#I'm so angry and frustrated that this series I was so excited for is just set up for Wanda's next series and is all about Wanda

[thunderboltfire]

I'm gonna be real with You guys, I've already been immensely concerned for the new Dragon Age, and the trailer didn't help much, unfortunately. I'm not a fan of the usage of stylisation in the artstyle - I have nothing against stylisation itself! I think it's a valid direction they could go with the visual side of the game. Matt Rhodes, who developed a lot of DA's visual characteristic definitely loves stylisation. The rejection of the photorealistic approach would lessen the scrutiny over the game's graphics and animations (and TBH, it would make it less probable that it'll immediately get compared to BG3 which has stellar mocap, something DA series isn't really known of).

The problem is that the stylisation is applied pretty inconsistently here, so the characters look like they're from different games. As far as the aestetics go, the promotional materials don't really reflect the direction BW said they were going to go with the next DA game - it was supposed to be a return to the dark fantasy roots of the series, and the colorful, flashy presentation doesn't really read as dark fantasy. It of course can very well be the case of the trailer not representing the game well - that yet remains to be seen.

My biggest concern, as always in case of RPGs is the plot, and You cannot gauge it from a trailer. Good for Harding to get more spotlight, though. There's never enough dwarves, and especially dwarven ladies. But overall, especially after the recent awful treatment of their employees, I'm not sure at all if I want to give money to Bioware.

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 27

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, mentions of unrequited love. smut, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, choking (kinda). Not giving away who the smut is about but uh, don't come at me.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Your anger and frustration take a hold of you, and for the first time, you take control and change things into the better... you hope.

Word count: 14k+

A/N: @hellfire--cult thank you for helping me so much, we've been talking about this chapter for two months now (or longer?) and I'm so fucking excited that we're finally here, aaaah!

series masterlist

-

A look of anger is nestled deep into your soft features, your brows are knitted together, lips curled downwards. There’s a tired look in your eyes, it’s barely visible beneath the lingering rage. You are clenching your jaw, huffing in frustration ever so often. Despite the mess that must be going on inside your head, you still manage to look beautiful. That is something Heather has always admired about you. No matter what bullshit life throws at you, you always manage to look better than anyone else in the room. No amount of tears, betrayal or pain will stop you from making yourself look good. In fact, Heather is convinced that you look better and better after every fall that you take. 

How? She doesn’t know. 

She eyes you, admiring the way the short maroon skirt looks on you, sun kissed legs glowing beneath the dim lights, the tight black top adorned with dainty lace straps, boots that you wouldn’t have worn a year ago – you look good. Really good. She understands why Eddie struggles to keep his eyes off of you. Or why Steve still pines after you. You’re not just an amazing girl, you’re also a really fucking hot one. 

Another huff falls from your lips, your eyes flash with irritation as you slam one of the records on the shelf. 

Heather isn’t sure if she had ever seen you this angry. 

You are rarely ever angry. 

You weren’t even this angry when Steve stood you up on dates you were excited for.

“What is wrong with cheer captain over there?” Argyle whispers in his girlfriend's ear as he pretends to check out the tape in his hand. 

Heather snorts, looking over her shoulder at him, “she’s not a cheer captain anymore, you know?” 

He shrugs, “once a captain, always a captain, baby.” 

Heather shakes her head. 

“No, seriously. What happened to her?” He asks as he puts the tape back into place, placing his hand on her lower back as he glances at you. “I don’t think anger was an emotion that existed in her world,” he mumbles quietly, watching the way flick your hair back angrily as you make your way back to the counter. 

“I’m not sure,” Heather mumbles, wide eyed and confused, not knowing whether to confront you or not. “I guess something happened with Steve.. again.” Just a moment after those words leave her lips, the bell above the door rings and in walks Eddie with the usual smile that appears on his face whenever he sees you. 

Heather glances at him briefly, before her eyes move back to you, just in time to catch you rolling your eyes at the man you adore so much. She can’t even hide the look of surprise that crosses her face when you look down with a slight glare.

Argyle, who wasn’t blind to it either, laughs quietly, “uh oh, trouble in paradise.” 

Eddie, who is yet to notice the angry look on your face, walks up to the counter with a takeaway cup that he places in front of you, tearing your attention away from the magazine that lies in front of you. Without raising your head, you look up at him through your lashes, eying the cheerful look on his face, the smile, the stupid brown eyes that you love so much. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, looking around the record store, he waves at Heather and Argyle before he looks back at you. “I got you some coffee, figured you’d need some after last night.”

He drums his fingers against the counter as he stares at you, taking in the sight of you in your pretty little outfit, your glossy, kissable lips, your soft wavy hair that you always spent the most time on. He looks into your beautiful eyes that you glare at him with. He waits for you to crack a smile but, just like last night, you only frown, your lips twitch as though you try to force a smile but fail to do so. You don’t even acknowledge the cup he had placed in front of the magazine that you were glaring at before he walked in. 

Eddie’s heart sinks a little. He hoped to see a smile on your face today. You had been acting weird from the moment you had excused yourself to the bathroom last night. When you had gotten back with another drink in your hand, you chose to sit next to Steve instead of him. Eddie knew that something wasn’t right the moment he saw how you were forcing laughter and pretended to be interested in whatever Robin was telling you. You barely talked to him or to Steve for that matter, but you had at least looked at him. All Eddie got were halfhearted smiles, short replies and a cold shoulder from you. Which hurt – a lot. 

He didn’t allow himself to overthink, to feel hurt over something that probably meant nothing. But now that he stands in front of you, looking into those eyes that seem even more rage filled than the night before he knows that he had every reason to overthink. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

Eddie blinks, staring at you with sad eyes. 

“Uh, you’re welcome,” he mutters under his breath, he straightens up, staring down at you with confused eyes. “Did you sleep well? You had a lot of whiskey last night.” 

You didn’t stay over last night. And he didn’t stay over at your place either. In fact, it’s been a while since you had slept in each other’s beds, since you both started working. He misses it. He misses you, he misses waking up beside you, feeling your body on his, smelling your perfume on his sheets. He wants to go back to the night you had stolen the bat plushie for him, when you missed him, when you wanted him to hold you, he misses it, especially now. 

“I slept just fine.” 

He clenches his jaw when you give him another glare. 

What is your problem? 

Are you angry? Or are you angry at him? 

“What do you want?” You ask, voice filled with bitterness. 

Ah. So, you are angry at him. Eddie had never gotten to know what it’s like to feel your anger before. What it’s like to feel your cold shoulder. Not once, had you been angry at him. Not once, had you glared at him, snapped at him, treated him unkindly. Not a single time, had you done wrong by him. You are always sweet, always kind, always good. Now he gets to feel it. And god, it doesn’t feel good. 

“Uh, well. I’m on lunch break and thought I’d drop by,” he mumbles, hating the way his voice wavers, the way he feels so awkward, knowing that Heather and Argyle are listening in on your conversation. “So, the guys canceled band practice tonight. Do you wanna hang out after work? I get off earlier, I can pick you up after your shift, we can go to the movies or have a few drinks at the hideout.”

Suddenly, you snap your head up, looking him directly into his eyes. Eddie is almost a little taken aback by the storm raging in your eyes. 

“Why? Did you run out of girls to eat out?” 

Eddie is stunned. Utterly stunned and dumbfounded. His mouth opens and closes again, too confused, too shocked to say anything. 

What? 

Heather and Argyle who feel just as stunned, look at each other with wide eyes. 

‘Holy shit, dude. That is like a soap opera.’ Argyle mouths with a funny look on his face as he points to you and Eddie. 

Heather glares at him, slapping his shoulder lightly. 

With an eye roll, you look away from Eddie and his confused frown. You turn around and walk away, not bearing to stand being in his presence any longer, you brush past your friends and walk into the backroom. Ignoring the guilt that is burning in your chest after seeing the look in Eddie’s eyes. 

His eyes follow you until you disappear into the hallway. He wants to follow you, he wants to move, he wants to confront you, but he stands frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do. 

What the hell just happened? 

Did you really say that?

“What did you do, Munson?” 

Eddie snaps out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at Heather, who is already glaring at him with arms crossed over her chest. The girl had always intimidated him a little, but especially now. 

He looks over at Argyle who looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or try to calm his angry girlfriend down as he looks between Heather and him. 

Eddie lifts his shoulders, shrugging with a confused and crestfallen look on his face. He is clueless and lost, not quite understanding what the hell just happened. Nothing you say or do makes sense to him lately. You say you wish you met him first, only to act like nothing happened the next day, like you don’t remember your words from the night you had gotten so drunk. He tried not to think too much into it, even after Dmitri’s encouraging words. You could never feel the same, could you? No. Then he thinks about the previous night, about how upset you seemed after his little sex talk with Steve. Surely you are not upset about the things he did but about the things that Steve did or well, didn’t do with you. Not because of what he did months ago, right? You wouldn’t care. You wouldn’t care about what he did with other girls or maybe you do, just not for the reasons he’d hope. You were – are probably just upset about what he did with strangers, what your own boyfriend never did with you but did with a girl he left you for. 

You wouldn’t be jealous, not over him, right? 

Not that he would ever want you to, he would never want you to feel jealous over him. For him, there is only one girl that he wants and that is you. The girls he had fooled around with, were merely a distraction and long before he had admitted to his feelings. The moment he had looked at you a little longer, felt his heart race a little faster, caught himself thinking about you more than he should have, he tried to distract himself, he tried to be with other girls, ones who were willing to touch ‘the freak’. Though, he could never go all the way, the moment he even felt someone else’s touch on him, pictures of you flashed right before his eyes, as much as he tried to force them away, he couldn’t. He knew he was done for when the thought of fucking some random girl left a bitter taste in his mouth and the thought of you stopped him from even going as far. He stopped it right then and there, despite knowing that he would never get a chance with you. It just felt wrong and not as good as it should have. 

“Who’s pussy did you eat, dude?” Argyle shakes his head at him with both an amused and disapproving look on his face. 

Heather glares at her boyfriend before she redirects her glare at Eddie, feeling the anger rise inside of her. She is not ready to see you pine after another guy who can’t keep it in his pants. Though when she sees the sad and confused look in Eddie’s eyes, her shoulders slump a little. She sighs, dropping her arms by her sides. 

“No one’s – what the fuck,” Eddie mumbles, ready to turn on his heels and run out of here. “That was months ago. I don’t know why she’s so pissed at me.” 

Heather knows. Despite not knowing what happened, she knows why you are so pissed. 

She makes her way over to him, squinting her eyes as she tilts her head. 

“What happened months ago?” 

He sighs, cheeks heating up. He doesn’t want to talk about something so meaningless, let alone with a friend who would probably kill for you. 

“And what happened in general?” She asks, now talking in hushed whispers. “We talked on the phone yesterday, she seemed fine and was excited to see you, so what the hell happened?” 

His heart soars to hear that you were excited to see him. 

He runs his fingers through his messy curls, looking around the record store before he looks back at Heather. 

“We hung out with Robin and Steve. We went back to his place, got high and had a couple of drinks.”

“And?” 

“And then we, fuck,” he sighs. “It doesn’t matter, okay? S-She’s just pissed at me because of what Steve did… or didn’t do.” 

Heather’s brows knit together, a confused look taking over her face. She hates the way she never gets anything out of him or you. You are both so confusing sometimes. 

“I just – I’m gonna go,” he mumbles in defeat but also in anger and frustration, “just tell her to give me a call when she feels okay again.” 

Before she can say or ask anything else, he turns around but not before taking another glance into the hallway, huffing when it stays empty. He opens the door and leaves. 

Heather leans against the counter, rolling her eyes. 

When you walk back out, you look around the store, checking to see if he is still here. You ignore the disappointment and guilt gnawing at your stomach. 

“So…. what happened?” Heather asks you when you start reading your magazine again, as though nothing happened. 

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on,” she groans, throwing her hands up. “Just tell me what happened, you clearly need to let it out!” 

With a sigh, you lean closer to her, not wanting her boyfriend to listen in on this conversation. 

“I didn’t fucking know that men eat pussies.” 

Heather doesn’t want to, she really really doesn’t want to laugh. But, the mix of anger and embarrassment in your eyes, the flustered look on your face along with your choice of words makes it hard for her not to giggle, she manages to suppress it though. 

“He found out that Steve never did anything like that with me and then he bragged about his skills to both Robin and Steve. I thought he was done with it, he told me he wasn’t hooking up with anyone anymore but then I found out that he fooled around two or three months ago, Heather! He fucking fooled around with other girls!” You yell in a whisper, getting angrier and angrier. “He was fucking and doing god knows what w-with – god, I don’t even want to know. But then he got mad at me for kissing Steve! He treated me like shit all day when he found out about the kiss, yet he was doing so much worse!” 

Heather’s eyes widen. Not because of what you told him but because of the look on your face. The anger in your voice. The very clear jealousy and storm raging in your eyes. 

She narrows her eyes when she feels Argyle watching. He begins to whistle, pretending to not watch you throwing a fit. 

“It made me so mad, so fucking mad. I-It’s not even that he fooled around with girls, he was– is single and free to do whatever he wants. It’s just – fuck,” you grab your hair, shaking your head as you close your eyes, trying to take deep breaths. “On top of that, I find out that Steve did everything with Nancy fucking Wheeler.” 

You are frustrated. That much is clear. Angry, jealous and irritated. But there is a different kind of frustration, right now. 

“Babe,” Heather whispers, reaching over the counter, she pulls your hands out of your hair, pulling them down and placing them back on the counter, “breathe with me.” 

You open your eyes, looking into her calm ones. 

“Just take a deep breath,” she repeats. 

“I got a joint for you if you want, y/n,” Argyle says from the other side of the room. 

“Argyle!” Heather snaps, glaring at him again – something that only makes him chuckle in response, shrugging. “She needs to chillax a little.” 

You crack a smile at his words.

“Look! There she is, the first smile of the day, good job, Heather!” He grins at his girlfriend with a thumbs up. 

“You made her smile,” she chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully. She looks back at you. 

“Look, Steve sucks, we all know that.” 

“Sucked.” 

She huffs at your correction. 

“He will always suck to me – but anyways, what I’m trying to say is,” she pauses, holding your hands tighter. “Eddie is not Steve. I know you’re scared to watch the guy you like fool around with other girls, like you had to with Steve back then but, Eddie isn’t him. Besides, didn’t he say it was months ago?” 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Two or three months ago.” 

“See, that’s a long time for a guy, trust me,” she mutters with wide eyes. “It didn’t happen recently, it happened months ago. He stopped for a reason, besides I don’t think there’s a reason for you to feel jealous. I know you like Eddie–”

“I don’t like Eddie,” you blush. 

“Sure you’re don’t, y/n,” Argyle chuckles, not even hiding the fact that he is listening in on your conversation. “You’re not fooling anyone, neither is Eddie. You’re both idiots.”

You frown at his words.

“Don’t listen to him” Heather shakes her head. “Listen, I get why you’re upset but, you need to learn how to speak up and talk about whatever is bothering you. You never talked to Steve, you always kept it all to yourself, which I get because he was a douchebag to you the few times you did open up. But, don’t do the same with Eddie. He cares about you, a lot.”

You look down, guiltily. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Heather sighs, squeezing your hands. “I think he deserved that little cold shoulder, he did the same to you,” she shrugs. “But seriously, just talk to him. Being the on the receiving end of the cold shoulder fucking sucks, you know that.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I-I just don't know what to say Heather. Whatever I will say will make me sound like some jealous lovesick idiot.” 

She raises her brows, “are you lovesick?” 

You shake your head at her, though she can see you blushing. You are afraid of the feelings you had developed for Eddie, the ones you haven’t even fully admitted to yet. 

“Well, start with an apology and explain to him why you were angry. That it was unfair of him to treat you like that after the kiss with Steve when he was doing, well, that..” 

You nod.

“Talk to him, go to the hideout, after work. We both know you want to.” 

“Us three know, you want to,” Argyle corrects her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Us three,” she laughs. 

You snort, shaking your head at them both. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “What if he doesn’t want to see me? I was a bitch to him.”

Argyle snorts, “girl, he came here all the way just to spend his lunch break with you and he looked like a poor little kitten who was kicked to the curb by his owner. He does want to see you.” 

“I-I don’t know.” 

“Y/n,” Heather sighs.

“I just, I didn’t bring my car and I don’t want to walk all the way there.”

She knows that you are trying to make up excuses because you are too afraid to face him now after what happened. 

“I’ll give you a ride in the coolest pizza van ever,” Argyle grins, “it’s supposed to storm later, wouldn’t want you to walk home in the rain, anyways,” he shrugs as he finally walks up to the counter, throwing his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder, he grins at you. 

“See, you got a driver and a few hours to calm down!” Heather says with a big smile on her face. “Now let’s go before she says no,” she turns to her boyfriend, letting go of your hands to grab his, she starts to drag him out of the store. 

“Oh,” Argyle chuckles, “see ya later!” 

“Yeah bye,” you sigh, already dreading the moment you will have to face Eddie. 

You busy yourself with the new records that came in today, trying to ignore the abandoned cup of coffee on the counter, but you keep looking at it, feeling worse and worse the more time passes by. 

Eddie didn’t deserve the way you treated him. Even when he was once a dick to you, he still didn’t deserve it. But anger controlled you and maybe a pinch of jealousy. Eddie is single but that won’t stay that way forever. He might not be around for you, forever. Someday, someone will come into his life and steal his heart, someone he will fall for, someone he will leave you for. The thought of it, puts a frown on your face. Imagining him with another girl leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, it makes your insides feel as though they’re twisting and catching on fire. You hate it. You hate the thought of him with someone else. 

But it will happen someday. Anyday. 

A mix of emotions run through you all day and it almost becomes unbearable on the drive to the hideout. Neither Argyle’s attempts at making you laugh with his silly jokes or his music manage to calm you down. Nothing manages to make you feel better in the slightest. By the time you jump out of the van, your hands are shaking and your heart is pounding. 

What if he doesn’t want to see you? 

What if he is angry at you? 

What if you just ruined a friendship that means everything to you?

The rain is pouring, forcing you to find shelter quickly. Normally, you would’ve given yourself at least five minutes to calm down before walking inside but you refuse to walk in looking like a wet dog. 

With shaky hands, you open the door and step inside, ignoring the raindrops rolling down your cheeks. You take a few deep breaths, pulling the jacket tighter around your body. You look towards the little booth you usually sit at, only to find it empty. 

You swallow nervously, furrowing your brows. 

The sound of a girl's laughter pulls your attention towards the bar and for a moment, your heart stops beating, your breath hitches in your throat. Unable to move, you stand frozen in place with hands that shake for different reasons other than nervousness now. 

Eddie is sitting at the bar, talking to some girl. She touches his arm, leaning closer to him. You hear her giggle and you see his smile and that is enough for you to regret even thinking of coming here. Of course, he went out to find someone else the moment you rejected his invitation. 

Your heart starts pounding again, your throat feels tight, too tight. You can’t bear to stare at the sight in front of you any longer. To see him smile at someone like this, to see someone else touching him, to see him so happy with someone other than you. 

The moment you hear his laughter is the moment you know you’re done for. It’s too late to come back from this now. It’s too late to try and keep your heart safe from yet another heartbreak. It’s too late to stop yourself from falling because you already fell. And you lost, again. 

Tears prickle in your eyes, your bottom lip starts trembling. 

The urge to walk over to him feels strong, too strong. But you fight it, not wanting to make a fool out of yourself, you turn around and storm out of the bar, not caring about the pouring rain. You step out into the cold, letting the rain crash down on you. 

You don’t even acknowledge his van as you walk past it. 

You’re blinking away the tears, not wanting them to fall. The feeling of dread, anger and sadness is starting to consume you, again. It feels like Halloween night, all over again. 

The door slams open behind you and footsteps echo through the empty streets. You keep walking, not bothering to look back, not even when you hear his voice calling your name. Only when he catches up to you, blocking your path by standing in front of you do you stop walking. 

You see the irritation in his features, the confusion as he stares you down. 

He is trying to shield himself from the rain but to no avail, his bangs are already sticking to his forehead. 

“I called your name!” 

You huff, trying to step around him, but he only moves in front of you again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” He finally snaps. “Where are you going!?”

“Home!” You try to walk past him once again, but Eddie is stubborn, not letting you go. You huff in anger, looking up into his eyes with a glare, “Go back to your girl, I don’t want to be the one getting in the way of you and some pussy, Munson!” 

His eyes flash with confusion, darkening in frustration. 

“I– what!?” 

You shake your head at him, scoffing at his faked confusion. 

“Get out of the way.” 

“What!? No!” He shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to take your hand and drag you towards his van but he doesn’t want to startle you in this moment, not after what happened with Ray. 

You clench your jaw, glaring at him. You watch how his breathing gets heavier and heavier, how he glares into your eyes with both anger and frustration. 

Something like this has never happened before. 

You had never gotten into a fight before. Not once. 

“Get in the van, sweetheart.” 

The nickname that usually rolls off his tongue so sweetly, sounding so bitterly now. 

You shake your head. 

He huffs, looking away for a moment, he suddenly no longer feels the cold rain on his skin, the goosebumps underneath his clothes. He only feels the irritation rushing through him. He looks back at you, staring at the frown on your face, the furrowed brows, the pursed lip, the way you’re breathing so heavily. 

You are angry and so is he, he is fuming. 

“I’m not letting you go until you get in the damn van.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not minding the pouring rain, at all. 

“No.” 

He stares at you in disbelief. Who would’ve thought that you could be such a brat?

He takes a step closer, looking down at you, “get in the van,” he says, slowly. 

Eddie expects you to stay stubborn, to shake your head and continue to argue with him on that. To his surprise, you drop your arms to your sides and turn around but not without an eye roll. 

He shakes his head at the attitude you’re still giving him, the one that got even worse. He reaches for his car keys, following you to his van. Despite his anger, he still walks over to the passenger side, opening the door for you. The rain dripples down your face, you get in the van with a mad look on your face, not even sparing him a glance. 

Another huff falls from his lips when you continue to ignore him. He closes the door, not wanting to stand longer in the rain than he has to, he rushes over to the driver's side, quickly getting in. 

He pushes the key into the ignition, starting it but not moving to start driving yet. He looks over at you after taking a deep breath. You’re staring out the window, not moving, not speaking, not turning to look at him the way you usually do, even your knees are pointed away from him. 

“Are you gonna talk to me?” He asks as he grabs the steering wheel. 

Silence. 

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, at least?” 

You only shift in your seat, huffing. He notices how fast you’re blinking, how you keep pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling. His eyes soften a little when he realizes that you are trying to blink away the tears that are threatening to fall. 

“Can you just drive me home?” You ask in annoyance. 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a long minute, trying to figure you out. He feels restless, his heart is pounding and he dreads the moment he has to drop you off at home, knowing that this will stay unresolved, but what can he do? 

With a sigh, he turns away from you, he doesn’t even bother to turn up the music when he starts driving. For the first few minutes, the car ride is spent in silence. There is a storm raging in his mind, a million questions running through it, ones that he will find no answers for himself. 

You are silent. You are never this silent. You always talk to him, you never ever ignore him. 

“What the hell is going on, y/n?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road. “Are you ever gonna speak to me again or are you gonna continue to act like a goddamn brat?” 

