why he’s going to tell Eddie first, future heartbreak and emotional breakdown be damned.

So here he is: driving down the road to the countryside that’s more farmland than actual farmhouses to the new Munson home.

And just as if the gods are giving him pity, Eddie’s already in the long driveway, leading Lucky out of the horse trailer.

It had surprised everyone that Eddie’s new job post-Vecna was a farmhand for a nearby horse ranch. But there’s not really a lot of other positions in Hawkins that would accept a falsely accused man who now hates the town even more for the witch hunt. The ranch on the other hand hadn’t cared much about Eddie’s history and had been quick to hire him for training shortly after the move.

Steve parks on the roadside just front of the house. Eddie seems too attentive with Lucky to notice his car yet, a gloved hand always petting the horse’s snout as he gently pulls the reins to the direction of the massive yard. Eddie has a gentle smile on his face, the one where the dimples show and gives him a little glow to the face.

It makes Steve smile too.

Eddie just looks so much happier. 

He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, the chilly November air and horse stink welcoming him. That snaps Eddie’s attention towards him, the smile breaking into a grin.

“Steve!” He cries out with a quick wave. Lucky gives a rather loud snort in greeting. 

“Hey, Eds.” Steve waves back before jerking a chin up to the golden-brown horse as he walks up. “Taking Lucky to a timeout again?”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head, “I swear this horse either likes me more or he’s being a bastard on purpose for his owners.”

Apparently, out of all of the horses in the ranch, Lucky is the more “devil’s child” (which Eddie had described with a voice of an old Texas man). Steve hasn’t witnessed the actions himself, but the stories range from nipping other horses to clomping the front of a vehicle into smithereens for no reason except for an undisclosed hatred to the human race.

So predictably, Eddie is one of the very few humans who have the privilege to be Lucky’s close friends. 

(“Honestly, I think this horse is an agent from the Upside Down. Steve, listen to me. I’ve faced a hoard of demobats but that horse scares me.” Eddie tells him one afternoon, just a week after being the new ranch hire. Steve listens to it all, but his eyes are on the ever wild gestures and lit cigarette dangerously close to burning his hair.

“If you’re afraid of it, then hasn’t it like,” Steve makes his best impression of a horse stomping someone to death.

Eddie snorts, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I guess I’m a braver motherfucker than I thought or Lucky just likes me better than the normal folk.”

I like you better too. Way more than the whole town. It’s not Steve’s first thought and it’s far from the last one he wishes to say alo.)

As Eddie leads Lucky alongside the fence of the pasture, Steve follows from behind, keeping a very safe distance from Lucky and his back legs of severe injury. Then Eddie opens the gate, letting Lucky run into the pasture. 

Steve puts his arms on the fence, watching the horse gallop around and kicking up dirt clouds. He looks over at Eddie, who’s mirroring him but his gaze is on Steve. He smiles again, making Steve’s heart do a double flip.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He only shuffles closer until their sides are pressing to each other. Then he tucks his chin onto Steve’s shoulder, his nose brushing the cheek. “I like being close to you. You’re warm.” Eddie finally says in a hushed voice like he’s sharing a secret.

Steve almost says it.

He almost tells Eddie, “I love you.”

But the words don’t come out. They feel blocked in his mouth. Like there’s one last gate to go through and Steve can’t find the key for it. It feels like he’s back in high school, fresh faced and still navigating the brutal castle that would chew him up and spit him out.

It feels frustrating that when the perfect opportunity for the confession is literally leaning against him, he can’t say it.

He’s scared now. That he’ll spit it out like an afterthought or say something like “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified” and have Eddie push him under Lucky’s hooves of death. 

Eddie’s still looking at him. His eyes are hooded but cautious. He looks vulnerable. With the rays of sunlight still shining behind him, he looks beautiful.

Steve glances down at their hands. They hang limp over the fence, their pinkies barely touching. He swallows and says in a similar hushed voice, “Can I hold your hand?”

Eddie’s expression warms, his smile turning more tender. He takes off his gloves and slowly wraps his hand around Steve’s. His palm feels too smooth and sweaty with his pulse going wild. 

It’s honestly perfect.

“This okay?” Eddie whispers.

Steve resists the urge to pinch between his eyebrows, hoping to blink away the sudden tears. “Yeah.”

Later, he would finally tell Eddie the three blessed words.

[entropical-punch]

Winterkill

I know I haven’t posted in a while, but I found this piece in my drafts and figured I’d stop worrying about it and just let y’all read it. I might go back and finish it at some point, but who knows. Regardless, enjoy!

Warnings: Stalking, non/con, implied kidnapping, threats of and actual violence.

Your side had been losing for a while now.

It was stupid to go up against the Tsaritsa anyway, but your people had hope. Your little outcrop of adventurers, with more spirit than supplies, had barely stepped foot in Szneznaya before the Fatui were on to you. The plan was to sneak across the border, destroy a base or two, and leave, only coming back to do it again once the coast was clear. Of course, the coast was never going to be clear. 