The faintest scoff sounds through the space between you, though this is all he gets out of you. 

He clenches his jaw and holds the steering wheel even tighter than before, he taps his finger against it, getting jumpy the harder his heart starts pounding. He doesn’t want to leave things unresolved. He doesn’t want to drop you off at home like this. He doesn’t want to deal with this tension, this anger from you any longer. He can’t take it. He can’t take the cold shoulder, not from you.

But he feels so powerless, not knowing what he did wrong, not knowing what he did to make you so angry. 

“What is wrong with you!? I invited you tonight, and you clearly rejected the invitation! You’ve been acting like a total bitch to me since yesterday night at Steve’s!” 

Not a single word leaves your mouth. He tries, he really tries to stay calm but he’s scared. He’s fucking scared that he messed it up without realizing that he did. 

In his state of anger and panic, he pulls the car off the road, slamming the brakes as he brings the car to a stop. He unbuckles the seatbelt, briefly glancing at you to find you staring at him in confusion. 

Oh, so now you’re finally fucking looking at him?

He gets out of the car, ignoring the way you mumble his name or the way you look at him with those big irresistible eyes. He stands beneath the pouring rain, not caring about the risk of catching a cold. He needs to cool off. He needs to breathe. He needs to think. 

He starts pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, thinking too much, too hard. 

He hears the door slamming and when he opens his eyes, he sees you standing there, even in the darkness, he can see the confused look, that same one that he has been wearing all day. Not just today, for the past few weeks. 

“Get back in the van!” 

He almost wants to laugh. 

“Seriously, come back, Eddie!” 

He won’t stop pacing, he keeps looking at you, at the way you’re standing there, not moving. 

“You make me so fucking mad and confused sometimes!” He yells over the loud rain. 

He sees the way you draw back, the way you look so offended for a second, before you start making your way over to him. 

“I make you confused? With what!?”

“Y-You tell me you wish you met me first, what the fuck does that even mean!?” He throws his hands up, he finally stops pacing. “You act like it never happened, like you never even said it. I-I don’t understand what is going on anymore! Why are you so fucking angry at me?”

You tense up, not daring to say anything. 

Eddie wants and needs an answer, he deserves one. You owe it to him. His brown eyes are filled with anger but they are also pleading. You have to tell him the truth but you can’t do that, despite what Heather said, you can’t do it. You’re scared.

You look down, huffing with your shoulders slumped, “fine, if you won’t drive me home, I’ll walk,” you say, stubbornly as you take a few steps before he jumps in front of you again.

He scoffs in disbelief, “oh, you’re not going anywhere until we work this out!” 

“Eddie–”

“I’m done with you running away from everything!”

“I’m not running.” 

He shakes his head at you, “no? Then what do you call this then, sweetheart? You keep running away when things get difficult or confusing but please, just this once, don’t run, don’t walk away from me,” he pleads, wanting nothing more than to take your hands in his.

You look up, finally meeting his eyes again. 

His hair no longer holds the volume from before, it’s drenched, water dripping from it, his face is soaked from the rain, his eyes blazing with anger and frustration, your eyes move to his lips and you once again, feel the fluttering in your chest, that you try to ignore, especially now. 

“You never say how you really feel, you never give the whole truth, you make me all confused and leave me hanging, all the damn time!” 

You shake your head, “when did I ever leave you hanging!?” 

He raises his brows, eyes widening as he looks at you in both disbelief and confusion. 

“How about the time you avoided me after you kissed Steve? Or the time you just disappeared on me for a whole week–”

“I called you every night!” You yell with a frown on your face. 

“Yeah? Well, you never told me why you suddenly needed to stop seeing me!” 

You swallow and look away, something that makes him roll his eyes. 

“Or the time you told me you wish you met me first? I-It’s been fucking with my mind ever since and I can’t make sense of it! You said these words to me and then passed out and the next day, you acted like nothing fucking happened!” 

You close your eyes, bouncing your knee and digging your nails into your palms. 

“Why does that matter now?” You ask, getting irritated the longer you stay out here, the longer you feel the clothes sticking to your cold skin. 

Eddie can’t explain the rage that is cursing through his veins. It isn’t directed at you but at the feelings he can’t set free because he can’t ruin this thing between you even more.

“It matters to me!” He yells, sounding desperate to know the truth. “Why do you say these things to me? Why are you so angry at me? Why aren’t you fucking talking to me?” 

You snap your head up, hating the way your heart is filled with so much fear or the way your body won’t stop shaking. He looks so angry at you – he is angry with you and your silence. 

“You never give me a chance to know what you’re angry about! But fuck, this time you are getting into my fucking nerves because you – I don’t know why you are so mad and why you keep being so cold towards me when I didn’t do shit!” He exclaims, feeling like his heart is about to jump out. 

He is angry, but he is mostly scared. Scared to lose you. 

You look offended by his words and despite it, you move closer and closer to him, drawn into him like a magnet despite the anger that should push you away, the way it always pushed you away from Steve for a little while before he’d come back asking for forgiveness. 

“Oh, so I’m cold now!? So you can be mad at me and act cold whenever you want, but I fucking can’t!?” 

He knows what you’re talking about. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. And as he looks into your eyes and he sees something else besides anger, he slowly begins to understand. He looks into your eyes, he watches the way the drops of rain run down your cheeks, the way your angry eyes are filled with unshed tears, the way you are so much closer than before, the way your chest is rising up and down heavily as you stare at him intensely, eyes scanning his whole face. 

He feels desperate. He wants and needs to fix this, he needs you to explain to him what happened so he can fix it, he needs you to stay, he needs you to stay with him. He can’t lose you. 

You stare at his lips for a long time, you listen to the way your heart is pounding, to the way your hands itch to touch his skin, despite the situation you find yourself in, despite the anger that is still cursing through your veins. 

You can’t bear this any longer. You can’t take this, not with him. You are so sick of the fighting. You are sick of being scared. You are sick of losing. You are sick of wondering and never taking action. 

“I at least explained to you why! You are afraid of telling me your reasons, and I honestly have no clue what your deal is! So can you please just tell me–”

You cup his cheeks and pull him down, not wasting a second, you smash your lips against his, not letting yourself second guess it any longer. You finally do it. You kiss him. 

You kiss Eddie. 

With your eyes closed and your body almost pressed against his, you move your lips against his as you hold his face with your hands, getting lost in the feeling of kissing your best friend, not even noticing how still his body is. 

Eddie stands frozen in place. His eyes are wide, his heart is racing like crazy. He stares at you, not quite understanding what is happening, not believing what is happening. Is this real? Is he real? Are you real? Are you really kissing him? Is this really happening?

This is everything he ever wanted. To feel your lips on his. To find out what it’s like to kiss you, even if just for one time. 

As you stand here, kissing him under the pouring rain that is crashing down on the both of you, Eddie can’t believe that this isn’t something out of his dreams. Not even the cold rain can pull him out of his trance, not even the racing of his heart can pull him out of whatever shock he is under. 

Only when your lips stop moving and you shakily remove your hands from his face, you open your eyes, almost fearfully. You get flustered, so so flustered. Your eyes scan his whole face and he notices how anxious you now look. You swallow as your brows pinch together, a look of rejection flashes in your eyes as they begin to tear up. You blink, opening and closing your mouth. You take a small step back from him as your shoulders slump. You look crestfallen and that finally causes him to snap out of it. 

You blink, trying to hide the tears that are about to spill. 

He doesn’t want you. He never wanted you. What ever made you think that he could want you? Who does? Who could ever want you? 

You take another step back, raising your hands towards your lips, “I-I’m s–” 

Before you can even utter another word, Eddie takes two steps forward, he cups your cheeks, not letting you move away or doubt yourself any longer, not wasting another second, he leans down and he crashes his lips onto yours, taking your breath away with only the feeling of his lips moving against yours, you can’t even stop the gasp from escaping despite having kissed him just now. But you easily melt into his touch and against his lips. Your eyes close and you kiss him back in an instant. The softest sigh falls from his lips when you start to kiss each other like you’ve always wanted to. It’s soft and slow at first. His thumbs linger on your cheekbones, your hands are now pressed against his chest, you can feel his heart pounding loudly,matching the pace of your own. The softest sigh escapes your lips, enough to make Eddie weak in the knees. You are both savoring this feeling, the feeling of the way your lips move against one another, the feeling of your bodies pressed together, the fluttering of your hearts, the joy inside of you. 

Eddie already knew that he was done for before this. But now, he is ruined and he doesn’t mind it for a single second. Even if you are only giving him a taste of this, even if this is the one and only kiss, he will die a happy man. He doesn’t know whether he feels like crying tears of joy or screaming in happiness when he feels you deepening the kiss, still going slow and soft as before but wanting more, more, more. He can feel you holding back. 

His hands leave your face, slipping down your – his soaked denim jacket, he squeezes your arms before his hands find their way to your waist. 

He could stand here forever, just kissing you underneath the stormy sky. Embracing the tingly feeling you leave his lips with, the giddiness in his stomach, the racing in his heart. He doesn’t want this to end, even when he’s getting breathless, he doesn’t want it to end. He just wants to keep kissing you. He just wants to keep feeling your lips moving against his, he wants to feel your hands on his chest, your body pressed against his, your breath on his skin, the taste of strawberries on your lips. He wants this to keep going. He doesn’t want this to end. 

But neither do you. 

You pull away from each other and open your eyes at the same time, both gasping for air as you stare at each other wide eyed. Your chests are rising up and down heavily. Rain is dripping down both your bodies but neither of you feel the coldness of it. You only feel each other. You only see each other. 

You only see him. You only feel him. His lips are parted, his cheeks are flushed, he is staring at you, eyes scanning your whole face. He wants more. You can tell by the look in his eyes as he stares at your lips, wanting to smash his against yours again, wanting to kiss you harder. 

And you want it too. 

You want more. 

You want him. 

All of him. 

You can sense each other’s desperation and this time, you both crash into each other after a long moment of heavy silence. You throw your arms around his neck as he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you flush against him as your lips meet, once again. This kiss is unlike the first one or the second one. This kiss is filled with so much desperation, longing, and raw lust, it’s rough and everything you’ve ever wanted to feel. You moan at the feeling of his ringed fingers digging into your skin and his plump lips kissing you so roughly and passionately. 

Eddie still struggles to believe that this is actually happening, that you are kissing him, that you are letting him slip his tongue past your lips, that you are moaning against his lips, that you are letting him slam your back against the side of his van, only for you to dig your fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging at his wet curls. 

He moans into the kiss when you bite his lower lip, catching him off guard a little by the roughness of your touch. You press yourself against him, sighing and fucking whimpering for him. 

One thing is for certain, the friendship is ruined. 

Your tongues clash together, your noses bump into each other as the kiss gets rougher and rougher. Both of you are breathing heavily, neither of you want to move away but when the lack of air gets too much again, you part away from the kiss but Eddie can’t stop, he brushes your hair to the side and leans down to press his lips against your jaw, kissing his way down to your neck. 

“Eddie,” you moan in need, closing your eyes and biting your bottom lip when you feel his lips on your sweet spot. You keep your hands around his neck, keeping yourself pressed against his body. You have to squeeze your thighs together when you feel him against your stomach, when you feel his lips sucking on your skin, when you hear his moans as he starts pleading for you. 

“God, I have to have you, baby,” he murmurs against your neck. “I need you.”  

He is asking, begging for you. 

Your stomach flutters and your knees almost buckle. 

You want him too. You need him too. 

You reach for his face, cupping his cheeks as you lean in, desperately kissing his lips again. 

“The back,” you whisper against his lips, pecking them. “The back of the van, now.”

His lips twitch as his eyes light up, you keep pecking his lips, “please.”

He takes your hand, dragging you towards the back of the van, almost shaking from excitement. He opens the door and grabs your waist, “c’mere,” he murmurs as he pulls your back flush against his chest, pressing his lips to your neck before he urges you inside. Your stomach flips at the thought of what is about to happen. You bite your lip as you bend down, crawling inside, onto the mountain of blankets and pillows you and Eddie have put in here, months ago. Your palms land on the gray pillows as you crawl forward. 

Eddie’s eyes widen, his breath hitches in his throat when your short skirt rides up, exposing your black thong to him. His mouth waters and his pants suddenly feel ten times tighter than they did five seconds ago. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, swallowing harshly.  

Who would’ve thought that his sweet best friend wears lacy black thongs underneath her short little skirts. Fuck. A few months back you were wearing polka dot underwear with cute little bows. He only knows that cause he accidentally walked in on you changing, a few times. Something that led to uncomfortable situations for him. 

Snapping out of his thoughts when your desperate eyes meet his, he finally follows you inside, closing the door behind him when you suddenly reach forward and eagerly grab him by the cuffs on his belt, earning a surprised moan from him when you pull him down, on top of you, not giving him the time to react before you slam your lips back against his. With one hand on the pillow beside you and the other cupping your cheek, Eddie kisses you back, savoring the feeling of your sighs and moans, the feeling of your hands on him, as they start to explore his body, moving down his shoulders and arms as you start tugging on his jacket. 

“Off,” you murmur between pecks. “Take it off.” 

His heart flutters at the eagerness behind your soft voice. Without breaking the kiss, he takes it off, throwing the soaked leather jacket to the side before he lets himself get lost in the feeling of you. 

Eddie feels like his heart might explode from how hard it is beating inside his chest, your soft moans are driving him insane, your touches, the way you run your fingers down his arms before they find their way to his waist, pulling him closer and closer until his body is flush against yours. 

He allows his hands to wander, moving them down to your chest and stomach, basking in the feeling of your hands gripping his sides harder when he slips his cold hand underneath your shirt. 

You are the first to break the kiss, you open your eyes as he does too, both of you are breathing heavily.

Eddie stares at the lust in your eyes, the pupils that have widened, leaving almost none of the color behind. Your lips are swollen from the kisses, wet hair already a mess, you are breathing heavily, tugging at his shirt. Eddie adores you. He really fucking adores you. He wants nothing more than to rip your clothes off and worship you. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes. “Are you–”

“Fuck me,” you whisper before he can even ask the stupid question. “Fuck me, Eddie. Please.” 

Yeah, he for sure, died and somehow went to heaven. He is convinced of it. 

Your skin feels on fire. Despite the cold rain you’ve been standing under for the past few minutes, your skin feels on fire. Your heart is racing, not out of fear or heartbreak. No, it’s racing because of Eddie. You want him. You need him inside of you. Your body is aching for him. You are so lust filled – in a way you have never been before. 

Eddie’s cheeks are flushed, you can see it as you lay beneath the small string of fairy lights on the roof of his van. His eyes are black. His skin feels just as hot as yours. His strong hands are still on your stomach but you want them elsewhere. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this, princess.”

You are aching. Absolutely aching for him. 

Eddie kisses your lips, your cheek, your jaw, your neck as his hands start to push at the denim jacket, desperately wanting you out of it. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, grabbing at your waist, he pulls you up with him, so he can take your clothes off. You spread your legs over his lap, watching the way his eyes fall to your exposed thighs as your skirt rides up. His eager hands get rid of the wet denim still covering your body, he throws it next to his leather jacket. His lips twitch, curling into a smirk as you start pulling his shirt over his head, feeling just as eager as he does. You throw it down, not caring where it lands. 

You swallow as you take in the sight of his naked upper body. The chest you've looked at many times makes your skin burn now, the tattoos that linger on his pale skin now look delicious, and you just want your hands all over him. You lick your lips as you lean closer to him, stomach fluttering at the sound of his breath hitching when you press your lips to the tattoo on his chest, keeping your eyes on his. 

Eddie’s heart makes a jump, the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. He grabs your sides harder. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in content, trying to keep his eyes from shutting when you start to kiss your way up to his neck. “Y-You’re driving me crazy today, sweetheart. C-Can’t believe this is real.”

“You’ve been driving me crazy too, Eddie,” you mumble into his neck as you start sucking. “Why did you talk to her like that? You’re mine.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, a gasp nearly tears out of his mouth. 

Did you really just say that?

You suck harder, fingers digging into his scalp as you tilt his head to the side, needing more access to his neck. You switch between soft and rough kisses, gentle pecks and just sucking away like a vampire who’s starved.

“Mine.” 

Eddie’s heart nearly explodes. This has to be a dream, a very very good fever dream. He is surprised by the roughness of your touch and by your words, words that aren’t directed at Steve Harrington but at him. 

You’re surprised by yourself but your mind is in a haze, your blood pumping from all the adrenaline, you couldn’t care less about showing how jealous you were, how possessive you are of him. He wants you just as much as you want him, you don’t have to be afraid anymore, you don’t have to fear that this might push him away, you don’t have to hide your true feelings anymore, not the way you did with him. 

You can be jealous, possessive, angry, selfish, a goddamn brat. It won’t push him away. With Steve, you always had to be the good girl, the silent one, the one that was afraid to show her true side because you knew that it would push him away. 

But not him. Never him. 

“I’m all yours,” he breathes as he grabs your cheeks, pulling you back so he can see your face again. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, sweetheart.” And with that, he slams his lips back against yours, crashing them onto yours, earning a loud moan from you. He kisses you messily. Not knowing that his words make your heart feel more alive than ever. 

You smile into the kiss when his hands start to roam your body, sliding down your back and grabbing your ass, fighting to urge to push his hand under your skirt just yet, but the thought of your little black thong makes him groan into the kiss, especially when your hand slides down his stomach and you press your palm against his bulge, tearing another groan out of him. He starts playing with the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it up, his fingertips graze your bare skin, causing you to shudder. You pull away so he can take your shirt off, leaving you in just your lacy bra. He pecks your lips one more time before he pulls back to take a look at you. 

“Oh fuck,” Eddie whispers as he takes in the sight of you, nearly moaning in desperation. He saw you in a bikini before, he saw this much skin before, but it’s not the same. It’s different. This is different. Your chest is only covered by black lace, your skin is glistening beneath the dim lights hanging above you, you are breathing heavily, staring at him with wide eyes, begging for his touch. Your hair is sticking to your skin, your lipstick is smudged, you look like the prettiest girl in the world. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, staring at you with nothing but awe in his eyes. 

You are blushing at his words, and yet, you are the one to take him by surprise again when you lean in to kiss his chest, but not staying there for long, opting to kiss down his stomach as you begin to unbuckle his belt, moving lower and lower. 

His eyes widen when he realizes what you are trying to do. You want to suck him off. His cock twitches at the thought of your pretty lips around him but before he can let his thoughts get any further, he grabs you by your elbows and pulls you back up. As much as he is dying to let one of his fantasies become reality, he’d rather bring another, bigger one to life. 

“Nope.”

A frown takes over your face and you look up with a pout on your lips, one that makes it impossible not to kiss you. 

“I need to taste you, sweetheart.” He gently pushes you back down, making sure that your head hits the softest pillow, he steals another kiss. “Please, let me be the first to taste you.” 

His brown eyes look into yours, waiting for approval, waiting for you to say ‘yes’. It doesn’t take you long to answer, you nod your head quickly, begging with your eyes. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks as he grabs at your chest, squeezing your boobs, pulling another loud moan out of you. 

“Do whatever you want to me, Eddie,” you whine as you let all the frustration, all the pent up tension that’s been building up in the past few months, out.  “Please, just, please do something.” 

His stomach makes a somersault at your words, he is almost in disbelief of what the night has turned into, but for now, he pushes the shock aside and only focuses on you. He unclasps your bra with little effort, peppering your shoulder and your chest with kisses as he pushes the straps down your arms and takes the flimsy material off. 

“God,” he groans as he feels the uncomfortable strain in his jeans that have gotten way too fucking tight. “I knew they would look good, but never this, baby,” he moans as he grabs your boobs, leaning down, without wasting another second, he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking around it. 

“E-Eddie!” You gasp. 

His hand trails down your stomach, past your skirt that he flips over so he can touch you. He cups your pussy and he can’t even suppress the moan when he feels how much you have soaked through the thin material of your thong. He pushes it to the side, letting his fingers glide through your wet folds. 

“Please,” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. “More!”

He smirks as he keeps sucking on your nipple, teasing your soaked entrance with his fingertips before he brings them up to your clit. 

“You’re so wet, sweetheart.”

Your eyes close and your lips press together harshly when you feel him rubbing your clit in slow, torturous circles, stopping only to tease your entrance the same way. It only lasts for a moment though when he gets just as impatient as you are. He releases your nipple with a pop!, trailing kisses down your stomach. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, blushing like crazy, the closer he gets to your heat, the longer he keeps looking into your eyes, even when he settles between your thighs. Fuck. You are aching for this – you have been aching for his touch for a long time now. Who would’ve thought that you would ever get him like this? 

Eddie takes his sweet time with you, getting rid of your skirt first before he hooks his fingers around your panties, yanking them down slowly. Your breathing picks up and your cheeks feel hotter than ever. Even in the haze of lust, you feel a little shy and nervous, having never done this before. All kinds of questions start running through your mind, filling you with sudden doubts – ones that Eddie quickly shuts down. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, almost drooling at the sight of your glistening pussy. “You’re so pretty.” He takes you off guard by licking a stripe up from your hole to your clit. “You taste so sweet too,” he moans as he repeats it again. 

“Eddie!” You gasp as you try to close your thighs, only for him to spread them open again. 

“Keep your legs open for me, baby,” Eddie groans, wanting nothing more than to just bury his face in your pussy and make you scream and cry until you’re begging him to fuck you – and that is just what he does. He grabs your thighs roughly, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face in your cunt. 

He teases your clit first, licking around it, sucking on it as he keeps his eyes on you, the whole fucking time. Wanting, needing to see you fall apart for him. You moan loudly, he keeps his lips attached to your clit as his fingers slip inside of you, slowly, stretching you open. 

You squeeze your legs shut around his head, elbows buckling when he starts fingering you. His fingers certainly reach deeper inside of you than your own. 

“Mmmh, Eddie.” 

Eddie’s cock is twitching, begging for release. You are moaning his name and he didn’t even get started. He slowly starts to pump his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy. Licking down your center and slipping his tongue inside of you. You expect him to replace his fingers with his tongue but instead, he fucks you with both. 

“That feels so good, Eddie! D-Don’t stop – please don’t stop!” You whine, a little shyly. He sees the flustered look on your face but the lust is stronger than any other emotion inside of you, right now.

He groans when you clench around his fingers but start grinding against his hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

“I– you – ah!” You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head hit the pillow, you dig your nails into the blanket. 

The van is filled with moans from both you and Eddie, heavy breathing and the wet noises of his fingers slamming in and out of you. 

Eddie has to restrain himself from grinding down against the blanket but you make it really hard not to. He keeps his eyes on you, watching the way you pinch your brows together as you bite your lip, still letting moans and whimpers fall, though. He sees the way you're gripping the blanket tightly, but he craves to feel you tugging and pulling his hair, something that Eddie wouldn’t allow anyone else to do. He reaches his hand out, wrapping it around your wrist, he guides it towards his wet curls and you instantly grab at them, earning a low growl from him.

He switches between licking and fucking you with his tongue and you can’t help but gasp and whimper at every flick of his tongue. This is unlike anything you have ever felt before. The feeling of his tongue slipping in and out of your wet hole, his thumb rubbing your clit, his moans that add even more to the pleasure. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, baby,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe that this is happening, that you’re letting me do this.”

You pull his hair harder and buck your hips up against his face. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your eyes sting with tears from the pleasure that he is giving you. You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to look into his as he keeps staring at you. You open your mouth to speak when he suddenly tears a gasp out of you, by curling his fingers, reaching so deep inside of you that you almost sob from how good it feels. 

“Eddie! What – oh fuck!” You whimper, looking down at him through your blurry vision. You watch him fuck you with both his tongue and fingers, tearing high pitched moans out of you when you feel how deep his fingers are inside of you. Knuckles deep. And you can’t help but grind against his hand, holding onto his hair so tightly as you squeeze your eyes shut, enjoying the feeling of Eddie eating you out so desperately and eagerly. 

He watches the way you try to say something only to be cut off by your own moans and whimpers, you turn into a blubbering mess when his fingers find your g-spot and his thumb rubs circles on your swollen clit. This is all he ever wanted. To worship you. To taste your sweetness on his tongue, his newest addiction. The fact that he gets to be the first makes it all even more special, you definitely won’t forget this. 

Who would’ve thought that your jealousy would bring the two of you to do this. 

He licks your pussy, moaning as though it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He is holding your legs tighter now as he eagerly eats you out, shaking his head as he moves his tongue in a way you can’t even explain, you can only whimper out his name, pulling his hair harshly as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the tension in your stomach becoming stronger and stronger. 

Waves of pleasure run through your body, you’re getting closer and closer. You are falling apart, barely able to keep your shaking body still as you feel his fingers pumping deeper, tongue moving faster, his moans adding to the pleasure. You squeeze your legs shut around his head, opening your eyes to look down at him, the look in his almost black eyes, the desperation and lust behind him is what throws you over the edge. 

It’s Eddie. Eddie who cared for you since the beginning. Eddie who protected you from the moment you two started talking. Eddie who unconditionally was beside you through ice and fire.

“I’m gonna – Eddie!” A loud yelp escapes you when you can no longer hold it back, he flicks his tongue again, making you cum in a way that has you seeing stars. He laps up everything you give him, eyes almost rolling back when he continues to taste you. 

You chant his name, over and over again, making the strain in his pants more uncomfortable than ever. He doesn’t want to stop, he wants to keep going, he wants to keep tasting you but when you desperately tug at his hair and murmur a whiny ‘I need you’, he presses a kiss to your clit, smirking at the way you whimper his name as he starts to kiss his way back up your body.  

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, not even fazed by the juices dripping down his chin. You wrap your legs around his waist and bring him closer, both of you moaning at the feeling of his dick pressed against you. 

“Still jealous?” He smirks. 

“Shut up,” you frown as you pull him in for another kiss. 

“You don’t have a reason to feel jealous, I want you, I only ever wanted you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the confession, eyes widening and softening at the same time. 

“And what about those girls you’ve been with?” 

He kisses your lips, “I never thought you’d want me back, I tried to distract myself but it never worked so I stopped.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, your lips twitch, you can’t help but smile as you pull him in for another, deeper kiss, one that he reciprocates right away. 

With one hand on your cheek and the other playing with your boob, he flicks his tongue against yours, moaning and whimpering for more. 

“I need you,” you whisper against his lips. “I need you inside of me, Eddie.”

His eyes light up and his dick twitches at your words. He never thought he'd hear these words from you. 

“Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Please.” 

You push your hands down his body, grabbing at his belt again, you start fumbling with it, wanting to get rid of his pants quickly. He helps you, not stopping with the kisses even when he takes the rest of his clothes off. 

Realization rushes through him and he groans in annoyance. 

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom.” 

He watches the way your lips curl into a smirk. 

“We don’t need one. I never stopped taking the pill.”

His eyes darken even more, his stomach flips. 

“Shit sweetheart, you can’t just say that to me,” he groans at the thought of fucking you without one. This night keeps getting better and better. 

You giggle and catch him by surprise when you flip him over and get on top of him, straddling him. You wrap your hand around his cock, nearly gasping at the size. Pre cum is already leaking out of his tip and rolling down his length, you have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. You need him inside of you, now. You press your hand on his tattooed chest, fingers grazing the chain around his neck as you slowly sink down on his cock, not wanting to waste another second. He stretches you open and you welcome it, loving the way it feels to be filled by him. 

You miss the way he stares at you in awe, the way he takes in the sight of you on top of him, the way you shut your eyes and moan loudly as you take in more and more of him, the way you bite your swollen lip as you moan for him.  

His eyes are wide, his dick is already twitching inside of you, the feeling of your tight, wet walls engulfing him almost throws him over the edge already because fuck, it’s you on top of him, it’s you sinking down on his cock, it’s you. He can’t believe that this is real, that this isn’t just another one of his dreams. 

“Mhmm Eddie,” you moan as you slam down onto his cock, letting him split you open. 

The moment he feels you clenching around him, he gasps, snapping out of his trance, he sits up, grabbing your hips roughly to keep you from moving. 

You open your eyes, a flash of insecurity washing over your face. 

“W-What, don’t you like–”

“Sweetheart, if you move right now, I’m gonna fucking bust, give me a second,” he whimpers, closing his eyes as he tries to concentrate on not cumming too quickly. He leans closer, pressing his chest against yours as he slides his hands up your bare back, pressing his lips to your skin. Kissing your throat, your neck, your jaw and down your chest. 

You wrap your arms around him, leaning closer, you bury your face in his neck, giving him a second to adjust to the feeling. You breathe in his scent, his cologne, his aftershave, the smell of cigarettes that always lingers. You kiss his skin and suck on it a little, wanting nothing more than to mark him up as yours. A whine leaves your lips when you start to move your hips, circling him. 

Eddie’s mouth waters, he moans your name loudly. He couldn't believe he could have you this way. The beating inside his chest is almost too uncomfortable for him to properly breathe.

Your hair is in his face, the smell of your shampoo and perfume filling his senses, driving him even crazier. You pull back, arching your back in pleasure and closing your eyes as you bite your lip with a moan. 

Before he can even react, you start moving, bouncing on his cock desperately. He watches wide eyed, with nothing but love and desperation in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming right now?” He mumbles, unable to stop the whimper from escaping when you bounce harder. “Is this real? Baby, please tell me it is.”

You grab his hands, pressing them against your boobs “uh huh.” You keep bouncing on his cock, desperately. Surprised by your own self, by how desperate you are, right now. You’ve never been this feral before, and it has to do with the fact that since the very beginning you weren’t allowed to. 

He watches you, staring at the way your face contorts in pleasure, the way your tits bounce as he grabs at them, the way his cock disappears in your body. Fuck. This really is a dream come true. Suddenly, a flip switches inside of him, he grabs your waist and flips you over, getting on top of you. 

You open your eyes, stunned at the feral look that you see in his eyes for the first time. 

“I’m gonna do what I’ve wanted to do to you for a long time now.”

Before you can even say or ask anything, he holds your hips tighter than before and starts pounding into you, turning you into a dumb mess.

“Fuck,” he growls as his hips snap against yours and he fucks into you roughly, you feel so good, so fucking good. 

You can’t even form any words or sentences anymore, your mind is in a haze, your eyes barely staying open anymore, all you can do is moan and watch in awe how he fucks you in a way you’ve always dreamed of. His pace is brutal, his cock is splitting you open so perfectly. 

His hands are soft on you, his eyes look into yours in awe, with nothing but love but his hips move roughly.

He grabs your hands, pinning your wrists down beside your head, earning another loud moan from you. You love it. You love how rough he is with you, how he is fucking you so disrespectfully. He can tell by the look in your eyes, the fire behind them, the lust that keeps getting stronger and stronger with each rough thrust. You’re getting wetter, soaking his cock completely. 

You feel his breath on your lips as he presses his forehead against yours.

You wrap your legs around his waist, breathing heavily as he lets go of your hand, slipping his rough palm down your stomach, he presses you down before he ruts into you even faster and harder, totally knocking your breath away. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper as your eyes well up with a new wave of tears and your mouth begins to water. 

Pride swells in his chest, his heart almost busts. You are trusting him enough to do this with him. You are letting him touch you. You are letting him fuck you, make love to you. All his insides feel on fire, love and lust is all that he feels. His heart flutters in his chest when you look at him with tear filled and pleading eyes. You’re getting tighter and tighter around him. You try to raise yourself up on your elbows, only to fall back down when another wave of pleasure washes over you. Your stomach feels on fire, your legs are already shaking, you’re close, so close, so soon. 

He looks so good. With his cheeks so flushed, his eyes so dark, his pale skin that you want to kiss and lick, his arms that have gotten more muscular since he started working at the shop, his moans that drive you fucking crazy. 

One, two, three more thrusts and you can already no longer hold back, squeezing him tightly as you cum without even having to touch your clit. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie moans, not stopping his movements. “Just like that, sweetheart. Let go for me.” 

Your high pitched moans fill the van, the wet, squelching noises as he slams his cock in and out of you, not stopping as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“D-Don’t stop!” You sob, getting even needier despite the two orgasms he just coaxed out of you. “Please, Eddie!” 

He loves to hear you beg for him. He loves the way your body feels beneath his, so perfect and right. He loves the way you feel wrapped around his dick, like you were made just for him. Your juices are dripping out of you, making everything sound even filthier. He’s surprised by the way he’s able to hold himself back, the way he hasn’t busted in his pants while eating you out. He could cum just by listening to your moans. He is obsessed with you.

You are so needy for him. You won’t look away from him, refusing to shut your eyes, even as tears start to run down your cheeks and drool slips past your lips, you keep looking at him with that fucking innocent look in your eyes. 

As though that isn’t hot enough already. You grab his hand, raising it up towards your mouth and you wrap your lips around the fingers that were knuckles deep inside of you just moments ago. Your eyes roll back as you flick your tongue around them and start sucking. 

This almost makes him lose it. He almost halts all his movements as his eyes grow wider than ever. Holy fucking shit. 

“Mmmh.”

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tighter than before, causing him to growl in response. 

“Y-You’re –” he pauses, unable to find the right words as he watches you in disbelief, how you release his fingers and move his hand down to your throat, looking up with glossy eyes. You want him to choke you. 

His sweet ‘innocent’ best friend isn’t so sweet and innocent after all. You’re a closeted little freak. He should’ve known that there was a hidden sight to you. He should’ve known that you weren’t ‘just’ staring at the handcuffs on his wall for no reason. You’re a naughty and dirty little freak. 

He wraps his fingers around your throat, not enough to choke you, but hard enough. The sight of it only turns him more feral. He pounds you harder, letting all the frustrations out from the day and you’re loving every second of it. Both your moans are getting louder and needier. He smashes lips against yours, kissing you roughly and deeply as his free hand slips down your stomach. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs between kisses. 

You wrap your arms around him, closing your legs around his waist, you feel the familiar coil in your stomach again and it takes you by surprise. He presses his fingertips against your clit, making you shudder and twitch, you’re sensitive, so fucking sensitive but it feels so good. 

“I-I’m, I can’t believe this is real,” he moans, rubbing your clit. His breath hitches in his throat, knowing that he won’t last any longer. 

You dig your nails into his back, the moment his thrusts get slower but deeper, deeper than before. He tears out whimpers and sobs from you. You have never felt anything like this before. 

He rams inside of you, fingers overstimulating your sensitive clit. 

“I-I’m gonna cum, where do you want me–”

“Inside! Please cum inside of me, Eddie!” 

“Are you sure?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Fuck,” he growls in utter shock and pleasure, he kisses you again. You gasp against his lips, one hand reaching into his curls, tugging at his hair and scratching his back with your other hand when he makes you cum again. He groans so loud against you. 

You’re shocked, confused and in so much pleasure that it makes you cry. How did he make you cum so many times in one round? You didn’t even know that it was possible to have multiple orgasms, you only ever achieved one with Steve, and sometimes not even that. 

He spills inside of you with a loud moan, coating your walls with his seed. He doesn’t move away from you, he keeps kissing you, slowing down his movements. You are twitching beneath him, whining and whitering. 

His heart is beating faster than ever, your walls are pulsating around him as he fills you up with his cum. He whimpers into the kiss. He has never done this before and you are the only one he ever wants to do this again with, in fact, he would do this all fucking night if you let him. 

Neither of you want to stop, neither of you want this moment to end but the lack of air makes you break the kiss. Eddie lets go of your throat and after a few more kisses to your face, he pushes himself up, pulling out of you and letting himself fall on his back beside you but not without pulling you into his chest. 

You are both breathing heavily, both coming from the high. Soft sighs fall from your lips and you keep your eyes closed for a long moment. There’s no thoughts in your mind yet, not doubts, no fears, nothing – nothing yet. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers as he stares at the ceiling before he glances at you, with a slight fear in his chest, scared to see regret in your eyes but instead he sees a lazy smile on your lips. 

“That was –”

“Fucking amazing,” he breathes, finishing your sentence. 

You giggle and it makes his heart soar. 

“Yeah, really fucking amazing,” smile and turn your head, you open your eyes and look at him. Taking in the sight of his sweat coated forehead, the way his bangs stick to his forehead, the way sweat dribbles down his body, the way he is staring at you with awe in his eyes. 

“We should’ve done that a long time ago,” you whisper. 

He raises his brows, eyes lighting up at your words. Eddie knew you wouldn’t treat him like other girls did before, yet the fear still lingered, that you would push him away, that you would regret it but instead, you lean closer and kiss his cheek. 

You keep looking into his brown eyes, unable to fight the smile off your lips after what happened. There is no doubt inside of you, none of it yet, not when he keeps looking at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

You snuggle closer to him, kissing his chest softly as his hand finds its way into your hair and he starts to play with it gently. 

“Hey sweetheart?” He asks after a moment of silence.

“Yes?” 

“That girl at the bar earlier, she was Jeff’s girlfriend. He was there too, by the way. He was in the restroom when you came in.” 

He tells you this without a hint of smugness behind his words, even though he now knows that you were jealous. He could’ve teased you for it, made fun of you for assuming something and getting jealous over nothing. But, instead his voice is soft, reassuring. He doesn’t want you to feel jealous, he doesn’t want you to doubt yourself. 

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling when he kisses the top of your head.

You lay like this for a while, with your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you, just enjoying each other’s company, not wanting it to end just yet. But when the thunder sounds through the night, shaking you both out of your little bubble, you realize how late it’s gotten. You only reluctantly start getting dressed, helping one another with your clothes, all while giggling and stealing kisses from each other. You are trying to ignore the fact that you are very sticky between your legs, though, you don’t mind it for a bit. 

Despite the giddiness that rushes through him, he can’t help but feel a little fear when you both get back in the front. Unlike the drive earlier, this one is filled with music and comfortable silence, even when he’s nervous about what will happen once this night is over. 

If he only glanced at you, he’d see the way you’re smiling, the way your eyes are glowing from all the happiness. 

He is tapping the steering wheel, he feels happy, happier than he ever did but he’s also scared, scared to look at you and see that you have come down from the haze, that you are back to thinking about Steve, that you are regretting it all. 

When he parks the van in your driveway, he takes a deep breath and turns to look at you only to see you staring at him already, with the cutest and brightest smile on your face. His shoulders slump in relief and his heart feels ten times lighter. 

You unbuckle the seatbelt, licking your lips as you move closer to him.

“Hi,” you whisper. 

Butterflies flutter in his stomach. He tilts his head, leaning in, “hi,” he smiles. 

You meet in the middle, closing your eyes as your lips lock. All the other kisses before were rough, passionate, fast. This one is sweet and soft, just perfect and it lasts for a while, even when you try to pull away, Eddie keeps stealing kisses. 

“Eddie,” you giggle. “I have to go, you have to let me go.” 

He cups your cheeks softly, smiling sadly as he leans in again, “I can’t let you go,” he whispers between pecks. “I don’t want this night to end.”

“It won’t be the last, Eds.”

Warmth fills him, his heart makes a jump. 

“Can I come inside?” He asks, not wanting to spend the night without you.

“You already did,” you giggle, making him laugh in surprise. 

“Well shit, sweetheart,” he smirks as he plays with your hair, caressing your cheek, continuing to peck your lips. 

If you knew you could feel this happy, this content, this fulfilled just by doing this, you would have done it ages ago. 

Fear, doubt and all your insecurities, kept holding you back from finding this with him. For once, you took the leap and you couldn’t be any happier than you are now as you sit here and steal kisses from Eddie.

“My mom is home.”

“So? I stayed a thousand times before with your mom at home.”

You giggle, this time it’s you stealing a kiss from him. 

“I know but this is different,” you whisper. “I don’t want to be quiet.” 

His eyes widen. He’s gone to heaven. The girl of his dreams, the girl he loves, the girl he thought he had no chance with, wants him. 

You grab his face, giving him one last kiss before you pull away, “I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome.” 

He stares at you dreamily, love filled with eyes and a smile that he can’t hide. Your hair is a mess, your makeup smudged but your skin is glowing and you look so fucking beautiful. 

You open the door but before you step out, you turn around and kiss him again, grabbing his cheeks and peppering his face with kisses, making both yourself and him giggle. 

“Good night, Eddie,” you murmur against his lips, looking into his pretty eyes. 

He pinches your chin between his fingers, stealing another kiss. 

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers, smiling at you. You pull back and get out of the van, a small squeal leaving your lips when the rain touches you again, unlike before, you now feel the coldness of it. Eddie laughs when you close the door and start running towards the house, turning around one more time to blow him a kiss. 

Eddie shakes his head with a smile, chuckling as he blows you a kiss back. He waits until you’re inside the house. The moment he sees the door shutting, his smile grows wider and he pumps his fist into the air as feelings of joy rush through him. 

You are barely able to contain the giggles as you quietly make your way upstairs, smiling brightly. Your cheeks are flushed, your skin is burning, your heart and stomach both fluttering. You bite your lip as you silently walk into your room and close the door softly. 

You press your back against the wooden door, you close your eyes and raise your hand up to your mouth, touching your lips that still tingle from all the kisses. 

Another breathless, happy, giggle escapes you. 

You can’t stop smiling. 

You tilt your head up, looking at the ceiling as you think about the way it felt to be kissed and touched by him. Your heart flutters all over again. 

For the first time in a long time, you feel happy again, your heart full of love. 

Though, when you look around the room and your eyes fall on the picture frame in your bookshelf, your smile falls when your eyes lock with the man in your picture. 

Steve. 

Your heart drops a little and your smile vanishes completely. 

-

tagging friends & mutuals

@taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @corrodedseraphine @succubusmunson @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfirebunnyxx @somethingvicked @nemesis729 @chrissymjstan @sherrylyn628

[whackk-kermitt]

Kisses & Bitmarks

Warning: Derek is secretly a softy, obliviously in love, mutual pinning, confessions, Stiles being a horny bitch (only a little), Scott being a dummy, Derek is still an Alpha, everyone is alive Summary: In a series of unfortunate events, Stiles finds himself with the bite of the wolf. After the shift, he needs an Alpha to coach his control. Scott is NO help AT ALL. NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪ "Derek, I can help."

"No, stay here."

"Derek-" Stiles grumbles as the alpha turns to scowl at him. "Scott, will you tell him I can help?"

Scott squirms where he stands just a few feet away, "I think you should stay here, dude."

"Dude," Stiles gasps hands coming up in his exasperation to slap down on his sides. "Who's side are you on?"

"A feral alpha, who has already killed and eaten four hikers, is not something that involves defenses humans."

"First, ouch. How dare you, I'm not defenseless when all of you are there. Second, I'm the one who tracked his guy down and I want to help."

"First," Derek bites back getting in his face, frustration and annoyance coming off him in waves, making his betas cower a bit. "You are defenseless which is why me, Scott, or someone else is always with you to make sure you get out alive. If you're there, their focus isn't on the extremely dangerous alpha. Second, you've already helped, so shut up, sit in your jeep, and let us kill the damn thing without you being underfoot." Derek growled through fitted teeth.

To anyone who just met Derek, they'd be pissing their pants if they were in his shoes. Derek being angry for receiving lip and getting in his face, primal growls and glowing fire in his eyes. Hell, if this was a few years ago, Stiles would be pissing himself right now.

But this is Derek, and Stiles knows Derek well enough to say that half of Derek's attitude and threats are out of love and worry. As strange as that sounds. And it is probably not any surprise, to the wolves at least, that Stiles isn't scared by his fangs and claws anymore.

His body still reacts to it, just not the way it used to.

It's hot, okay, don't judge him!

Stiles gave in, not in the mood anymore to argue, and grumbled like a pouting child. Not that he wouldn't argue the hell out of Derek, it's his favorite pastime. But he didn't wanna be around Derek when he was just intimated into arousal by him. Kind of embarrassing.

Stiles knew Derek knew, but Derek never said anything, thank god. He'd rather keep what little friendship with Derek he had than ruin it by things getting awkward. If Derek gave him the mercy of pretending he couldn't hear his heartbeat when he came into the room, or smell the on his flesh when Derek gave him the attention that excited him(sexually or otherwise). As long as Derek didn't totally hate him, he was okay.

Without another word, the wolves followed Derek and Scott into the woods to hunt this guy down.

Somehow by the magic of Stile's research skills and limited knowledge about the attacks, Stiles was able to track down the name of the alpha. He was the alpha of a modest pack residing in a town a few counties north of Beacon Hills. The pack mainly consisted of family and close friends, who Stiles found recent death certificates for. Meaning hunters likely track them down, and well. . . you know. Somewhere along the way, the alpha lost his mind, going feral.

Stiles moped in the jeep, feeling useless to the pack. He hated feeling like a damsel that needed to be protected. Derek was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. Everyone always ends up sticking by him to keep him safe when shit hits the fan, always underfoot when pressures are high. He knows it is unnecessary guilt, that he can't help being human, and the others have never really complained. At least not to his face about it.

He still feels like he could be doing more. There are benefits to him being human, pushing mountain ash, and taking care of wolvesbane obstacles the wolves can't. He just had this pit in his stomach that left him wanting to feel a part of something. He's kept around for his useful research and the benefit of his humanity, and Scott. Nothing else, and he knows it. But it’s nice to play pretend every once in a while.

His train of thought was derailed by a nasty howl echoing over the treetops. Stiles, before even thinking about it, stepped out of the jeep onto the pavement. His heart began to pound and he said a silent prayer that nobody was hurt. Although, even in his human ears, that howl didn't sound like any of the pack. They must have caught up to the alpha.

Stiles took a moment to realize that the sun had set completely, meaning he's been sitting here for at least an hour. A second howl sounded, and his head turned towards it. It sounded closer. Way closer.

The alpha was moving, and fast. Probably running away from the pack. Stiles stomach twisted at the fruition that it was coming his way. He climbed back into the jeep and thought about starting it up and moving out of the way of danger.

He struggled to fish his keys out of his pocket, panting in sudden adrenalin.

As the keys set in the transmission and turned, the jeep sputtered to life and a groan reached his ears. That didn't sound like the metallic grind and grown the old girl made when she started up, it sounded animalistic.

Terrified, stiles turned his head. He was frozen, when just outside the driver-side door was a beast that could put Peter’s alpha form to shame. Snarling and drooling at the sight of him.

Its sight is based on movement, no sudden movements.

No wait that's Jurassic Park, shit!

Before Stiles could even think, even hope for a rescue, the door was ripped away, tugging the whole jeep a few inches with it.