Some of your companions fell to frostbite. Others were captured by the Fatui, too slow to escape their clutches. Your last friend left the camp to hunt for food, and they never came back. If they screamed out for help, or let out a wail of anguish, you would not have been able to hear it over the roar of the wind, the sting of the snow.

Now, it was just you, and as you stared into the pitiful dregs of your fire, fighting as hard as you were to stay alive, the last one of your group, you could barely hold onto hope.

You were about to drift into an anxious sleep when you heard something behind you. A twig snapped, or a flask dropped, whatever it was didn’t matter.  Something had made an impact in the snow despite the blanket of quietness it cast around you. 

That something was a tall, imposing figure, his blank blue eyes and red hair looking all too familiar to you. Here was the eleventh Harbinger, standing before you, dwarfing your shivering form.

"I've been following you and your little militia for days now. I'm surprised any of you lasted this long, but I'm glad you're the last one left. You've been my favorite to watch." His smile curled upwards, tongue darting out to lick a spot of blood on the edge of his mouth.

Your hand is desperate to curl around the hilt of your sword. You shift from looking at him to your bag, wondering if you could possibly grab something, anything, to defend yourself from this man.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, buddy."

You looked back up at him, only to find the head of an arrow pointed right at your face, notched and a single movement away from ending everything. 

"You look terrified. Oh, I'm so jealous of whatever agents got to your group first. They must've had a lot of fun leading the welcome party, huh?"

Arrow still aimed at you, he crouches down.

"Truth be told, I was only a few steps behind them. Your group looked interesting, might even put up a halfway-decent fight. And then a couple of you fell, but you didn't. I could practically smell the anger radiating off of you, how excited you were to fight for what you believed in. And then you and your party retreated! You ran away! And, well, I couldn't just let you go like that. So, I've been tracking you all for a while, waiting for my chance to really get to know you. And then, your last companion walked away, and, well, let's just say they won't be coming back."

It's this moment when you where the blood on the edge of his mouth came from, what was crusting the tip of the arrow too close to your eyes.

You can barely choke out your question.

"Why are you doing this?"

His eyes widen a little.

"You're trying to overthrow the Tsaritsa, and you didn’t think I was just going to leave it alone, did you? It’s my job,” he said, putting down his bow and leaning towards you, his face close enough for you to get a hit in, but his dull stare had you paralyzed. "Try to make this fun for me, okay?” He lunges towards you, pushing you into the freezing cold below.

His breath comes out in quick, heavy pants, falling on your throat and making your skin heat up. 

“You put up such a fight,” he said, tongue ghosted over your jugular, his canines coming dangerously close to ripping you open, blood staining the snow below you scarlet.

Maybe that’s what he wanted. If he had been hunting you down for as long as he said, he’s been waiting for you. Humans are endurance hunters, after all.

“Can’t believe I finally caught you,” disbelief and yearning combining into one sentence that made your heart beat faster. His hands gripped at your jacket, ripping open the seams and yanking it down, biting down hard on your exposed shoulder. 

You hold back a cry, not wanting him to know how humiliated you felt under him.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” he murmured. “I wanna hear you scream. You know there’s no one around to hear you.”

He wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed. 

Black dots danced at the edge of your vision, mouth hanging open in a desperate attempt to suck in as much air as you could. He was pressing hard enough to crush your windpipe.

Just when you felt yourself on the brink of passing out, he took his hand away, watching you gasp and sputter.

When you finally caught your breath, he was still looking at you, his smile too big for his face. His hand came down to his crotch, where you could see his cock straining the front of his pants. As he pulled down his zipper, you wanted to back away, grab whatever you could and run.

But you couldn't. Who knows how badly he would've squeezed you if you tried. You had been too consumed with your feeble plans of escape that you didn't notice he had taken the hunting knife from your friend and was now holding it dangerously close to the space between your legs. You didn't even get a chance to beg before he took the knife to the rest of your clothes, effortlessly shredding through wool and cotton to expose you to the frigid air.

"I think it's time I take my prize, yeah?" He said, lining himself up with your entrance.

He thrust himself in and moved wildly, in an uncoordinated rhythm highlighted by his ragged breathing, every exhale putting an uncomfortable heat on your throat.

You stayed silent, despite the torture.

"I said I wanted to hear you scream." He stopped moving, pulling away to look at you.

He grabbed the knife again. 

"Let me explain. If you scream out who's taking you right now, if you call me by my title, I won't cut you open like prey and leaves your guts for the scavengers. You know who I am, right?"

You nod, saying, “You’re, you’re, Tartaglia.”

“Damn right,” he huffed, moving faster and faster inside of you, hands gripping and bruising your skin. “You feel so good, too good to leave behind.”

You tense up as he finishes, standing back up to readjust his clothes.

“Get dresses, soldier. You’re my personal Fatui agent now, and there’s a lot I’ll need you to do.”