Claws and fangs dug into his flesh, pulling him in from the vehicle and onto the hard pavement below. The iron-tight jaw around his leg pulled back and was suddenly ripping into his abdomen.

Stiles let out a blood-curling scream, pushing away at the rabid wolf. He heard a distant howl and prayed they didn't find him in pieces.

His life flashed before his eyes; the face of his mother, father, Scott, Derek, Lydia. He cried out fearing what would happen to them when he was in the alpha's stomach.

Like hell, he was gonna be an easy meal. The bit down on the pain and scratched and punched with all this strength.

The alpha was fed up and lifted Stiles from the ground, shaking him dizzy and tossing him aside. Stiles rolled on the pavement. Landing on his stomach, his head turned to the jeep. He saw the beast standing in a pool of blood, a trail leading the the blood that began to pool under him. His vision began to cloud, and his senses were fading. He heard the alpha sniff and growl, then heavy footsteps coming closer. He couldn't move.

His eyes grew heavy and everything went dark and numb.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When Stiles woke up he was in his bed. His mind was foggy from sleep. The only thing he knew was he had to pee. He stumbled out of bed, shuffling to the door and into the hall.

He had only half a mind to notice the voices of this father and Scott downstairs. Groggy and still so unaware of the events last night.

After relieving himself, he turned to wash his hands. He felt his heart jump at the sight of blood under his nails, looking at himself in the mirror it all came flooding bad to him.

The monster alpha, the teeth, the claws.

He lifted his shirt looking down to where his life was bleeding out of him at one point. His eyes found his own again and they glowed a bright gold. He panted and collapsed against the wall.

No, no no no, this can't be happening. He didn't want this.

"Stiles," He heard Scott's voice. He zeroed in on the sounds and smells in the house. The fan in his dad's room buzzing softly, the coffee on the kitchen table where he was sure his father and Scott had just been, the heartbeats standing at the bottom of the stairs, the soft creak in the third step as someone began coming up.

The next thing that assaulted his senses was the revolting smell of Scott.

"Stay away!" Stiles panicked as he felt claws pushing out at his fingertips, and fangs drop into place in his mouth. He felt a wave of uncertainty, displeasure, and fear. The footsteps on the stairs stopped and he sighed looking around in panic.

He felt the instinct to run, run where he didn't know. The animalistic instinct in him told him to run just as it told him to breathe. Something in Scott's scent made him feel unsettled and afraid.

"Stiles, we've been through this before, remember? You taught me to control it." He hears Scott sigh and even his soft nervous gulp. "Find your anchor, tie yourself to it."

Stiles nodded, knowing Scott or his father couldn't see it. He focused on his father, his scent, and his heartbeat. He smelled his aftershave and cologne, the coffee on his breath, the gunpowder and detergent on his hands. He listened to his erratic heart and how it beat quickly with worry and fear.

"Stiles," Scott tested softly, bearly a whisper that Stiles could hear as clear as day. "You need to calm down."

"Not helping!" Stiles snapped, voice slurred through the fangs he wasn't used to having. Something in him pushed a defensive growl from his throat. Realizing what he was doing only a second later he let out an apologetic whimper.

Stiles wondered why it was his body, his wolf, that hated Scott's scent so much, and why it made him feel so sick. Why Scott's comforting voice in his ears made him feel so volatile and angry. He needed to get away from it, it made him feel scared.

He remembered something Derek had said to the others about the instinct of a wolf always being in your best interest. Even if it is something you can't follow through with, acknowledge the instinct and consider it.

If his wolf needed to get away then he will. He stood quickly and dashed to his room, following the wolf's lead. He trusted it entirely.

"Stiles?" Scott cried coming up the stairs.

"Son?" The panic and confusion in his father's voice made him whime, but he couldn't control himself right now. His father's safety was always his top priority.

He let the wolf take him through the window, and jumped down into the side yard, b-linding the woods behind his house. He didn't know where he was going, but just needed to get away from Scott.

Fully shifted, he ran faster than he ever had before. Heart thumping and pounding in his ears. He smelled the woods, the dirt under his bare feet, the pine and oak, the musk of the animals that lingered, and the petricore like never before. He felt the wind on his face and smiled. If this is what he was missing out on this whole time maybe he should've asked for the bite sooner.

His feet slowed on their own, and he realized where he was. A few blocks from Derek's loft! He'd run that far that fast?

He picked his pace back up and ran like hell. If this is where his wolf wanted to be, this is where he would be.

Skipping a step at a time he made his way up, too much energy to sit around waiting for the elevator.

"What do you mean he's gone?" He hears Derek growl. There was a power in the growl that made his wolf purr. "You were supposed to talk to him, coach him through the shift!"

"Derek!" He called.

"He's here." He said, tone as though he didn't believe it. "No, stay there, if he's agitated, I'll deal with it. No one needs to get hurt.

Stiles flung open the door watching Derek strolling down the stairs and putting his phone away in his pocket. Derek slowly and cautiously approached, eyes concerned.

"I hated it." Stiles panted lightly. He felt a need for Derek to understand what was happening, to guide him on what to do.

"Hated what?"

"Scott," Stiles sighed stepping fully into the loft. "His scent, his voice telling me to calm down. It made me afraid and angry. The wolf just wanted to run away, and I tried to fight it and get control like Scott was telling me but it just made it worse. God, I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth! Huh, I sound like you now. And I- I remembered you telling Erica and the guys about the wolf's instincts and how you should always trust it, so I jumped out of my window. Oh, god, wow, I jumped out a window! I didn't even think, I-nothing broke. Or maybe it healed? I don't know, but I started running, and I ended up here. Derek," He took a breath, eyes glossy. "What do I do?"

Derek just stared at him for a long moment.

"Derek?" Stiles's voice was soft now, his breathing slowing to normal.

Derek's heartbeat was fast, his eyes searched Stiles for a moment before he looked away with a thoughtful expression for a moment.

"I-" He huffed. "I thought Scott would be your alpha."

"He isn't?"

"Not if you wanted to rip his throat out when he asked you to calm down."

"Huh." Stiles nodded. "That makes sense."

Derek chuckled dryly.

"Wow," Stiles sighed taking a deep breath. "You smell good. You always smell this good? Is it the new nose?"

Derek sighed, face falling. Like Stiles had disappointed him somehow. His wolf whined in the back of his mind.

'Please the alpha.'

He gulped and frowned a little.

"Did I do something wrong? You can't get mad at me dude, I'm new to this."

"No, you just-" He cut himself off.

"Come on Derek, I'm kind of relying on you completely here." Stiles stepped closer and Derek stepped back. Stiles's eyes began to water and he didn't know why. He felt alone and pitiful all of a sudden.

Derek watched his reaction curiously.

"What are you feeling?" He asked hesitantly like he didn't really want to know the answer. "Your instincts, what do you want? What is your wolf telling you you need?" He clarified.

"I-" Stiles stubbled back and frowned, a tear running down his cheek. His wolf's howls in the back of his mind made him each with the feeling he just lost something. "To be close to you. But I feel cold, lonely, all of a sudden."

Derek blinked a couple times and tilted his head down, just slightly.

"I feel alone, I feel-" Stiles stopped, not knowing the words that could describe it.

"Stiles," He spoke gently like his voice could crack Stiles into a million pieces if he spoke loud enough. "Don't think about the works, just the feeling. The words will come to you, trust the wolf."

Stiles curled in on himself for a bit before letting his eyes fall to the floor. He stood still, focusing on the cold feeling in his chest. The wolf whined and whimpered like a dying animal in the face of a predator.

'Rejected. Omega.'

"Rejected and omega come to mind." His voice barely broke from his throat.

Derek's breath hitched in his throat, looking at Stiles with an indescribable intensity.

"Please the alpha."

"Stiles," Derek's voice was hoarse as he was willing it to say something it didn't want to. "You-" He stopped himself again.

"Derek, what do I do?" Stiles didn't understand why he started crying, he felt too senseless despite all the new strength in his body.

"I," Derek paused. "I don't want you to think this is anything more than an alpha and beta relationship. I think it's maybe best if you called Sc-"

"What?" Stiles looked up at him. He felt anger and confusion seep into him. "You want to reject me as your beta be-because I like you?"

Derek shuddered for a moment. "I didn't say that, I-"

"Said we're only alpha and beta, yeah I got that," Stiles growled. "I figured you never said anything 'cause you didn't want things to be awkward between us, I get it- I'm not the most appealing candidate, but this is so much fucking worse, Derek. This is fucking petty."

"Stiles." Derek warned.

"I don't know what I'm doing!"Stiles cried. "I'm scared, I need you to guide me-help me! I know you don't care the way I care, I'm fine with that," He ignored the blip in his heart. "I can be just your friend, I have been and it was fine, but I need you-"

"Stiles," Derek's eyes widened as he looked him over, drinking in the confession. "What is it you want from me?"

"Help!" Stiles snapped like it was obvious because he thought it was. "I-"

"No," Derek shook his head, daring a few steps forward. "Not what I meant. Forget the wolves, just you and me. What do you want with me?"

Stiles gulped, nervous and scared of more rejection.

"You." He shrugged, he was tired all of a sudden.

"Stiles," Derek pleased, a look in his eye that made him swoon. "Please, don't beat around the bush."

"I want-" He hesitated, afraid. "I want to be with you."

Derek, stepped closer, a look in his eye that made Stiles twitchy.

"I want to, sit and talk about stupid shit that doesn't matter. I want to argue over Batman versus Superman. I want to argue over what movie to watch. I want you to meet my dad- like actually. Not just talking to him about how to deal with the monster of the week. I want you to hold me as we fall asleep. I want you-"

Derek was kissing him.

His hands cupped his cheeks and drew him closer, breathing him in. Stiles melted into it, calming all his nerves in a single second.

His wolf purred as it took in the scent and feel of his alpha's body against his.

Stiles pawed and his chest and followed his lips and he pulled away.

Derek chuckled, low and happy watching him. Stiles opened his eyes and looked up into Dereks.

"Wh-"

"I thought it was just sexual." Derek frowns for a moment. "If I had known you wanted more I-" He sighed. "Still probably wouldn't have done anything."

"Why not?" Stiles grumbled in slight offense. Although part of him, knowing how Derek had been used in the past, made him feel guilty for it having seemed that way. Even though he thought everything was blatantly obvious and that was never his intention.

" You're seventeen, and your fathers the sheriff." He blinked plainly.

"Oh," Stiles chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"I'm sorry," Derek wavered.

"So you'll be my alpha?"

"Yeah."

"And. . maybe my mate."

Derek gave him a pointed stare.

"What?" Stiles frowned. "Isn't that just wolfie talk for dating?"

"No," Derek laughed, honest to god laughed. Stile thought he would faint. "No, It's more like marriage- with a lot of sex."

"Well, in that case," Stiles smirked, earning an eye-roll. "All that's can wait a year."

Derek laughed again.

"Yeah, sure." He nodded. "We'll see how it goes."

Stiles broke into a wide grin, jumped up flinging his arms around Derek and breathing in his scent. Stiles took note of the woodsy smell, the lavender, dirt, leather, and rich cologne pressed into his flesh. He decided it was his new favorite, and the wolf agreed.

"You're never getting rid of me now!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Derek held tighter.

Stiles smelled something sour all of a sudden, "What's wrong?"

"You're quick to pick up on things, aren't you." Derek hummed on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked more firmly as the scent became stronger.

"When I heard you scream, I thought- I found you," Derek paused to take a breath. Move his hand to his shoulder to feel his heart beating. "I thought we were too late."

"You could hear my heart beating though, right?"

"Didn't mean you'd make it through the night. You bled so much." Derek sniffled. "I thought it would be safer for you to stay behind and wait for us, but-"

"You couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter." He mumbled, "I thought I lost you.

"Der,"

"Safe to say you're sticking with me from now on."

Stiles chuckled at that. He held tighter and literally purred. Which made Derek shudder closer humming in contentment.

"You're a tough son of a bitch though. Even as a human, you made it easy for us to kill the bastard."

"What?" Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye.

"How much do you remember?" Stiles shrugged trying to think, It was all kind of a blur to him now. "You scratched the hell out of his face. Eyes, ears. The only thing that wasn't fucked up by the time we got there was his nose."

"He didn't heal?"

"Didn't have time before I ripped his throat out." Stiles laughed, the irony of it all made his wolf preen for the man who lost his shit to protect him. "You had his eyeball in your hand when we got to you. Scratched it out."

"Holy shit!"

"If you weren't actively dying at the time I would've had time to feel proud," Derek smirked, and Stiles felt weak in the knees.

Derek chuckled pressing closer.

"So no sex obviously no sex for a while- taking things slow and all," He mused. "But, like, how about another smooch?"

Derek grins leaning in to oblige.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"You and Derek what?" Scott cried, eyes wide as if he honestly;y had no fucking clue.

"Finally." The rest of the room groaned in unison.

"I was gonna hit you if you didn't make a move soon." Lydia rolled her eyes at him.

Stiles just smiled, looking over at Derek who smiled back with a wink. ≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Amor

Summary: After a bad day at work, coming home to his family makes Javi realize his day wasn't so bad after all

Word Count: 1.9K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Tooth rotting, sickening, fluff 😩😭 Allusions to smut, breeding kink, dad!Javi needs his own warning bc oh my GOD (more specifically, girl dad!Javi...) (*Also general spoiler warning if you don't want to read NTL out of order!*)

A/N: Y'ALL. I told you the dad!Javi brain rot was UNREAL. After writing this, I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to stop writing for dad!Javi ever and I'm not even sorry about it 🤷🏼‍♀️ Don't mind me casually screaming from the rooftops about how much I am obsessed him okay BYE 🤪

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the NTL universe!

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

Shitty. 

There were a lot of words Javi could have used to describe how his day at work had gone. 

At 9:30, after his weekly phone call with border patrol, who provided him with little to no helpful information, the word would have been annoying. 

At 11:15, after Agent Miller knowingly jammed the copier and left it for someone else to fix, leaving Javi with no way to make any copies, the word would have been frustrated. 

At 3:40, after his department meeting with the other Sheriff’s Offices from the county, none of whom came prepared, as usual, the word would have been angry. 

And now, at 6:15, after a spilled afternoon coffee, a giant stack of paperwork that had been thrown on his desk, and a pounding headache, the word to describe his day was nothing short of shitty. 

Throwing his briefcase into the passenger’s seat, cranking the AC up and the volume of his car radio to zero, Javi sat in his truck, silently brooding in his moodiness to sulk in the misery that had been his absolutely shitty day. 

The rest of his drive home was the same as his pouting in the parking lot of the Laredo County Sheriff’s Department- no music, no windows down, no grin on his face like his usual drives home after work. Javi couldn’t remember a day at work this shitty since the DEA, and that in itself was saying something. 

As Javi pulled onto your street, dust swooshed beneath the bouncing of his truck tires along the gravel road, the sun just beginning to fade from its vibrant yellows and oranges to its soft pinks, beaming behind the clouds scattered throughout the September sky. The view was just enough to snap him out of his overbearing funk- the brightly colored sunset painted behind the view of your house and tiny, shadowed figures dancing in the driveway meant that nothing else in the world mattered anymore. Not frustrating colleagues, piles of paperwork, even spilt cups of desperately deserved coffee. The only thing that mattered to him now, were his 4 favorite people in the world, waiting for him to come home. The only thing that mattered was his family. 

Lucy was the first to notice Javi’s truck rolling down the driveway, immediately prompting the 4 of you to pause your soccer game that had been happening in the front yard, which, after your two year old had decided she wanted to get involved, had really turned into more of a match of “Chase Harper through the grass as she tries to run away with the soccer ball”. 

“Daddy’s home!” Lucy and Elliot squealed, bolting towards Javi’s truck as it finally reached a halt at the end of the driveway, prompting you to scoop up Harper and follow behind, knowing she would be just as thrilled to see her dad, even if her little legs couldn’t keep up with her older sisters' quite yet. The girls bounced in excitement, frantically waving at Javi as they waited for him to exit the car.

From the moment the driver’s side door was open, and both Javi’s feet were on the ground, Lucy and Elliot were wrapped around Javi’s waist, squeezing him with a love and affection that instantly eased every last bit of stress, melting away any remnants of the previous parts of his day. 

“Hi Daddy!” The girls giggled in delight as they latched tighter around their dad’s hip, the feeling instantly making him crouch down to their level and drape his arms around them, pulling them in as closely as he could in return.

“Hola, Pollitas.” (Hi, little chickens). The sigh Javi let out was like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, hugging his girls just a little tighter and longer than normal, almost as if he couldn’t bear to let them go. 

“Daddy, you’re squishing me!” Elliot squealed, wriggling her little body in Javi’s grasp. 

“Yeah, Dad, you’re gonna crush us!” Lucy teased, both the girls bursting into laughter as Javi gave them one last squeeze before hosting them up, letting their little legs flail as he shook them in his grasp before setting them back down, pressing a soft kiss on each of their heads. 

“Crush my Pollitas? Never. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Javi teased back, making the girls roll their eyes. 

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Harper cooed, outstretching her arms towards Javi as the two of you made it to the driveway, Javi immediately scooping her up from you and hosting her in the air, peppering her with little kisses across her body, making her squeal just as loudly as her sisters. 

“Mi mas pequeño amor (My littlest love).” Javi grinned, resting Harper against his hip as his little fan club had finally parted ways enough for you to greet your husband, gently cradling his face in your hands, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, savoring the sweet taste of him that felt like home. 

“Hi.” You smiled, pulling back just enough to see the sweet grin spread across his face before leaning back in for a hug, letting the warmth and scent of his body engulf you whole, making the grin on your face just as wide as his. “Long day?” You asked, still pressed against his chest, noting his arrival time back home was later than normal. 

“Not anymore.” He beamed, staring down at you with that tender gaze that still made you melt, even after all your years together. 

“Daddy, can I show you the picture I made you in art today? Please, please, please?” Lucy pleaded, once again wrapped around Javi’s hip, gently tugging at his shirt for his attention. 

“I made one, too!” Elliot interjected, crossing her arms in defiance, a shocked look on her face that her sister dared to leave her out of the art contribution about to be made to their dad. 

“Your little artists have been hard at work today.” You grinned. “I’m pretty sure the Peña house is going to soon be a nationally recognized museum for pictures of puppies, Daddy, and gorillas.” 

“Gorillas? That’s a new one.” Javi laughed, looking at you with a confused tilt of your head, your only response to shrug your shoulders in just as much confusion and amusement. 

“Mrs. Collins read us a book about them in library today! So I showed Elliot and Harper how to draw them!” Lucy beamed, proudly crossing her arms over her chest with a satisfied nod. 

“I’m sure they’re amazing, mi amor (my love), gorillas and all.”  

“Alright goobers, now that Daddy’s home it’s time for dinner, why don’t you go clean up the rest of your art stuff and we can show Daddy your pictures before we eat.” You smiled, Javi gently setting Harper back on the ground, only to quickly be scooped back up again by Lucy, the 3 girls racing through the front yard and into the house, giggling and screeching in excitement the whole way there, leaving you and Javi watching your daughters dash across the driveway. 

Once the girls were out of sight, Javi’s hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your hips as he tugged you in closer, making your rest your hands on his broad chest as he kissed you, now making you giggle as he grabbed an unexpected handful of your ass, giving it a playful smack as you swatted at him, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re in a surprisingly good mood for having a shitty day at work.” You smirked, biting down on your lip as you raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. 

“How’d you know I had a bad day at work?” Javi asked, cocking his head in confusion, hand still gripped tightly around the small of your back. 

“Because I know you like the back of my hand, Javier Jesús Peña. I could just tell. Plus, you always give those girls an extra big hug after a long day, since I know how much you miss them, even though you literally saw them this morning.” You snickered, lovingly nudging Javi before pressing another kiss onto his lips. 

“What? Like it’s a crime to miss my family while I’m stuck in terrible fucking meetings and doing shitty ass paper work all day? To wanna spend all my time with my beautiful daughters and their even more beautiful momma? Fine, guilty as charged, I guess.” Javi winked, gently tracing his thumb on the soft skin of your stomach, barley peeking out between your shirt and shorts. 

“Well I guess the five of us will all just head off to Peña prison together since we’re all guilty of missing you just as much.” 

“God, you’re such a dork.” He sighed, pulling you in to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much, Osita.” 

“I love you too, Jav.” The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the comfort of each other’s embrace, forever your favorite feeling. “Okay, we should probably get back in there before the munchkins get up to no good, huh? In addition to trying to teach Elliot and Harper how to draw gorillas, Lucy was also trying to teach them how to body check someone when they played hockey in the driveway.” 

“They are their mother’s daughters, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Plus, I apparently have some pictures of gorillas to go see.” Javi chuckled, reaching back to open the passenger side door of his truck to pull out his bag as the two of you headed back towards the house. 

“Well, if you needed something to make you feel better, looking at Elliot’s attempt at drawing you, her, Lucy and Harper riding on a purple gorilla while I chase you riding a rainbow gorilla will probably do the trick.” The two of you laughed, walking hand in hand to the front door, pausing one last time on your porch before entering back into the giggles and grins filling your home. “And if that doesn’t work, I bet after we put the girls to bed, I can think of something else that might help you feel better, too.” You smirked, eyeing Javi up and down with a mischievous grin spread across your face. 

“Yeah? You gonna let me give me baby number 4, huh Momma?” Javi’s face lit up, biting down on his lip, his eyes wide and smirk even bigger than yours. 

“Bold of you to assume the rainbow gorilla isn’t enough. Guess we do have an extra room to fill, don’t we?” You giggled, giving Javi a playful nudge before heading through the door, joining the girls in the kitchen, eagerly waiting with drawings in hand to show their dad. As Javi trailed behind you, greeted by the image of his wife and daughters gleefully gathered around the kitchen counter, waving their colorful papers at him, he couldn’t help but feel his heart burst at the seams, flooded with sense of love and comfort that he was convinced nothing else on this earth would ever be able to top. 

Even on the shittiest of days, Javi knew that nothing could really ever be that bad, knowing he would get to spend the rest of his life coming home to the 4 people in the world that made it all worth it. Knowing he would spend his forever surrounded by the love of his family.

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @dappydelta @blackfemalenerd

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter three

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

warning . . . tbd )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . it's been a while but chapter three is here, i'm so sorry for how long it took )

Things between Mason and Y/N only seemed to get worse after he found out that she had given her number to Max; to say she was confused about the whole situation would be putting it lightly. Mason had made it clear that he didn’t feel a thing for her, he was furious that she had feelings for him, so why would he have an issue if something happened between her and Max. His attitude was not simply aimed at Y/N either, he was just pissed off at Max. When Max inevitably qualified on pole and Mason had to present him with the pole award, he did so with a face like thunder and an attitude so bad that even the members of staff that had to deal with him clearly saw that something was wrong. And if Y/N thought his mood was bad during qualifying, it was nothing compared to how he acted during the race. 

The group of four were sat watching the race in the Red Bull garage and whilst Y/N, Ben and Reece tried their best to immerse themselves in the excitement of the race; it was hard to do with Mason sat beside them in a brooding silence. His foul mood had extended beyond his interactions with Y/N too; even Ben and Reece, usually recipients of his lively banter, found themselves met with curt responses and icy glares. It was hard to shake off the tension, especially when Mason's frustration seemed palpable. Every attempt at conversation was met with monosyllabic responses or outright silence. 

As the laps passed and the tension escalated, Reece, who could tell just how uncomfortable Y/N was, decided to break the ice. Leaning over to her, he spoke in a hushed tone, "Hey, Y/N, you alright? Mason seems like he's in a mood today." 

She nodded, a small, forced smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I don't know what's gotten into him. He’s just so angry I don’t know what to do.” 

Reece sighed sympathetically. "He'll come around. Just give him some time." 

But as the race unfolded, tension in the garage reached its peak. When Max secured the victory, the cheers from everyone in the garage were met with a stark contrast from Mason. His jaw clenched, and he rolled his eyes in frustration, clearly annoyed that Max had won, a stark change from usual races where he cheered Red Bull along.  

Y/N exchanged puzzled glances with Ben and Reece, who shared her confusion at Mason's sudden change of allegiance. The atmosphere was palpably strained, and Y/N needed to get away from it all, so she found herself wandering away from the group as they headed towards the podium.  

However, the silence that followed her being away from her friends only spurred her frustration at Masons behavior, and soon she just couldn’t cope without knowing and understanding why he was acting the way he was. So, determined to find some answers, she made her way through the crowded paddock, navigating the sea of people in their vibrant team colors. Spotting Mason engrossed in conversation with Ben and Recce, Y/N hesitated for a moment before steeling herself to confront the issue head-on. 

As she approached, the murmur of their conversation grew more audible, and her heart sank when she overheard Mason's words. "I don't know what Y/N sees in that guy. He's a real prick, and I can't stand him," Mason grumbled to Ben and Recce, his frustration evident. 

Confusion and hurt etched across Y/N's face. She couldn't understand why Mason would harbor such strong feelings towards Max, especially when he had made it abundantly clear that he didn't reciprocate her feelings. Before she could muster the courage to address Mason, Max's voice unexpectedly cut through the tension. 

"Hey, you guys! Great race, huh?" Max approached the group, a wide grin on his face, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of tension. Y/N glanced at Mason, who had abruptly shifted his expression into a forced smile. The contrast between his earlier resentment and his current attempt at friendliness was jarring.  

Max’s energy was contagious as he approached the group with a wide grin. 

"I'm throwing a little after-party to celebrate the win. You guys should come.” 

Caught off guard, Y/N's eyes flickered to Mason, who wore a scowl and crossed arms. "We can't, man. We got some stuff lined up," Mason interjected, his tone sharp, making it clear he had no interest in joining the celebration. 

Y/N hesitated, torn between Mason's obvious displeasure and Max's expectant gaze. The unspoken tension in the air was as thick as fog. Max, sensing the underlying dynamics, looked directly at Y/N, seeking confirmation. "You in, Y/N?" 

She bit her lip, glancing at Mason before meeting Max's gaze. "Yeah, sure, I'll be there," she replied tentatively, a slight quiver in her voice. The decision was made, but the uncertainty lingered. 

Mason's scowl deepened, and the air became even heavier. Y/N, sensing the disapproval, fidgeted uncomfortably. She didn't want to escalate the tension, but at the same time, she couldn't let Mason dictate her every move; not when he made it abundantly clear he didn’t even seem to like her as a friend anymore. 

As Max walked away to extend the invitation to others, Mason shot Y/N a stern look. "Really? You're going to his party?" 

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "Mason, it's just a party. It's not a big deal." Reece and Ben exchanged looks, clearly feeling baffled by the scene playing out in front of them. 

Mason, however, wasn't convinced. "I don't get why you're so eager to hang out with him." 

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Max seems nice, I like him” 

Mason's expression remained hardened, but he didn't press the matter further. Instead choosing to just walk away from her, almost as if he couldn’t even bare to look at her 

In the dimly lit hotel bar, Mason sat slouched on a barstool, nursing a drink between sips. Ben and Reece sat either side of him, exchanging concerned glances as they observed the weight on Mason's shoulders. The earlier anger that had etched lines on his face had given way to a profound sadness, leaving Mason looking like a shadow of his usual self. 

Reece cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the trio. "Mate, you've been quiet all night. Everything alright?" 

Mason took a deep breath, staring into the amber depths of his drink. "I don't know, man. It's just... everything's a mess." 

Ben chimed in, "Is this about Y/N and Max? Look, Mason, it might not be such a bad thing. If they get together, you won't have to worry about her having feelings for you anymore." 

Mason's eyes flickered with a hint of conflict, but he nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. 

Reece leaned in, genuine concern etched on his face. "Spill it, mate. Why are you so bothered that Y/N and Max are getting along? You've made it clear you don't see her that way." 

Mason sighed, his guard momentarily slipping. "It's not about that. I'm worried about Max. He's got a bit of a reputation with women, and I don't want Y/N getting hurt." 

Ben nodded in understanding, but Reece wasn't convinced. "Mate, I've known you for years. Something's not adding up. Are you sure that's all there is to it?" 

Mason hesitated, his eyes betraying a depth of emotion he hadn't intended to reveal. "I just... It's complicated, okay? I don't want to see her get hurt, and I don't want things to get even messier than they already are." 

Ben placed a reassuring hand on Mason's shoulder. "We get it, mate. Just look out for your friend. If you think Max is trouble, it's good that you're keeping an eye out." 

As Mason nodded in agreement, a pang of conflicting emotions welled up within him. In the quiet recesses of his thoughts, he wondered if, perhaps, he wasn't as indifferent to Y/N's feelings as he had convinced himself. 

Meanwhile, the after-party pulsed with vibrant energy as Max and Y/N found themselves in the heart of the celebration. The music thumped in harmony with the beats of their hearts, and the dimly lit venue became a backdrop to a night that seemed to be unfolding like a story. 

The pair, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and a few well-timed drinks, found themselves drawn to each other, their conversation charged with a playful flirtation that danced on the edges of something more. Max's charm and Y/N's quick wit created a dynamic that was both intriguing and infectious. 

As the night progressed, Y/N began to meet more and more of Max’s friends. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and animated chatter as Y/N navigated the introductions, each friend offering a unique glimpse into Max's life beyond the racetrack. The genuine warmth and camaraderie among Max's friends added a layer of connection to the night, making Y/N feel more at home in the bustling celebration. 

Later in the evening, Max and Y/N found a quieter corner of the venue, away from the pulsating beats and the lively crowd. The chemistry between them lingered in the air, and the flirtation that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally came to the forefront. 

Max, his gaze unwavering, leaned in with a playful grin. "You know, you're making it hard to focus on anything but you tonight." 

Y/N chuckled, her cheeks flushed from the mix of excitement and a few drinks. "Is that so? I could say the same about you, Max." 

Their banter continued, creating a bubble of intimacy that shielded them from the surrounding festivities. As the night wore on, Max's friends occasionally joined their conversation, seamlessly weaving Y/N into the fabric of their tight-knit group. 

Amidst the laughter and shared stories, Max's gaze turned more sincere. "You're different, Y/N. I really like being around you. Can I see you again?” 

Y/N, a mix of surprise and contemplation on her face, considered the question. "I'd like that, Max, but I don’t exactly live local, do I?” she said with a chuckle, still slightly taken aback by his forwardness. 

Max nodded, his eyes reflecting determination. "Well, I'm in the UK quite a bit for factory work. It could work out." 

After a moment's pause, Y/N agreed, a smile playing on her lips. "Alright then, yeah. Let me know when you're in town, and we'll take it from there." 

The vibrant energy of the after-party gradually faded as Y/N decided it was time to call it a night. The music softened, and the laughter in the venue became a distant echo as she made her way back to the hotel. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the night playing out in her head like a movie reel. 

As she entered her hotel room, she noticed a text message from Mason. "Are you back at the hotel?" it read. She sighed, typing a quick "Yes" in response. Truthfully, she couldn’t deal with anymore of Mason’s childish tantrums today, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to ignore him. A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door. Y/N hesitated before opening it, finding Mason standing there, a complicated mix of emotions written across his face. 

She let him in, the tension palpable in the air. Mason's eyes avoided hers as he walked past her and took a seat on her bed, he seemed unable to find the right words. Minutes passed, but Mason remained silent, the awkwardness growing with each passing second. The atmosphere in the room became thick with unspoken words, and Y/N could no longer contain her frustration. 

"What is your problem?" she burst out, her voice a mix of anger and hurt. "First, you completely ice me out, then you get pissed at me for giving my number to Max, and now you've come into my room in the middle of the night and you're just sitting there in silence. What the fuck do you want from me? I'm sorry for how I feel; I know it makes things awkward, but I never expected you to feel the same way or to want me. I just don't understand why it means you have to treat me like shit. You’re supposed to be my best friend." 

Mason, still avoiding eye contact, took a deep breath before finally speaking. "You are my best friend, the person in the world I'm closest to, and I was scared that because of how you feel, we couldn't be friends anymore." 

The raw honesty in his words caught Y/N off guard. She took a step back, studying his face, and saw a vulnerability she hadn't expected. The room fell silent again as they both grappled with the weight of their unspoken feelings. 

Y/N took a deep breath, the intensity of the moment hanging between them. "Mason, you can't just shut me out when things get complicated. We've been through too much for that." 

Mason nodded, the weight of his actions evident in the lines on his face. "I know, and I'm sorry. I should have talked to you instead of pushing you away." 

"Why did you get so upset about Max?" Y/N asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and frustration. 

Mason hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I guess I was worried. Max has a bit of a reputation, and I didn't want to see you get hurt." 

Y/N's expression softened, understanding the concern beneath Mason's actions. "You could have just told me that instead of treating me like I did something wrong." 

Mason nodded again, acknowledging her point. "I messed up, Y/N, and I'm sorry for that." 

The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N processed Mason's apology. After a moment, she sighed, a mix of emotions playing across her face. "I appreciate the apology, Mason, but you need to trust me. I can handle my own feelings, and I value our friendship too much to let it be ruined by something like this." 

Mason nodded once more, a genuine sense of regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry for acting out. I don't want to lose you as a friend." 

Y/N felt a sense of closure in his words. "Let's just put this behind us. We can figure things out, but you can't shut me out like that again, okay?" 

As the weight of their conversation lifted, Y/N and Mason found themselves in an uncertain but hopeful truce. Y/N, moved by Mason's apology, decided to bridge the lingering gap between them. She reached out for a hug, an unspoken acknowledgment of forgiveness and a desire to move forward. 

Mason hesitated for a moment before reciprocating, his arms enveloping Y/N in a tentative embrace. The hug was warm, a silent reassurance that their friendship could weather the storms that had momentarily shaken its foundation. Y/N could feel the tension dissipating as they held each other, and for a moment, everything seemed to be okay. 

However, as they lingered in the embrace, Mason's mind was in turmoil. A wave of conflicting emotions swept over him, and an unsettling realization settled in the pit of his stomach. He started to question the nature of his feelings for Y/N, wondering if there was more to their connection than just friendship. 

Internally, Mason panicked. This wasn't a revelation he was prepared for, and the timing seemed utterly inconvenient. He tried his best to maintain the facade of casual friendship during the hug, desperately suppressing any hint of the internal storm raging within him. 

Y/N pulled away, smiling warmly. "Thank you for apologizing, Mason. I really appreciate it." 

Mason managed a tight-lipped smile in return, the internal turmoil hidden behind his eyes. "Yeah, of course. Friends, right?" 

"Friends," Y/N affirmed, her expression one of genuine warmth. 

Tag list-

@nightlockcornucopia @jaydensluv @girlytots19 @formula1mount @alwaysclassyeagle @aundercover @sofifiia @dessxoxsworld @lpab @lorarri @thelovehypothesis @torrie421 @ironmaiden1313 @celesteblack08 @glow-ish @urfavouritef1girly @alwaysclassyeagle @barnestatic @simxican @formula1mount @charli123456789 @mac-daddy-210 @lazybot @imguce @azxulaa @mehrmonga @sunny44 @skepvids @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @chimchimjiminie16 @tyna-19 @hoely-maria @stevesworld9 @f1lov3r @elliegrey2803 @heyyhelloohii @landosgirlxoxo @skepvids @aundercover @andydrysdalerogers @illicitverstappen @bbygrlllllll @kageyamama-hinatatata @imagandom @bibissparkles @sofifiia @dark-night-sky-99 @viennakarma

[missninapea]

Hello dears, I'm glad to say that I'm in a much better mood now. I've done my crying and meltdowns for today.

I was very frustrated and stubborn by bottling it up so tightly, and now I'm beginning to heal.

I may not be right away fully healed, but I'm getting better.

Now, about what's happening in the community, Good Omens as a whole really means sooo much to me.

The show, the fandom, EVERYTHING! It's more than just a show, it feels like home.

I've made a lot of friends who love the series as much as I do. And the show is much, much BIGGER than Neil.

And I know some are still hurt and angry about the recent news.

We are getting a movie finale of Good Omens.

I know you don't like this, and that's okay.

Your feelings are valid. It's okay to feel sad and heartbroken.

My opinion has changed.

Now I'm happy that we're getting a movie. And it sounds pretty big. Because we as a fandom, are BIG.

So y'know what, it's so far the best news we've gotten and those 90 minutes would be worth it.

We're still getting Michael and David. And I know the movie would be AWESOME. We'll get to see our beloved angel and demon.

Hopefully y'all are doing well.

Once again, I'm pretty damn excited for the finale and I'm no longer angry and disappointed about it.

I accepted it. Now I'm pretty chill about it. Tho, you may still be bitter, and that's completely understandable. Take your time to heal. Everyone copes at their own pace.

Please take care of yourselves and stay strong.❤️‍🩹🙏

-Nina❤️

[taytjiefourie]

Show Don't Tell: Sadness

Hey there, fabulous folks! I'm thrilled to have you back for another exciting day of my 'Show Don't Tell' series! Today, we're delving into the complex emotion of sadness, and I can't wait to explore this topic with you all.

Let's start by recapping why 'Show Don't Tell' is crucial in creative writing. When we show instead of telling, we allow our readers to truly experience the story firsthand. It's like sharing a delicious slice of pizza with a friend instead of just describing how it tastes. By showing, we can immerse our readers in the story and create a more captivating experience that brings the narrative to life in their minds.

Now, what is sadness?

Sadness is a powerful emotion that we all experience at some point in our lives. It's a feeling of deep sorrow or unhappiness, often caused by loss, disappointment, or failure. Sadness is an essential emotion to portray in storytelling because it allows the reader to connect with the characters on a deeper level. When we see characters experiencing sadness, we can empathize with them and understand their struggles.

Dialogue

Today we're starting off with dialogue! and oh boy, can I tell you a thing or two about dialogue in creative writing! See, dialogue is more than just two characters talking to each other - it's a powerful tool to reveal the inner emotions of your characters without having to explicitly state them. That's right, you can show, not tell, how your character is feeling just by the words they speak and the way they say them.

By carefully crafting dialogue, you can hint at a character's inner thoughts and feelings without spelling them out. You can use word choice, tone, pacing, and other elements to convey emotions that your readers can pick up on, even if your characters don't outright state what they're feeling.

For example, if a character is feeling nervous or anxious, they might speak in short, clipped sentences or stutter when they talk. If they're feeling angry or frustrated, they might use sarcasm or speak in a raised, forceful tone. And if they're feeling sad or defeated, they might use a subdued tone, speak slowly, or trail off mid-sentence.

By showing these emotions through dialogue, you're allowing your readers to draw their own conclusions about how your characters are feeling, rather than simply telling them outright. So, the next time you're writing dialogue, remember that it's not just about what your characters are saying, but how they're saying it.

Here are some ways to show your character's sadness through dialogue:

Speaking softly or in a subdued tone

Using a slow, hesitant delivery

Repetitively apologizing or expressing guilt

Avoiding eye contact

Using self-deprecating humor or dialogue

Asking for reassurance or validation

Using a trembling or shaking voice

Asking rhetorical questions to express confusion or hopelessness

Talking about loss or past regrets

Expressing disappointment or disillusionment

Using passive language, such as "I guess" or "I don't know"

Reflecting on negative feelings, such as shame or worthlessness

Using a quivering or choked voice

Expressing helplessness or powerlessness

Using long pauses or trailing off mid-sentence

Using a resigned or defeated tone

Expressing feelings of isolation or loneliness

Using negative self-talk or dialogue

Avoiding conflict or difficult conversations

Using a monotone or flat voice to convey sadness.

Making self-pitying statements, such as "Why does this always happen to me?"

Using expressions of regret, such as "I wish I had done things differently"

Expressing a lack of motivation or energy, such as "I just can't seem to get out of bed in the morning"

Talking about feeling overwhelmed or burdened by responsibilities

Using hesitant language, such as "I'm not sure if I can handle this"

Talking about feeling lost or directionless in life

Using indirect statements to avoid confronting difficult emotions, such as "It's just been a tough day"

Expressing a sense of hopelessness or despair, such as "What's the point anymore?"

Using figurative language to convey sadness, such as "It feels like a weight on my chest"

Talking about past traumas or painful memories

Using vague or noncommittal language, such as "I don't know how I feel right now"

Talking about feeling disconnected or disengaged from the world around them

Using self-criticism or self-blame, such as "I should have seen this coming"

Expressing a sense of longing or nostalgia for happier times

Using metaphors or similes to convey sadness, such as "I feel like a balloon slowly deflating"

Talking about feeling rejected or unloved by others

Using evasive language to avoid talking about difficult emotions directly

Expressing a sense of frustration or resignation, such as "It is what it is"

Using repetition to emphasize feelings of sadness, such as repeating "I just can't do this" multiple times.

Setting/Scenery

Let's talk about how to use the environment to create and convey sadness in creative writing. One way to use the environment to create a sad mood is through the use of imagery. Imagine a scene where the character is walking down a street on a rainy day. The sound of the rain hitting the pavement, the gray sky overhead, and the slick roads all work together to create a sense of sadness and melancholy. By describing the environment in detail, we can show the reader that the character is feeling down without ever having to tell them directly.

Another way to use the environment to convey sadness is through the use of color. For example, if the scene is set in a funeral home, we might describe the walls as a dull gray or beige, the curtains as heavy and dark, and the lighting as dim and muted. These details can all work together to create a sense of heaviness and sadness.

Using the environment can also be an effective way to create contrast and highlight the sadness in a scene. For instance, describing a bright and sunny day while the character is feeling down can help to emphasize their emotional state.

I've got a fantastic list of ways to use scenery and setting to indirectly show sadness:

Describing the weather as gray, rainy, or gloomy

Using dark or muted colors in the description of the setting

Creating a sense of isolation or emptiness in the environment

Using silence or a lack of sound to create a sense of loneliness or sadness

Describing the setting as abandoned or neglected

Using a stark or barren landscape to create a feeling of despair

Using symbolism in the setting, such as wilted flowers or broken objects, to convey sadness

Setting the scene in a place that is traditionally associated with sadness, such as a graveyard or hospital

Creating a contrast between the beauty of the setting and the sadness of the character's emotions

Describing the setting as chaotic or disorganized to mirror the character's internal turmoil.

There's another way to show a character's sadness - by having them directly interact with the setting:

Tracing their fingers along the rough surface of a wall

Sitting slumped or huddled in a corner

Staring off into the distance with a blank expression

Running their hands through grass or foliage absentmindedly

Letting raindrops fall on their face without moving

Slowly dragging their feet as they walk through the environment

Clenching their fists or gripping objects tightly

Kicking or throwing objects in frustration or anger

Covering their face with their hands or hiding their eyes

Leaning their head against a window or wall with a defeated expression

Tightly hugging a pillow, stuffed animal, or other comfort item

Pulling their knees up to their chest while sitting on the ground

Tearing apart flowers or other delicate objects

Trashing their surroundings in a fit of rage or despair

Moving through the environment slowly or aimlessly with no clear destination in mind.

I've also got some awesome details that'll help you convey sadness through scenery alone:

Weather: A gloomy, overcast day with drizzling rain can create a melancholic atmosphere, reflecting the character's sadness.

Time of Day: A dreary morning or mid-afternoon slump can convey a sense of sadness and lethargy.

Location: Abandoned or empty places, such as an old churchyard or an abandoned building, can create a sense of loneliness and isolation.

Objects: Neglected, dusty, or unused objects can symbolize the character's neglect or emotional emptiness.

Colors: Dull, muted colors like gray, brown, or beige can create a sense of emptiness and sadness.

Noises: Soft, somber sounds like gentle rain or the sound of distant waves crashing can create a sense of tranquility and melancholy.

Crowds: A crowded, bustling place like a shopping mall or a subway station can highlight the character's sense of detachment and loneliness.

Architecture: Decaying, crumbling buildings or abandoned factories can symbolize the character's emotional decay and emptiness.

Nature: A desolate or barren landscape, such as a desert or a frozen tundra, can evoke a sense of desolation and despair.

Animals: Sad or pitiful animals, like a stray dog or a sickly bird, can evoke a sense of vulnerability and sadness.

Action

Now it's time to talk about how actions can convey a character's sadness in a fictional story. Instead of saying, "He was sad," show us his actions, and we'll figure it out on our own. It's like when your best friend tells you she's fine, but you can tell from the slump of her shoulders and the frown on her face that she's definitely not fine.

For example, let's say your character just lost a loved one. Instead of telling the reader outright that the character is sad, show it through their actions. Maybe they're:

Staring blankly at a picture of the person they lost.

Lying in bed all day, refusing to get up or talk to anyone.

Going through the motions of daily life but without any joy or enthusiasm.

Avoiding anything that reminds them of the person they lost.

Crying uncontrollably at unexpected moments.

Losing their appetite or neglecting personal hygiene.

Snapping at loved ones who try to comfort them.

See how much more powerful and engaging that is than simply stating, "He was sad"? It allows the reader to empathize with the character and experience their sadness alongside them.

Here are a few other examples:

Slumping or drooping posture

Avoiding eye contact or looking down

Crying or tearing up

Frowning or looking solemn

Loss of appetite or overeating

Inability to sleep or sleeping too much

Lack of interest in activities they normally enjoy

Neglecting personal hygiene or appearance

Withdrawing from social situations

Clenching fists or tensing muscles

Moving slowly or sluggishly

Hesitating or procrastinating

Avoiding conversations or communication

Self-harm or destructive behavior

Engaging in risky behavior

Substance abuse or excessive drinking

A lack of energy or motivation

Losing track of time or being forgetful

Becoming easily frustrated or irritable

Exhibiting a lack of enthusiasm or passion for life

Remember that if a character is feeling sad and depressed, they might stop taking care of themselves, neglect their hygiene, and lose interest in their hobbies. They may also isolate themselves from others, withdrawing from social situations and avoiding conversations.

Body Language

Body language is a huge part of showing emotions in creative writing, and sadness is no exception! The way a character holds themselves, their posture, and their movements, can all tell the reader a lot about how they're feeling.

For example, imagine a character who has just received some terrible news. They might slump their shoulders, avoid eye contact, and wring their hands. These actions convey their feelings of defeat, sadness, and worry without the writer having to tell the reader directly.

Body language can also be used to create tension and conflict between characters. If one character is sad and another is trying to comfort them, the way they position themselves in relation to each other, the way they touch each other or don't touch each other, can all convey different emotions and create a deeper sense of meaning in the scene.

Here! I'll provide you with a short list of ways body language can convey sadness:

Drooping or slumping shoulders

Hunching over or curling up into a ball

Clasping or wringing hands

Biting or licking lips

Rubbing or covering eyes

Frowning or furrowing eyebrows

Tilting the head downward

Avoiding eye contact or looking down

Crossing arms or legs

Gazing into the distance or staring off into space

Sighing heavily or audibly

Slow or shuffling movements

Trembling or shaking

Fidgeting or restlessness

Wrinkling or rubbing the forehead

Holding oneself or self-soothing gestures

Stiff or tense posture

Lack of facial expression or a neutral expression

Slow or lack of movement

Deep, heavy breathing

A weak or feeble voice

Avoiding physical touch or contact

Shrinking or pulling away from others

Failing to respond or acknowledge others

Refraining from smiling or laughing

Breaking eye contact quickly

Pacing or fidgeting

Yawning excessively

Looking tired or fatigued

Crying or tearing up

Point of view

Let me tell you about the power of using point of view in creative writing to show a character's sadness indirectly. Point of view is all about the perspective from which the story is told, and it allows us to see the world through our character's eyes. By exploring our character's inner thoughts, inner dialogue, and emotional state, we can beautifully convey their feelings of sadness.

A character's sadness can be conveyed through things like:

Negative self-talk, such as self-doubt or self-criticism

Focusing on negative aspects of the environment or situation

Recalling past negative experiences or memories

Expressing a lack of motivation or interest in their surroundings

Having a pessimistic or cynical outlook on the future

Feeling disconnected or detached from others

Feeling overwhelmed or burdened by their emotions

Seeing the world in black and white, without much color or vibrancy

Struggling to find joy or pleasure in activities they used to enjoy

Having difficulty concentrating or focusing on tasks

Feeling hopeless or helpless about their situation

Expressing a desire to isolate or withdraw from others

Being irritable or easily agitated with others

Struggling to communicate their feelings to others

Feeling like they are a burden to others

Expressing a sense of numbness or emptiness

Feeling like they are trapped or stuck in their situation

Being indecisive or hesitant in their actions or choices

Feeling like they don't belong or fit in with their surroundings

Expressing feelings of guilt or shame

Having difficulty sleeping or eating properly

Feeling like they are constantly on edge or anxious

Seeing themselves as an outsider or outcast

Struggling to make meaningful connections with others

Feeling like they are invisible or overlooked by others

Expressing a sense of longing or yearning for something they can't have

Feeling like they are drowning in their emotions

Struggling to find purpose or meaning in their life

Feeling like they are stuck in a rut or a cycle of negativity

Expressing a sense of regret or remorse for past actions or choices.

Sensory Detail

Sensory details can take your writing to the next level! By incorporating sensory details into your writing, you can transport your readers into the world you've created and make them feel like they're a part of the story. Whether you want to evoke sadness, joy, or fear, sensory details are an essential tool for creating an emotional response in your readers.

Specifically, when it comes to showing a character's sadness, sensory details can be particularly effective. By describing their environment using muted colors and soft sounds, for example, you can create a somber atmosphere that resonates with the character's emotions. Additionally, describing physical sensations like a heavy chest or lump in the throat can help the reader understand just how deeply the character is feeling their sadness.

Remember, sensory detail isn't limited to external sensations - sensory detail can also include how the inner turmoil of the character interacts with the outside world, such as associating certain smells with sad memories.

I'll give you guys a few techniques for using sensory detail to show sadness:

Describing the weight of a character's heart or chest

Mentioning the salty taste of tears on the character's lips

Describing the sound of the character's labored breathing or sobs

Noticing the way the character's eyes water or become red

Describing the feel of tears streaming down the character's face

Mentioning the chill or shivers that accompany sadness

Describing the dull ache or pain in the character's body

Noticing the way the character's voice cracks or shakes

Describing the character's inability to eat or taste food

Mentioning the heaviness or stiffness in the character's limbs

Describing the character's difficulty in sleeping or restlessness

Noticing the way the character's hands tremble or shake

Describing the character's detachment or numbness

Mentioning the lack of appetite or desire to eat

Describing the character's exhaustion or fatigue

Noticing the way the character's posture slumps or droops

Describing the character's sensitivity to light or sound

Mentioning the character's lack of interest or enthusiasm

Describing the character's reluctance to leave their bed or room

Noticing the way the character's movements become slower or more deliberate

Describing the way the character's world becomes smaller or more constricted

Mentioning the character's lack of motivation or energy

Describing the way the character's skin becomes pale or sallow

Noticing the character's tendency to withdraw from others or isolate themselves

Describing the character's lack of focus or concentration

Mentioning the character's difficulty in making decisions or taking action

Describing the character's hypersensitivity to smells or tastes

Noticing the character's tendency to cry easily or frequently

Describing the way the character's thoughts become more negative or self-critical

Mentioning the character's lack of interest or pleasure in their usual activities.

Metaphors and Analogies

Metaphors and analogies in creative writing! These tools are like superpowers that allow us to express complex emotions in fun and unique ways. When we use them effectively, we can paint a picture in our reader's mind, making them feel and understand the emotions we're expressing. It's like adding a sprinkle of magic to our writing!

Here's how to use metaphors and analogies to show sadness in our writing! It's like playing a game of compare and contrast, where we compare the emotion to something that's relatable and tangible. For instance, we can describe sadness as a heavy weight on the character's chest, or a dark cloud that hangs over their head. By using these comparisons, we can help our readers to visualize the emotion in a more concrete way, making it easier for them to connect with the character and empathize with their experience.

Let's keep the creative juices flowing and talk about another way to use metaphors and analogies to show sadness in our writing! Instead of just describing the emotion itself, we can also use them to describe the character's actions or behavior. It's like giving our readers a visual representation of how the character is struggling with sadness. For example, we can compare a character who's dealing with sadness to a ship lost in a stormy sea, or a bird with a broken wing. These comparisons not only help the reader to understand the character's emotional state, but also create a sense of sympathy and compassion for their struggle.

Here are some examples for you to look at:

"Her heart was a shattered vase, the pieces impossible to put back together."

"He was a lone tree in the midst of a barren desert, with no hope of ever finding water."

"She felt as if a heavy weight was crushing her chest, suffocating her with grief."

"The sadness she felt was an ocean, deep and vast, with waves crashing over her constantly."

"His sadness was a thick fog, enveloping him in a cloud of melancholy."

"She felt like a bird with broken wings, unable to fly and trapped on the ground."

"His sadness was a never-ending tunnel, with no light at the end and no way out."

"The emptiness inside her was a black hole, devouring everything in its path."

"He was a ship lost at sea, with no sense of direction and no hope of rescue."

"Her sadness was a wildfire, spreading quickly and consuming everything in its path."

It's time to wrap up this post, but don't fret, I'll be back with more writing tips and tricks soon! There are plenty of these post on my tumblr so check them out too! or you can find a more organized version of them all here!

[skruttet]

What are your thoughts on Moominvalley's comet special?

I talked a little about it in this other ask response, but overall I was disappointed. I think it's quite telling that the part of it that made me the most emotional was the opening credits 😅

Someone else said it was "underwhelming" and I think that's a good descriptor for it. The rest of the season as a whole already didn't really feel final enough to me, and you'd expect the finale to make up for that and give you that big feeling of wrapping up the whole series in a satisfying way, but it just didn't hit that mark for me.

The actual journey in the first half just wasn't as epic and exciting as I was hoping it'd be, and I think that's partially due to them using elements from Comet in previous episodes so they didn't wanna reuse them again, like the stilts (though surely they could've brought them back...). The cave Moomintroll and Snufkin end up in also feels like a missed opportunity - it's such a beautiful setting, but all they do there is panic, then see the Hemulen, then he leads them out. Idk what exactly they could've done instead, but surely there was something interesting the writers could've come up with to utilise that space more.

The way Snufkin brought up the sun oil was so awkward and forced; I know it was to establish it so that Sniff could have his whole stinky salesman arc in the latter half, but it's really weird how he explains its origin to his friends again even though all of them apart from Snork were there in Fire Spirit! Speaking of, that was a real step down for Sniff, and I would've preferred him to have an arc surrounding the kitten instead. Maybe he spends the time trying to gain its trust or something, and then at the end, finally manages to do so and rescues it to bring it back to the cave.

And speaking of the cave, I didn't like that change, either (honestly I just think I disliked most of the changes they made from the novel tbh lol. like I get they don't just wanna rehash it and want this to be new and original to an extent, but sometimes that can go too far, or just in the wrong direction). It's just really stupid for them to be like "we need to face our fear and face the comet!" it's a COMET! It's not a mysterious noise you hear in the middle of the night that you can investigate, it's a big hot rock that'll kill you all!! And then Groke moves towards it, and ~something~ happens, but this is a family show so they have her moan again at the end to show she's still alive and I love Jack but his delivery of "I'm so relieved" is so weirdly flat that it doesn't help how awkward and unnatural this ending is lmao.

Now this is more of a personal gripe, but I don't like how Snufkin is positioned at the end. When they're facing the Groke, he's right next to Moomintroll, which I like (and also brings to mind Night of the Groke when they faced her together), but then after the white flash, he's not only nowhere near Moomintroll, but not even near their friends? And he walks away WITH THE POLICE INSPECTOR?! Like thank god Joxter doesn't know he's his dad he'd have a heart attack if he found out his son was so chummy with the cops smh. You could maybe argue this isn't even just a personal complaint, and that Snufkin has objectively been one of Moomintroll's most important relationships in this series, so for them to not have some kind of moment or interaction at the end feels wrong.

Something I was going to discuss in that other ask reply but I ultimately deleted because I couldn't find the words at the time was Little My's characterisation. This season in particular made me feel as though she's so, like, mad all the time. And I understand that anger is her thing, but it's usually a cheery kind of angry, you know? But in this series she sometimes just seems so frustrated and upset and although I like that it explores the more emotionally dramatic side of her, I was hoping that by this final season at least she'd be in a more comfortable and happy place. But in this Comet special she's so exasperated and moody with Moominpappa and I wish they just made it feel more like daughter-light-heartedly-poking-fun-at-her-dad, I guess?

Snork is interesting in this special because he plays quite a big role in it, but I also feel so sorry for him cause he's always getting cut off or used by Pappa and Sniff who don't properly listen to him and I just want to give him a big (figurative bc he hates hugs) hug my poor smart boy let him infodump. There's also a moment where he says "I can explain-" and his sister says "Thanks, Snork, but we really need to carry on!" which is so obviously the writers trying to squeeze in Snorkmaiden's characterisation from the book where she's practical in the face of her brother's long-winded meetings, and is a great example of the feminism of her character there, but it just doesn't quite work the same here. Once again just not as natural as it should feel.

On a positive note, I LOVED the look of the comet itself - every shot of it looked so cool and it changed the lighting of the valley in a fun and interesting way. I also liked how Jarmo and Samuli gave the score of the episode a funky sci-fi sound, which helped set it apart as something special for the series. And despite all my negatives, it's still entertaining! It's enjoyable to watch! Just, for someone who had expectations based on the whole series and the novel, underwhelming.

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 2: Sloth

Pairing: (Phantom x f!reader)

Summary: With one sin down, your focus is on day two; the sin of sloth. Terzo sends his Ghouls to take care of your every need, so you don't have to lift a finger...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Male masturbation, soft dom (f), m sub, sort of a servant dynamic (but fully consensual), fingering, grinding, p in v sex, pulling out

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: So, I became a Ghost fan in July, which means I don't know anything about Terzo era Ghouls and would have struggled hugely to write them. I'm aware that Swiss and Dew/Sodo were very briefly on stage with Terzo? (I think?) or at least had silver masks with Cardinal Copia like they do in this fic, but Phantom wouldn't have. Just, for arguments sake, picture them as 'trainee Ghouls', and so have all got silver masks. Thanks. Love ya.

Prev: Day 1 - Lust | Next: Day 3 - Gluttony

Terzo didn’t sleep well that night.  

You may have expected him to, spent and exhausted from your exploits together that afternoon but he was wide awake. His head swam with images of you, his cock thickening as he recounted the noises you’d made for him, the way you’d felt around him...  

Perhaps it was the pent up lust that had built whilst you had teased each other mercilessly that made his attraction to you so strong – he assumed it would pass, a minor infatuation as he had had many times before. He simply liked how you had fought back against his own teasing and come ready to seduce him right back, giving him a taste of his own medicine.  

This week of rituals with himself and whoever else was invited to play with you was the most fresh and exciting injection of vitality to his sex drive he noted in recent years. However, he knew that he couldn’t partake in every ritual each day of the week – he wasn’t the one who needed Lucifer’s guidance. That was you. He was simply a supporting role, but he did know that that first sin with you would not be his last this week.  

With his cock hard and aching beneath the silk sheets of his bedding, he grumbled in frustration as his mind swam with more images of taking you as he wished, giving you as much pleasure as you could take before finally giving in himself. He found himself wanting nothing more than to please you, to give you what you needed, to help you.  

Terzo’s bare hand snaked across his stomach, giving in to his needs and wrapping his fingers around the base of his solid length to pump himself in time with the footage replaying in his mind's eye of his deep thrusts inside you. He groaned and growled to himself in the darkness of his bedroom, blissfully recounting the memories of that afternoon.  

“Ohh, Principessa...” he whispered into the night, climax building embarrassingly fast, but he couldn’t help himself. Within just a few minutes, he was releasing a hurried and powerful load onto the hair across the expanse of his chest.  

‘Just an infatuation’, he told himself. ‘This, too, shall pass.’ 

October 26th  

You had every intention of getting up on time. You really did. But when your alarm had sounded, you’d perhaps smashed the snooze button a little too hard and rolled over into another light sleep that became a rather deep sleep. 

It was a pounding on your door that woke you – a strong knock, almost aggressive. You shot up from the bed in your nightdress, uncaring of your modesty when the only person you knew would be at your door knocking this angrily would be Secondo.  

You were late for work, judging by the sunlight that crept through the cracks of your curtains, and the October chill in the air of your humble little living quarters sent a chill washing over you when you’d peeled your bedsheets back. The knocking persisted, aggressive and loud; only Secondo would be this angry at your tardiness.  

As you reached the door that was still being pounded against by his angry fist, you stumbled and latched onto the handle, wrenching it open with a litany of apologies spilling frantically from your mouth. You were never late for Secondo. Just once was a potentially sackable offense. 

“Sister, calm down. I’m not Secondo...”  

When you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and actually looked at whoever was at the door, you realised that it indeed wasn’t Secondo at all. It was a ghoul, silver shining mask glinting as if just polished. 

One of the newer ones, only a few weeks into his role and still in his training phase. And here you were in a satin nightdress that did nothing to hide your pebbled nipples in the cold air of your room – and even behind his mask, you didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down and widened when he noticed. Heat spread across your face in embarrassment, and you hid yourself behind the door, head poking from around the corner to talk to the ghoul.  

He shook his head as if to rid himself of the image before he continued.  

“Sorry, uh... Phantom, Sister. I’ve been sent by Papa?” he seemed just as confused as you did. 

“S-Secondo sent a ghoul for me?” Your stomach dropped, knowing that if he hadn’t come to get you himself it was because he was too busy to – because you weren’t there to help him with his workload. And he’d be more pissed than you imagined. “Shit!” 

“Oh, no! Sorry, I’m not... I wasn’t sent by Secondo, but Papa Terzo. He asked me to give you this?” he reached into the pocket of his trousers and handed you an envelope addressed to ‘Principessa’; his crest embedded in the wax seal on the back. Butterflies rammed your stomach lining as if they themselves were trying to get to the letter in his hand. You took it from him and ripped into it anxiously...  

Good morning, Principessa.  Did you sleep well last night? I certainly did not. Too much on my mind after yesterday... Each time I shut my eyes expecting the usual black void, all I could see was purple... I suppose you could say, I had my hands full most of the night. Imagine a wink, here.   I believe you will need your rest today, no? You seemed somewhat sleepy when I last saw you yesterday. I can’t imagine why... but I have arranged for you to have the day off. I have some rules for you to follow, however, and they MUST be followed.   1. You are not to lift a finger, all day. This includes walking, eating, drinking - anything. (I will only make exceptions for using the bathroom and breathing.)  2. Ghouls will be on hand to help you through the day. First, our newest Ghoul, Phantom, will be at your beck and call. Go easy on him, he’s a nuisance but he’s quite shy.  3. The Ghouls are there willingly to help you with ALL of your needs. They are consenting and on hand should you need... anything.  4. If you have any questions, you send them to me via. Ghoul. You do not leave your abode today, you stay put and enjoy your lazy day.   Break my rules, and the ritual is over. I will come and see you when I get a spare moment this evening.   Put my Ghouls to good use, Sorella.  Papa Emeritus III 

You looked over the cursive and furrowed your brows. His cheek shone through even in his handwriting, toying with you and clearly enjoying it. You did have to smirk a little that you’d made your way so far into his head that your choice of lingerie had haunted him as he’d tried to sleep. ‘Had my hands full most of the night’... Did he mean what you thought he meant?  

“So... you’re like, waiting on me?” you asked Phantom, who stood patiently waiting at your threshold.  

“I guess so. He told me to take care of every need that arose. I can't let you do anything yourself. He didn’t say why, but told me he’d send me to the ninth circle of hell for treachery if I failed...” he explained, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.  

“Oh... he wouldn’t do that, Phantom. Just so you know,” you tried to reassure him. 

“You didn’t see the look on his face...” he chuckled, absolutely no humour behind it. “Still, he gave me a choice and explained what today entailed. I agreed. So uh, anything you need, I’m at your service.”  

You wondered if he had deliberately emphasised part of that on purpose, sounding somewhat suggestive... And then it dawned on you.  

Papa was giving you an easy way to perform sin today.  

Sloth. 

“Well, I suppose you’d better come in then,” you smiled, opening the door and stepping away from it, modesty long forgotten. Phantom stepped inside, nervously ringing his hands and standing awkwardly in the cramped little living space between your couch and practically ancient TV set. You moved to sit on the couch, getting comfortable seeing as you were apparently confined to it for the day. 

“C-can I get you anything, sister?” he asked, eager to please already.  

“Uh... I haven’t had breakfast yet?” 

“On it!” he hurried, trotting into your little kitchenette, fishing through your fridge and cupboard to pull together ingredients to make you something from scratch, while you flicked on the TV to some pretentious morning show and kept an eye on the ghoul making a mess and a racket in your kitchen. 

Perhaps a day off, lounging around and not lifting a finger would be nice... 

Secondo was positively seething as he stomped into Terzo’s office, not bothering to knock and ignoring Sister Christine’s attempts to stall or calm him.  

“Ah, come on in, fratello,” Terzo invited with sarcasm dripping from every word and a smug smile on his painted face. 

“You gave my assistant the day off?! What right do you have? Do you know how much work I have to do?” he yelled, slamming his fist down on Terzo’s desk. “I think your title is going to your testone, fratellino (fat head, little brother)...” 

Terzo’s smug smile vanished and a look of vague annoyance took over as he rose from his chair, readying for confrontation. 

“And you seem to forget you lost yours,” he taunted. Secondo’s eyes widened before he grabbed the collar of his brother's shirt, pulling him far enough over the desk he could headbutt him if the need arose. 

“Attento a come parli (watch your mouth),” he warned through grit teeth. He pushed Terzo back and took a step away from the desk. “Sister ____ is my staff. You had no authority!” 

“Actually, I think you’ll find I do. I’m sure you’ll manage a singular day without her.”  

Secondo knew there was no use in arguing with his brother, both ridiculously stubborn men in their own right. He huffed and turned to leave, shoes clacking loudly on the stone flooring. 

“You work her too hard, fratello mio...” Terzo smirked. Secondo span on his heels, chewing the inside of his cheek to stop an onslaught of abuse from spilling from him like word vomit. 

“Me?! You insolent little shit. I’m sure you worked her harder than necessary yesterday,” he accused. “What, is she your next little fixation? Your new little prediletta (favourite)?” 

He couldn’t explain why, but Secondo’s insinuation that you were just another notch on his bedpost annoyed him more than being interrupted and screamed at in the first place. Sure, he had a reputation as a ladies’ man – and a man’s man too, for that matter – but perhaps it was merely Secondo’s tone that bothered him.  

“Perhaps, before you judge, you would care to ask why your assistant is suddenly spending time with me after very little interaction at all in the past sixteen years since she took her vows, hm?” 

Secondo laughed bitterly. “Please, do enlighten me!” 

Terzo stalled for a moment – he wasn’t sure you wanted anybody else knowing, much less your boss. But if he was being this much trouble on day two of the seven, he could get in the way and ruin your chances at completing the ritual at all. If Secondo knew, perhaps he would step back, and allow you your chance to find yourself at the end of these seven days... 

“She is performing a ritual. A very intense and laborious ritual. It takes place over seven days, and it must happen now, before All Hallow’s Eve.” 

Secondo’s brow furrowed and his eyes squinted in suspicion, curiously searching the archives in his mind full of rituals and spells he had learned over the years. And then it dawned on him... 

“Rituale Septem?” he barely whispered the name, shocked you would even attempt such a thing. He didn’t think you the type to be comfortable with such an extensive and invasive ritual. “Why would she need to speak with The Dark One?” 

“She feels lost, fratello. I’m trying to guide my flock back onto a path she is able to see for herself. Do you understand?” 

“Are you telling me she... is experiencing doubts?” For the first time in Satan knew how many years, Terzo saw hurt flash across his brother’s face. His hardened exterior was always a mask, that much was true, but the mention that perhaps the closest person he had to a friend in the ministry was doubting her position, doubting her faith... it stung him, and his mask slipped for just a moment. 

“It’s not personal, Secondo. We mustn’t take it as such. But yes, she is doubting Him. Is it not my job to attempt whatever necessary when she is so desperate to hear His voice?” 

Secondo thought for a moment, slowly sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Terzo’s desk.  

“Sì, sì... Non ne avevo idea (I had no idea)…" he sighed. “Why would she not feel she could come to me?” His genuine confusion and disappointment were clear in his voice. He knew his rituals so well, had the deepest knowledge of anyone in the Ministry. He could have helped you, surely? 

“Fratello, I mean no disrespect when I say this but... you are not the most emotionally available man to open up to, se sai cosa voglio dire (if you know what I mean). I believe she was worried you would be angry at her for her doubts,” Terzo explained, a gentility to his voice. He knew you meant more to Secondo than simply an employee. You don't work side by side with someone for six years and not develop some form of relationship.

Secondo’s mind ticked over, before he settled upon understanding rather than jumping straight into defensiveness. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he conceded, wanting nothing more than to help in any way he could. 

“What do you need from me?” His head snapped up to look at Terzo who stood watching in amazement at his change in demeanour.  

“Your co-operation,” he pleaded. “Today I’ve planned sloth for her. She must stay home and not lift a finger all day.” 

“Concordato (agreed). Anything else?” 

Terzo thought for a moment, going over the plans he had made for the week ahead to see if there was indeed anything Secondo could do.  

“Actually, sì... There is perhaps one particular sin you would be very useful for...” 

Your morning was, indeed, as lazy as Papa had intended for you. Phantom took three attempts to make an edible batch of pancakes since he categorically said no to every time you went to move from the couch and help him. He was right, of course. You had to stay put, but it wasn’t natural for you and it took fighting every natural instinct in your body not to help or tend to your needs yourself.  

He’d done everything for you that morning, carrying you if you needed to walk, spoon-feeding you like a roman emperor (although you’re sure Julius Caesar didn’t have to sit through three rounds of ‘here comes the choo-choo train’). It felt wrong, but wasn’t that entirely the point? Sinning.  

But you hadn’t expected it to feel so icky – icky being the only word appropriate for how the feeling of lording over someone as your servant made you feel a little drunk with power. And with Phantom so eager to please, running here, there and everywhere for you, you were fighting hard not to let the power go to your head.  

As the morning dragged on, you became increasingly aware of the fact he was here to tend to any need you had, mulling over how he had made it abundantly clear that he was here and willing. Well, you could tell that in his eagerness to please, rushing to your side whenever you needed something and going above and beyond to make you comfortable. He was being a good little servant, and a part of you was ready to test the waters, so to speak... 

“Phantom, would you do something for me?” you asked, to which his masked head snapped to you from where he sat watching daytime TV with you, and he nodded fervently. “I... could do with a bath... would you mind running one for me?”  

Even behind the silver eye holes you saw enough to see his eyes widen. “S-sure, yeah... Bubbles and stuff?” he asked.  

“Hmm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering closed as you imagined the warmth of aromatic waters submerging you, “please...”  

When you looked, Phantom’s jaw had gone slack, and the poor Ghoul was staring intently at you. He jumped up with a startling speed with a “yes, sister!” and scurried off into your bathroom where you heard the faucets squeaking in protest and a heavy flow of water hitting the tub’s surface. You smirked a little at his enthusiasm, playing with the lace hem of your nightdress you were yet to change out of. You watched in delight as he scurried in and out of your little apartment gathering supplies you didn’t have to hand from Papa Primo’s gardens and the store cupboards near the chapel.  

It took him 20 minutes before he was satisfied with the bath he’d drawn for you, stepping out of the bathroom and stopping in the doorway to announce it was ready. You began to stand, only to have him on his knees in front of you in a flash with a scream of “No! No...” and hands on your bare knees. He looked down at where his flesh had come into contact with your own and jumped back a little in shock.  

“I mean, I’ll... I have to carry you.” 

“Oh, of course. Silly me,” you smiled sweetly, as if this wasn’t exactly your plan – a power play. Because whether you saw it yet, or not, being waited on hand and foot, treated with respect that verged on worship was beginning to go to your head a little. 

He slipped his arms under your knees, the other around your back and lifted you effortlessly bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom where he sat you on the edge of the tub. Frankly, you couldn’t believe the effort he’d gone to... 

From Papa Primo’s stores, the water was filled with aromatic flowers and oils, bubbles stacked high at one end as steam rose from the surface. From the chapel’s store cupboards, the room was alight with black candles on every available surface, a soft warm glow flickering around the small room.  

“I’ll um, let you... undress,” he nodded shyly as your nightgown and stood, turning his back to you and averting his gaze from the steamed mirror for good measure. But you had other ideas... 

“Phantooooom,” you whined, “I don’t think I can. I’m not supposed to do anything today...”  

You saw his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath, as if he were doing his best to remain composed, before he slowly turned around and nodded. He stepped towards you, hands trembling a little, as he knelt and began to push the hem of your nightdress up your thighs slowly. He seemed to be savouring the moment a little, maybe it was just nerves, but you could see him bite his lip the higher the satin rose.  

As it grazed over your hips, lifting up past your ass with a bit of a shuffle from you, you could hear the way he gulped, eyes trained on the skimpy panties you had underneath. His anguish only got worse when lifting higher, your bare breasts were exposed before him, and you raised your arms to allow him to easily remove the nightdress completely.  

You smiled at him softly, waiting for him to continue and giving him the green light to do so. He exhaled a breath he’d been holding, fingers curling into the hem of your panties at your hips where he began to drag them down your thighs. He refused to look at where he’d now exposed, a blush spreading across his face that he was grateful was hidden by his mask. He felt a sense of shame for being even remotely turned on by this, but the shame was so exciting. For him, and for you... 

To save him a little from combusting and leaving scorch marks on your bathroom floor, you crossed your legs in what could be considered a very seductive looking pose, and ran your fingers through the water behind you with a soft hum. 

“Is...is the temperature okay?” he asked, strictly looking only at your face and your face alone. 

“Perfect, thank you, Phantom,” you reached your dry hand to pinch gently and affectionately at his exposed chin. “Would you mind?” 

He shook his head, again moving to roll his shirt sleeves up his arms and lifting you bridal style, gently lowering you into the water. As you sank into the water in his arms, you let a satisfied little moan slip from your lips, and felt the way his arms tensed. Now fully bathed, he stood and wiped his forearms on a towel and went to exit the room, leaving you with privacy and giving him a chance to calm down and uh... soften up. 

So, when you stopped him, and asked him to sit with you because you “wanted someone to talk to”, he inwardly groaned and agreed. He was trying so desperately to avoid temptation, to only act on requests as Papa had told him to do.  

“You only do the things she asks of you, Phantom. You do not try to seduce her, hai capito? (understand)? You do not make any moves. You let her come to you, if she wishes. You respect her wishes, sì?” 

Of course, he’d respect your wishes. He would never do anything untoward, never push you or attempt to guide you to him. He was very much aware you held the power today and if he was being honest, he much preferred it that way. 

But you were making it so hard for him to remain professional when all he wanted was to beg and plead for you to let him take care of you.  

Especially when you asked him to wash you.  

He found himself on his knees beside the tub, carefully and slowly scrubbing at the expanse of your chest, watching the suds wash away and the shine of the water glinting in the candlelight on your skin. It was hypnotising, and your little moans of bliss were killing him slowly, like hands squeezing the life out him by the neck.  

You slipped down further into the tub, your legs bent and parting to make way for him to trail the washcloth between your thighs where a heat was blooming aside from the warmth of the water. He got the message, averting his eyes and running the washcloth over your core gently. You moaned again, this time a little louder at the pressure to where you needed it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was moaning too at the sound and the strain in his pants.  

His eyes shot open and his head snapped to stare at you, hand clutching the washcloth stilling in shock and fear. 

“I-I... Sister, I... I’m so sorr-” he began to apologise frantically, his hand started to retreat until you grabbed his wrist and stilled him.  

“Do you want to stop?” you asked him honestly, giving him an option to back out now if he wished.  

He shook his head. “I... want to please,” he admitted.  

Slowly, you let go of his wrist, laying back against the tub with eyes trained on his. Gradually his hand resumed, dragging the washcloth between your legs and sending a wave of pleasure through your body. You arched your back a little, eyes closing and lips parting.  

His movements remained slow, deliberate. He watched your face contort and your body writhe as the sensations built. On his knees, his own hips began to buck in search of some sort of pressure against his hidden erection. His spare hand groped and squeezed at himself, little grunts sounding every so often that made your lips quirk up into a smirk.  

“D-does it... feel okay?” he asked. The poor Ghoul beside the tub was struggling, and when you opened your eyes to look at him, a pang of lust speared its way through your chest. 

His lips were reddened and swollen, paint long gone from where he’d been biting at them. You could see his arm moving, but not where, and you drew your own conclusion that Phantom was in fact touching himself.  

“It feels amazing...” you purred, reaching a hand out to trace the metal of his mask down to his exposed chin, fingers wet and warm with bath water. “You’re doing so good, Phantom.”  

The whimper that came from the man in front of you was pathetic, but it made your walls clench around nothing. He liked that.  

Only then did you realise the details of the events leading to now. He wanted to please you, to bow to your every whim. He was whimpering just at making you feel good, and when you praised him? If that whimper was anything to go by, in tandem with the way his hips bucked into his own grasp, this was a man who liked being powerless to you.  

He liked being your servant.  

“Will you use your fingers, Phantom? I need more...” you asked. 

“Wh-whatever you need, sister...” He let go of the washcloth immediately, letting it float to the surface of the bath to be replaced by his fingers heading straight for your clit. You gasped at the contact, finally feeling the pressure you needed where he’d worked you up.  

The hand on his groin grasped his hard on tightly, staving off a premature climax that would surely embarrass him.  

His fingers circled your bundle of nerves with fervour, desperate to please and have you come undone. Ripples of ecstasy flowed through your body, moans and whines spilling freely from you. It was music to his ears, hearing how good he was making you feel. 

“I-inside, Phantom. Please,” you begged, parting your legs as wide as you could for him. He growled, the hand on his crotch gripping the edge of the bathtub as he leaned over you, dipping his fingers through your folds before easily slipping two inside of you. You cried out, feeling full and immediately alive with electricity jolting through your veins.  

You gripped onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him further over you as you writhed under him. His fingers curled and fucked into your heat, hitting where you needed him most.  

“Shit, just like that...” His movements weren’t particularly gentle, but the aggression wasn’t just pure aggression, but desperation. How badly he wanted to give you the pleasure you sought... 

When you looked over at him, you could see his hips bucking against nothing, hopelessly rutting into the air for any friction he could muster. From what you could see of his face, he looked wrecked. His lips were curled back over his teeth which grit together at the strain, his eyes wide and watery as if he would cry if you ever made him stop now. 

You felt sorry for him, chasing a high he wouldn’t get so long as he continued to fuck into the air like this. And who were you to deny him the same pleasure he was so eager to give you? 

“Ph-Phantom... look at me,” you tugged once at his collar, his eyes finding yours but hand never slowing. He could have cum just from the fucked out look on your face alone. “Will you... will you fuck me?” you asked breathlessly.  

His fingers rammed into you harder at the thought and you screamed out, pulling him towards you, your forehead clashing with the forehead of his mask. You stared darkly into his eyes.  

“If you want me to...” he growled, “Sathanas, tell me you want me to...” he begged. 

You pushed his arm away from your cunt and sat up onto your knees before leaning over the opposite end of the bathtub and arching your back, giving him an eyeful of your exposed cunt glistening in the candlelight as the bathwater sloshed and lapped at your skin. 

“Fuck me, Phantom...” you instructed. In a flash, the Ghoul stood and leapt into the tub, water and flower petals spilling over the sides and splashing to the floor. He was too far gone, too fucking desperate to even think about removing his clothes or boots and he cursed to himself when he realised what he’d done, but made no moves to rectify it – it was too late for that anyway.  

Instead, he knelt and unzipped the fly of his pants, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and pushed them down with his underwear just enough for his length to spring free. He took a deep breath, steadying himself and slowly ran the head of his cock through your folds. His free hand came to rest on your hips, gently squeezing the flesh there and stroking his thumb over the skin. 

You waited patiently, letting him enjoy the moment as you relaxed in his hold, leaning lazily over the edge of the tub with your head on your arms. Slowly, he pushed himself inside you, a cracked groan leaving his throat with each inch that sank into you. Somehow, you felt warmer and wetter than the bathwater that surrounded his legs – and it felt glorious. 

His thrusts began slow, savouring the feeling as whimpers and shudders shook his body behind you. He got lost in his own pleasure for a moment before remembering you were his prime concern, your pleasure more important that his own. He wanted to be good for you, for you to tell him he was being good for you again.  

“Is this... oh fuck, is this okay?” he asked as he set his pace, fishing for compliments. He sounded like he was pleading with you, needily pleading for affirmations. 

“So good, Phantom... Such a good boy for me, hm?”  

The noise that erupted from the Ghoul behind you shocked even you, an involuntary cry that sparked him to rut his hips against you until the water around him splashed and sloshed around the pair of you, the sounds of wet skin slapping together ricocheting off the tiled walls of your bathroom. His pace was unforgiving, slamming over and over again into your g-spot and forcing cry after cry of pleasure to erupt from within you.  

His hand reached around you, coming to sit between your thighs as his fingers worked your clit, his chest – still covered by his now soaked shirt – resting against your back. Coupling Phantom’s hard work with the feeling of the warmth of the water and the aromatic floral scents you felt like you’d reached a type of bliss you’d only ever read about. Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth biting into the flesh of your arm where you lay on it to quiet your moans. 

Before long the heat in your abdomen grew, coil winding tightly and dangling you on the edge of climax while his cock and fingers worked so hard to tip you over. All you needed was a little bit of extra help – you needed to know what Phantom was thinking. 

“H-how does it feel, sweetie?” you asked him in your most condescending voice you could muster while he pounded into you. You felt his hand on your hip squeeze your flesh hard. 

“So good... you feel so good, sister.” 

“You’re being so good, Phantom. My good boy, hm?” you praised.  

“F-fuck, yes... your good boy. I’m... I’m your good boy,” he whined, affected by your praise more than you could have imagined. 

“Are you... gonna... make me cum, sweetie?” 

“Uh-huh... Yes, ma’am. Want you to cum so bad,” he admitted, “need it!” You were getting so close, that familiar feeling now right on the cusp of snapping. 

“What do you say then, sweetie?” you asked, hoping he’d catch on. And in his current state, his mind bent and broken and filled with nothing but his need to push you into climax before he could, he didn’t need to think. His answer was instinctual.  

“Please!” he yelled, “Please cum for me... N-need to feel you, need it... Please!”  

It was all you needed to send you into a spiral, the coil snapping and springing free as your orgasm washed over you faster than the sloshing water. Your walls tightened around him, cunt squeezing him so hard it was almost impossible to keep up his pace. Your pussy gushed around him, only noticeable in the rocky water by the sheer amount of it when the waves would subside before crashing against your skin with another thrust.  

Phantom lost his mind behind you, biting into his lip and doing his very best to keep up with you, fingers attacking your slit still while he slammed against you. The fog that had overtaken your mind as you came began to clear, the aftershocks powerful still with the way he continued to now chase his own release.  

“Y-your turn now, sweetie,” you coached him through it, giving him the encouragement he’d need to reach his own end now you were fully satiated. When you looked back at him, he looked like he was in pain, the way his eyes were screwed shut and his teeth were bared. “Will you cum for me?” 

“Fuck, can I, ma’am?” he asked, unable to look at you as he continued his thrusts.  

“Yes...” 

"Thank you, ma’am!” he roared, pulling his cock out from where he’d been buried inside you and jerking himself once, twice before spilling his load on the third across the swell of your ass. He fell over you, slipping from his position on his knees and relying on his arms to prop him up on the bathtub to stop him collapsing on top of you. 

The two of you stayed there for a moment, panting, trying to shake off the exhaustion. The water around you both calmed, gentle waves much lower than the water level had been when he’d lowered you into it...  

Eventually, you turned to lay on your back under him, letting the water cover your body but hiding nothing from him now that the bubbles had disappeared. You smiled up at him lazily, tired and satisfied.  

Phantom looked up and around him, then down at his soaked clothes and softening length. He started laughing, shaking his head in disbelief at his own stupidity. You joined him, pulling at the loose suspenders still clipped to the jeans that clung to his thighs as you laughed. 

Eventually he had climbed out of the tub, ringing out his clothes as best he could with them still clinging to him, and wrapped himself in a towel as he concealed himself. Without a change of clothes to hand, he’d have to remain damp.  

He carried you from the tub to your bedroom, clad in a towel yourself and helped you dry off, giving you a new set of loungewear to wear that wasn’t quite as tempting as your previous outfit – there was only so much he could take in one day – and carried you back to the living room, dampening you slightly again with his clothes.  

Just as he’d sat you down, there was a knock at the door. He moved to open it for you as you sat back and relaxed, revealing another two of the Ghouls in training, slightly more experienced than Phantom; Dewdrop and Swiss.  

Swiss cocked his head in confusion, looking Phantom up and down as he took in the clothes that still clung to him.  

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked him, Dewdrop snickering and looking around him to wave at you. You waved back sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed that you’d have to explain... this. 

“I, um... fell in the bath,” he lied, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, it’s still kind of a mess, I should, um... clean up the water,” he said, excusing himself to go mop up the excess water from the floor and return your bathroom to a somewhat untouched state. 

“Yeah, you go do that...” Swiss laughed, patting his wet shoulder as he left and stepping inside your apartment with Dewdrop close behind. “How are you, sister?” 

“Uh, yeah good. Relaxed,” you smiled at him as he sat beside you, Dewdrop hovering silently still after shutting your door. From the few weeks these newer Ghouls had been at the ministry, you’d spent a little more time around Swiss. He could do a bit of everything, and you often found him in places you were during your working hours, fetching things for Secondo. 

“I bet you are,” Swiss teased, looking to where the bathroom door lay open, candlelight still flickering. “Did we miss the fun?” Phantom’s head shot up from where he’d been mopping the floor and slammed the door shut with a swift kick. Swiss just laughed.  

“Well, I can’t deny we’re disappointed, Sister. I had hoped maybe he’d have saved a little of you for us,” he motioned to Dewdrop with a nod of his head, “but hey, if there’s anything we can do for you, we’re here. Papa was very clear in his instructions,” he shrugged, sitting back against the couch cushions.  

“Nothing right now, thanks. Just some trash TV,” you chuckled awkwardly.  

“Say no more,” Swiss snapped his fingers at Dewdrop who rolled his eyes and darted into your bedroom, coming back with a blanket and spare pillow for you to cosy yourself up with. He sat on the floor between you and Swiss, back against the couch.  

The day continued much like this. Phantom returned your bathroom to normality then sat himself on a chair in the corner, shy and embarrassed by Swiss’ constant teasing. You binge watched pointless shows and allowed Dewdrop to give you a foot massage, while Swiss worked some form of Black Magic in the kitchen to make the most artery-clogging, delicious ‘lazy-day extravaganza’ as he had put it. Finding yourself full of disgustingly good food and exhausted from the day, you easily drifted to sleep on the couch against Swiss’ shoulder.

Terzo had no idea what he would find when he knocked on your door that evening. Had his Ghouls done as asked? Had you wanted them to go as far as to please the Dark One and help you revel in sin past the laziness of being waited on?  

He was more than willing to step in if he had to; hoped for it, even. You’d been on his mind all fucking day, elements of your afternoon in his office replaying in his mind like a roll of film stuck in a projector. He wanted you again, couldn’t think of anything else as he’d tried so damn hard to get something, anything, done today. 

His knuckles rasped on your door sometime after 8pm, after his final meeting when he could finally scuttle off to find you. Dewdrop answered the door, bowing silently to his Papa and stepping aside to let him in. What he found, was Swiss laying out across the couch, Dewdrop moving to sit on the floor where he’d been all afternoon, and Phantom sat in a chair in the corner, unable to look him in the eye and shivering as if he were cold.  

And... was he damp? 

But you were nowhere in sight.  

“Where is Sorella _____?” he asked them. Swiss, who didn’t look up from the TV in front of him, answered.  

“Her bedroom, Papa. She was, uh...” he looked behind him at Phantom, who’s head hung in shame and arms crossed over his chest to make himself smaller, “quite exhausted after her bath today.” The smile on Swiss’ face – a shit-eating grin of straight lips and pearly teeth – as he looked at Papa told him enough.  

“You didn't think to undress yourself first, Ghoul?” he smirked, scoffing a little. Phantom stayed silent, humiliated. “Go, change. You’re shivering, stupido (stupid [playful]).” 

Phantom stood from the chair nodding, his damp jeans squeaking and sodden boots squelching and rushed past Papa in the doorway, closing the door behind him. Terzo couldn’t really blame him – he'd dive headfirst into a pit of boiling tar if it meant getting to spend another night wrapped up in you.  

In fact, he found himself incredibly disappointed that he wouldn’t get to revel in sin with you today, to let you lazily use him for your own pleasures as he had hoped tonight. He had instructed his Ghouls to take care of your needs, of course, but knowing that they had stirred up a small dose of an ugly emotion in him. Still, there were plenty more opportunities to explore that pleasure with you in the coming days, and he forced himself to think nothing more on the matter. 

Terzo made his way over to your bedroom door, quietly letting himself in and shutting it behind him. Your room was dark, dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner of the room. His eyes adjusted, and he saw you curled up in a ball under the covers, chest rising and falling softly as you slept. He smiled to himself, moving to sit at the edge of your bed, watching you in peace for a moment.  

Quietly, he removed the glove from his right hand, using his now bare fingers to gently move a strand of hair from your face and tuck it back, wanting nothing to obstruct your pretty face from him. Despite his gentility, you stirred with a soft hum and opened your eyes.  

“Papa?” you whispered, squinting at him in the darkness. 

“Buonasera, Principessa, (Good evening, Princess,)” he smiled, “I trust you have done absolutely niente (nothing) all day, sì?”  

You nodded sleepily, “Wasn’t allowed to walk two steps to go to the bathroom.” He chuckled at your incredulous tone – he figured someone as hard-working and self-sufficient as you would have trouble with today’s sin.  

“I hear you don’t need my help this evening, either?” he teased, his hand – which you hadn’t even registered was gloveless – pushed your hair back again. You were grateful for the darkness, hiding the blush forming on your cheeks. “Phantom was still damp when I arrived. Did that idiota really jump in clothed?” he laughed softly. 

You hid your face in your pillow, shy and flustered. “He was a bit excited...” you admitted, muffled by your pillow. Terzo cackled at that. 

“I can’t blame him...” he shrugged. “I shall leave you to sleep then, hm? Go cross Sloth off our little list?”  

You turned your head back, getting comfortable and ready to drift into sleep again. “Should I go back to work tomorrow?” you asked, stifling a yawn. 

“Please. I don’t think Secondo would allow me to keep all of my limbs if you didn’t show again...” he laughed, “but would you join me for dinner tomorrow, Principessa?” 

“Of course, Papa,” you agreed, already looking forward to spending more time with him.  

“Bene (good). Around 7:30pm, my quarters.” He stroked your hair as your eyes drifted closed, sitting with you as the claws of sleep dug themselves firmly back into you. “Buona notte, cara mia... (Goodnight, my dear...)” he whispered. 

The last thing you remembered before darkness took over, was the vague feeling of soft, pillowy lips pressing to your cheek. 

Prev: Day 1 - Lust | Next: Day 3 - Gluttony

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

@call-me-little-sunshine84 @thew0man @zombiesnips-blog @ghuleh-recs @popiaswife @anamelessfool @enchantedbunny @haelithra @aslutforgreyhair @togetherasone @lilylovesdew @copias-sewer-rat @copiaspet622 @deetz-ghuleh @loudwombatmugkid @nimbusghoul @portaltothevoid @adinferix @angellayercake @sodoswitchimage @siouxbauhaus @lydz1977-blog @bitchywitchygardener @sacrificialsake @the-did-i-ask @ghostfangirlsweden @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @copiasprincipessa @gothicwonderlust @ladymer @ghulehunknown @onlyhereforghost @solluna00 @nijiru

[gotham-daydreams]

i’ve been rereading your not [] series and WOWOWOWOWOW i love it sm. the writing? mwah chefs kiss 🤌🏽 the soul crushing loneliness is felt throughout the whole series and as the reader i can really feel every single emotion y/n goes through while reading it’s amazing. i’m excited for part three to see how it all goes down most importantly y/n’s reaction. i can only imagine the intense anger they’ll probably have after getting taken back to the manor. they’ll be angry cuz of the kidnapping thing but also it took them going missing for their family to acknowledge them. that’s a whole different type of anger and frustration. trying practically all your life to get your family’s attention, to them notice your there, all for it to be vain but the moment you’re gone and don’t exist, just like they’ve been treating your whole life, suddenly they notice. they felt guilty after realizing the damage they’ve done to you and just NOW they want to fix even though you’ll probably be carrying the trauma of the neglect for life so what’s the point of trying to fix it now? especially at this big age? the anger y/n must feel at this is insane. there’s also the fact that if y/n *does* want to give in to the sudden affection there’s that fear they’ll just leave again. they get kidnapped, imprison in what was their once home with high security, are being bomb with a bunch of love from their family they’ve never received before and then suddenly it’s gone, all their left with is just their freedom being taken away. y/n most likely feels intense anger, maybe even hatred, at their current actions but also fear of their future ones. it’s the perfect soup of angst and mannnn i’m eating it up.

sorry for the ramble i just wanted to let out my thoughts on your series but to sum it up i LOOVE your series and i’m patiently waiting for your next chapter to continue to see what of y/n’s fate becomes 🫶🏽

I'm so glad you're enjoying the series!!! And oh my god I love your interpretation as well!!!

As I've kind of stated/hinted at through various posts (I promise a masterlist will be made soon because there is a lot of things now that are piling up-), I don't really tend for Y/n in the "Not [ ]" series to get kidnapped just yet (not in part 3 anyways), but I think we all know that it's bound to happen considering things. And it will!

Honestly, I think a lot of people are kind of overestimating how 'loud' Y/n's anger, frustration, hurt, and pain will be in part 3, and it does make me a little worried about the reception of it. However, depending on one's interpretation, what the reader does instead can make the angst that much heavier. Because, well. They don't get that 'relief' that can sometimes come with shouting out your problems to the world- especially to the person that caused you such pain for such a long time, as it is also kind of acts like an unmistakable "hey!!! i'm fucked up and it's all your fault!!! i'll never forgive you for this and want nothing to do with you!!!" message. Though it is a mix within itself.

However, you are right, honestly!

Y/n in the start of the "Not [ ]" series is upset enough. Not only towards the family, but all the time they feel like they've wasted to try and just have a chance to just... get something they never had. All they wanted was a relationship, some kind of connection with anyone in the family besides Alfred, anything. Which is also mentioned in "Not Tonight" as there is that repeating theme/mention of Y/n doing too much but receiving so little, if not, nothing at all, for their efforts.

So just knowing that — as you've said — it basically took them essentially 'giving up' and being gone for months, for the Batfam to notice them? To try and even attempt to give not even half of what the reader had tried to before? Yet was rejected at every twist and turn? Up until this point?

Yeah, no. Y/n is plenty pissed, and incredibly hurt. Among other things as it's just... too little too late. Way too late.

Yet why I also say that I feel as if others overestimate how Y/n is going to express their anger, and how loud about it they're going to be, is because... well- this is a small kind of character spoiler, I guess, but they feel so detached from the family that the very thought of the Batfam even looking for them, is unfathomable. They don't realize at first how the Batfam is looking for them (despite the obvious signs), because it's never happened before, not even on accident.

They never got saved when they got into fights. They never got help when shit got tough. They were never heard, seen or even acknowledged in the house besides Alfred unless they initiated the 'conversation'. Why would they think that anyone who's acted to them like that, and wouldn't even let them exist in their space for a few minutes, go out searching for them? To put in even the smallest effort towards finding them — and because they were worried for Y/n's health no less — and not because they were the absolute last resort? They wouldn't. They don't.

It's a part of why part 3 goes the way it does, but again-its a part. The other pieces make it bad as well. Though that's all the spoilers I'm willing to give on that, which will go more indepth in part 3 itself (hopefully).

Basically, Y/n is a mess. Everyone is in a way, and that's what makes everything go to hell.

Y/n is angry, yes, but it starts quiet before it gets loud. Along with everything else.

So if and when Y/n does get kidnapped... hm.

I did say in a previous ask that depending on how it goes that Y/n would fight back if they're able to and such depending on how the kidnapping itself goes. And though I won't say much on Y/n's reaction in case it does go into future parts if more than 4 are made, I will say that you're right to assume that Y/n is incredibly pissed. You're also right on the whole idea with them being worried about the family basically neglecting them all over again, when everything is said and done. And that's great!

It's a mix. A whole push-and-pull deal where, yeah, even if more shit hits the fan- their own trauma will, in a way, protect them as well as make their life more miserable than it already is. Y/n'll probably never be able to naturally get close with the Batfam, not without 'help' anyway.

But these are yanderes. Their definition of 'help' is a little... twisted.

Though, yeah! And don't worry about rambling- I clearly do the same seeing as I think this whole post is almost just as long as what you wrote. So it's fine! If anything I really did enjoy reading it! Seeing all these different interpretations, and thoughts about the series and other things is incredibly interesting and I love it a lot! Especially with Part 3 on the rise.

[kisscara]

O1: live performance! [fanboy!scaramouche x drummer!reader] ⎯⎯ heartbeat rhythm series

your eyes sparkle with excitement as you peer through the curtains. "there's so many people," you murmur. hu tao's chin rests atop your head to join you in viewing the large audience. "it is going to be our last live performance before we go on hiatus." hu tao cheekily grins, "i'm super pumped though! look at that crowd!"

ayaka is beneath you, crouching down to take a peek as well. she squeaks, "there really are a lot of people..." you smile, "no worries, aya. you always deliver with your amazing keyboard playing!" yanfei double checks the states of the instruments and turns to face her head to you three.

"get over here, the curtains will go up soon." yanfei stands up from where she was previously bending down to adjust the position of the guitar amps, "good luck, 5O5. everything is good to go." hu tao slings her guitar around her neck and yoimiya does the same with her bass.

yoimiya squeals with pure delight, "the audience is so loud, my heart is pounding even faster!" hu tao darkly jokes, "don't die on us before we perform." yanfei gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up before heading backstage. shortly after, does yun jin step onto the stage with a calm smile. "ready, everyone? let's do our best!"

ayaka nods her head, though hesitantly. she's always a little nervous before live concerts. you sit onto your drum throne and pout, "i'll miss my beloved..." but you have no more time to dwell about 5O5's hiatus, because the next thing you know, the curtain rises.

the familiar voice of your band's manager, madam faruzan, reverbrates through the room on a microphone. "please give it up for hit band, 5O5, as they perform their final live before going on a short break." cheering and clapping ring in your ears and yun jin begins to speak into her mic.

"thank you all for coming! we won't disappoint as we will be performing our unreleased album, blooming symphony."

"eh? i'm not even into bands," mona mumbles, sitting in front of the television set in the bedroom she shares with her twin brother and younger sister. as she's about to switch the channel, scaramouche instantly lunges for the remote, causing the two of them to tumble across the floor.

mona sat up, clearly angry. "what the hell, kunikuzushi!?" the complaints of his twin went into one ear and out the other as he stares at the screen, absolutely tranced. scaramouche grabs onto mona's sleeve, "drive me there!" she scoffs in return, ripping away from his grip.

"no way, where and why?" mona stands up and places her hands on her hips. scaramouche grits his teeth in frustration, "because (name)'s going to be performing at teyvatmusic live house!" she sighs and turns off the tv despite his protests. "no. i was planning on saving up my gas to drive us to school tomorrow."

scaramouche groans and grips fistfuls of his hair, "fuck the school! just take me there, please! you know very well that i don't plead so often; i'll do anything!" mona put a finger to her chin, "anything? even if i ask you to let me tell all of my friends that you have a crush on (name)?"

scaramouche rapidly nods his head, "yeah, whatever! i'll deny it anyways so just please, take me there now or i'll miss it!" mona rolls her eyes with a satisfied hum, "alright. wait for me in the car, i'm just going to put on a coat of lipgloss."

scaramouche runs out the room, shouting, "you better not take long or i'll run to the live house myself!" ei pops her head out from the kitchen. "what live house?" she asks, watching scaramouche put on his shoes in a frenzied matter.

"nothing ⎯ it's nothing." scaramouche was about to open the front door until ei defensively stood in front of it with her arms out wide. he deadpans, "mom. what are you doing?" ei waves her spatula at him, "it's a school night, young man. you're not supposed to be out and about after eight, remember?"

she frowns when he begins arguing with her. "mom, i'm not going to take too long! i'm just going to do an errand real quick!" scaramouche uncharacteristically clasps his hands together during his explanation. ei exhales through her nose, "... fine. but no later than nine, do you hear me?"

scaramouche nods and rushes into the living room to ruffle fischl's head of fluffy blonde hair, "i'll see you nerds later." bennett eagerly waves, "buh-bye, fischl's brother!" razor throws paper money onto the table, "go fish." bennett sweatdrops, "razor, we're playing monopoly..."

"farewell, dear siblings!" fischl yells as scaramouche and mona rush out the front door. she turns back to the two boys. "bennett, something has peaked my interest. let us indulge in a fine game of go fish!" she announces, sweeping the table clean of their board game with her arm.

ei chuckles, "i think that's enough, honey. bennett's father is here to pick them up."

scaramouche kept on bouncing in his seat the whole car ride that mona had to smack him in the back of the head, which resulted in him threatening to bite off her nails that she just painted. and the second mona pulls into the driveway, scaramouche gets out of the car and practically runs into the live house.

mona speed walks after him, "wait up, you little bastard! i'm wearing heels!" she yelps in surprise when she enters the room scaramouche went into. mona pushes and shoves past people to get to her brother. "archons, it's overflowing in here! much too loud for my taste..." she huffs.

scaramouche is on his tippy toes, indigo eyes closing in on you. you're smiling the whole time and your pretty hands are holding your drumsticks with such passion as you drum to your heart's content. he puts both his hands on his mouth, making an audible squeak. mona smirks, "gosh, you're hopeless."

she takes out her phone and records the performance because she knows very well that the second scaramouche watches your drumming, he won't even bother to save the memory in his camera roll, so mona does it herself since he ends up hating himself for it later.

as the concert goes deeper into the night, people begin to leave, but scaramouche stayed. he always stays until the end. his forehead is covered in a sheet of sweat as you play your drum solo, marking the end of the performance. and mona, much like scaramouche, is left speechless.

a final round of applause goes on for the five band members. yun jin takes a bow, "thank you for listening!" mona looks at her phone and hits the red button, ending the video. "oh, this would look so good on my twitter!" she comments. scaramouche leaves the room without a warning, catching mona off guard as she runs after him.

"what's your deal?" she teases and nudges his arm with her elbow. scaramouche shoves his hands down the pockets of his sweater. "they could have seen me," he throws his head back and mutters, "i should have brought a mask so i could have at least gone to their fan meet."

mona knits her brows together, "seriously? ugh, you're such a wuss. no wonder they don't talk to you when they don't even know you're like, their fanboy?" she opens her makeup compact and double checks her face. scaramouche grumbles, "because it's embarrassing; we're in the same class!"

mona taunts him in a lilting tone, "i'm telling you, someone's going to snatch them up before you. they are famous, after all." scaramouche begins to space out. someone else, admiring you? no, there's no way! he's been your number one admirer ever since you first debuted, hell, before you even began playing in a band!

but of course, it's useless, isn't it? you don't even know him as your fan but rather the cold and mean student council president. oh dear, these times require a very tall and annoying ginger to talk to!

tags: @mariusvonhangme @scaramoo @mikismusings @rizakari @akagism2 @sakiimeo @ohmyfinggod @k-hrtz @scarafrisbee @kaoyamamegami @liliumaraneae @dreamsofminnie @starfart19 @kunisbeloved @luhvashh @makiswrld @kyouzki @mimissubway @rmiyuki @theblueblub @patata52 @vixiesposts @thenightsflower @coquettemaiden @thefandomcrow @cotton-eee

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what happens when you, a talented and well-known drummer across the web, grow an intense crush for the student council president, who's also your number one fan? from annoying sisters to nosy bandmates, the next event that happens is always more chaotic than the last!

© kisscara

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 3

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: Dramatic reveals are revealed, dramatically (or, you and Steve tell the gang about Baby Harrington and it does not go well).

Warnings: language, food mentions, everyone is angry all of the time

Word Count: 7965

Previous Chapter! - Next Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Notes: I'm so sorry this took as long as it did! I've been going through it lately but through the power of boygenius I was actually able to finish this bit the other day! Please enjoy and also no one is allowed to be mad at me lol

Steve Harrington was going to be a dad.

The funny thing that came along with that was that Steve was actually going to have to tell people.

He imagined that there were many couples who would be very excited about this prospect. There were lots of young men out there who had mothers begging them for grandchildren. His hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

You had told him that you wanted to put off telling people for as long as you could. He entirely understood why; times had changed quite a bit since his mother’s day, but still, being an unwed mother in Smalltown, USA was relatively frowned upon. Honestly, considering just how gossipy the population of Hawkins tended to be, Steve was surprised the front desk ladies at your doctor’s office hadn’t already spread the news like wildfire, HIPAA be damned; golden boy Steve Harrington and his childhood best friend, having a baby out of wedlock? That was some front page stuff, right there. 

Married or not, though, it was going to have to happen sooner rather than later. In a few weeks time, it was going to start getting very difficult to hide. You were going to begin showing any moment now, and as Spring started to settle in, it brought its warmer temperatures with it. You could only hide behind your winter coat and thick sweaters for so long. 

And not just your bump; your friends were beginning to pick up on the fact that there was something going on.

“Steve!” Robin barked before tossing a wadded up ball of old receipts at him. It hit him square between the eyebrows. “Stop moping and do your job, please?”

“I’m not moping,” Steve defended (he absolutely was), before turning back to the pile of returns he was supposed to be sorting through.

“Fuck off, yeah you are,” Eddie very helpfully added.

“See, this is why I don’t like it when you hang around here,” Steve said, pointing a pen toward Eddie. “You two always gang up on me!”

“Why do you think I’m here at all?” Eddie quipped back with a smirk. 

“Because you don’t have anywhere better to go?” Robin supplied.

“That, too.”

“Either way, I’m not moping,” Steve assured. “I’m fine.”

“That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Eddie said over the click of the markdown gun, as he emptied its bright orange stickers down that back of his arm. Steve couldn’t help but notice that he had set the price to ‘WAS $4.20, NOW $0.69’.

“Stop that,” Robin huffed as she whipped the tool out of Eddie’s hands. “Steve, I can practically see the rain cloud floating over your head.”

“Oh, my god!” Steve didn’t really want to snap at his friends, but he did it anyway. “Nothing is wrong! I am fine, everything is fine!”

Eddie and Robin just stared at Steve like a pair of deer in headlights from across the counter. They both knew how easily frustrated Steve could become, and they’d be the first to admit that sometimes they can poke at him a bit too hard, but an outburst this quickly had been unexpected. Neither said anything, and Steve just sighed.

After a moment of awkward silence, Eddie spoke up once again. 

“Lady problems?”

“Get out!” both Steve and Robin exclaimed, in unison.

“I thought you guys liked me.” Eddie feigned offense.

“You do not work here!” Robin said as she grabbed onto his shoulders and shoved him toward the door. “And Keith’ll get pissed if he finds out you were here and didn’t spend any money, so go home.”

“Fine,” Eddie relented from the entryway. “Hey, I’ll see you guys on Saturday, right?”

“Of course!”

“Probably not.”

“You claim nothing is wrong,” Eddie said, pointing to Steve. “And yet, in the same breath, turn down free beer?”

“Leave!”

“I love you both!”

The bell above the door rang as Eddie walked out, and Steve was left in Robin’s concerned gaze. 

“Y’know, Eddie does kind of have a point,” Robin said after a moment. Nine times out of ten, Robin was able to coax Steve out of his quiet and get him to talk about whatever it was that was eating at him, a fact that Steve was highly aware of. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Steve barked back. If this conversation didn’t end in the next two minutes, he would jump off the roof. 

“You haven’t hung out with any of us in weeks!” Robin exclaimed “Weeks, Steve!”

“I’ve been busy,” Steve lied.

“Busy with what?” she inquired. “Do you have another job I don’t know about, or something?”

“I’m allowed to do things without you around. You know that, right?” It was meaner than he needed to be.

“Oh, god, this isn’t about your lover, is it?” Robin drawled with a scowl.

“You know her name, and you don’t have to say it like that,” Steve responded.

“You two got back together, didn’t you?”

She hadn’t quite gotten it head on, but it was probably as close as she was going to get.

“I knew it!” Robin looked like she was going to explode. “I fucking knew it!”

“Please don’t turn this into a thing,” Steve pleaded.

“Me turn it into a thing?!” She was mad now. “You two are the ones turning it into a thing! You cannot keep sneaking around like this, it cannot possibly be healthy!”

“We’re-” Steve huffed out a breath. This tightrope he was walking across seemed to be growing more and more thin. “Working on it.”

“Can you work on it a little bit faster, please?” Robin asked as she punched out. “You two are so fucking weird about each other. Split, or make it official, just do something, because I hate having to keep this secret for you, it’s exhausting!”

“We sort of already did. I think,” Steve confided. Partial truth is better than no truth, right?

“Split?”

“Make it official.”

“Oh, thank god,” Robin sighed, tossing herself across the counter, all dramatics. “I can finally quit having to cover for you.”

“Don’t say anything yet.” Steve was quick with his damage control. “We, uh, we wanna do it. Ourselves. Figure it’ll probably go over a little bit smoother that way, y’know?”

“Fine, but if you don’t tell everyone soon, I’m going to,” Robin said. “Don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed something off with you lately.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Everyone is worried about you, Steve,  it’s not just me,” she explained. “Dustin was about two seconds away from showing up at your house after you bailed on us last week.”

Steve didn’t know that. It sent a lightning bolt of regret through his chest.

“The faster you two can get your shit together, the better. I’ve been happily cleaning up this mess for you, but I’m starting to get fucking tired of it, Steve.” Robin looked at her watch. “I was off ten minutes ago.”

She was out the door before Steve could even think up an apology.

Steve and Robin didn’t get into fights often, but he absolutely hated it every time they did. Even silly little arguments left him wracked with guilt sometimes, but proper, go-for-the-throat type fights made feel sick. 

Pair that with the fact that he was making Dustin worry, and Steve felt about ready to hurl. 

God, this was difficult. Stupidly difficult. Maybe, if he asked nicely, you’d agree to just run away with him so he didn’t have to deal with any of it. 

If he could just pluck up the courage to tell his parents, that would at least be a start. They were the difficult ones, the conversation he was dreading more than any of them, and the wild anxiety ate away at him for the rest of his shift. By the time seven o’clock rolled around and he was finally able to go home, it was entirely all-encompassing.

Fuck it. It had to get done either way, right?

The drive from Family Video to his parents house, no longer than ten minutes, felt as though it stretched across half an eternity. The vicious anxiety ate away at his stomach as he drove, and with each turn, each mile crossed, it only increased. Maybe he should just turn around. Maybe he should go home to you, and his parents could just figure it out on their own. He was sure his dad would love that.

Steve pulled into the driveway and was very close to losing what little nerve he had. He turned off the ignition, this is a bad idea. He got out of the car, this is a bad idea. He walked up to the front door and let himself in, this is a bad idea.  

He could hear the commotion of his mother making dinner in the kitchen. Something was sizzling; popping and crackling with the smell of onions and garlic, of bell peppers and roasting meat. 

Steve had lots of reasons to be jealous of other peoples’ parents, but at least his knew how to cook.

“Steve!” his mother exclaimed once he walked into her view. One hand was occupied by a wooden spoon stirring a pan of vegetables, the other holding a frosty glass of white wine. “I didn’t know whether or not to expect you.”

“You barely even live here anymore,” his father chided from where he was sitting at the counter. His suit coat was off and he had a matching wine glass sitting on the table in front of him. Nine times out of ten, Steve’s parents were able to be amicable with one another. At this point, they acted more like roommates than husband and wife, but at least they were roommates that were able to stand being in the same room as one another. Usually. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you before I left.”

“Sit down! Have a drink,” his mother insisted. She pulled another wine glass out of the cabinet and the bottle out of the fridge. 

“Oh, no, I’m alright,” Steve said as he sat down. His mother poured him the glass anyway.

He was about to ruin a perfectly good dinner, Steve thought to himself. His mother probably poured over it all day. The roast that just got pulled out of the oven was probably expensive. 

“So, what’s been going on with Steve these days?” his father asked him. 

Now or never.

“I actually wanted to, uh,” Steve stuttered out. “I wanted to talk to you guys.”

“You didn’t crash your car, did you?” his father said, only half joking.

“No, the car’s fine.”

“Is this about that girl?” his mother asked as she turned the stove down to low, mischief painting her voice.

“Girl? What girl?” His father pointed his gaze over to Meredith. 

“He met a girl,” she responded. She seemed almost giddy with excitement.

“Finally,” his father said. He said it like it was a joke, though it didn’t feel all that well meaning to Steve. 

“Oh, tell me it’s Giada’s daughter from down the street,” his mother said. “Have you seen their kitchen? I’d never have to host another Thanksgiving ever again.”

“No, it’s not- no.” Steve wasn’t even sure he knew who Giada was, let alone her daughter. 

“Well, at least give us a name, Steve,” his mother said. “Is she cute?”

When Steve said your name, he felt almost like he was condemning you. Like just uttering it strapped you to him, so now you’d both be falling from grace. 

“The one who grew up across the street?” his father asked, as if you hadn’t known him your whole life.

“Oh, that’s just too sweet!,” his mother exclaimed. “It’s like a movie, ugh! I’ll have to give her mother a call, she’s going to be thrilled!”

Good luck with that, Steve thought to himself. She won’t even answer the calls from her own daughter.  

“Took you long enough,” his father said, leaning back in his barstool, lackadaisical. 

“What?” Steve responded. He was wildly unimpressed by his father’s haughty attitude.

“You two have been making googly eyes at each other since you were eight,” he explained. “Frankly, I didn’t think you had the balls to do anything about it.”

“Ron,” his mother chastised at the choice of words.

“What? Obviously, I was wrong.” Ron pointed his gaze back to his son. “Y’know, I think she could be a good influence on you. Steady job, good work ethic. She’s a bit of an oddball, though, but I guess with a father like her’s, could you really blame her?”

Leave it to Ronald Harrington to judge other peoples’ parenting skills while simultaneously insulting his son’s girlfriend. 

“Don’t be rude,” Meredith said. Her back was now turned to the two men, arms elbow deep in the sink. “Such a shame her parents moved away, though. I couldn’t imagine going that far without bringing your daughter with you. Is she still living on the south side?”

“Yep.”

“That’s not the safest area in town,” she commented. “Did you hear about that house fire down that way? The woman on the news said that it might have been arson. Arson!” 

“It’s alright,” he placated. “Not as bad as it used to be, at least.” 

“I still don’t know if I like the idea of a girl like her living all by herself in an area like that,” she said. 

“You’ll have to invite her over for dinner once I get back,” his father said, entirely oblivious to the topic of conversation between his wife and son.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them. His mom took a sip of her wine and stuck the meat with a cooking thermometer, his dad refilled his own glass, and Steve felt his stomach do a backflip. This was going poorly.

“If there’s something else you have to tell us, you might as well just rip the bandaid off quick.” His father hit the nail on the head, that was for sure. He paused for a moment before making the kind of poorly timed, borderline insulting joke only someone like his father could. 

“God, she’s not pregnant, is she?”

Steve went rigid, and he kept his gaze trained on the swirls in the marble countertop. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t bring himself to, so he just left his parents to piece his silence together on their own.

“Steve,” his mother demanded. She had a carving fork gripped tight in her white knuckled fist, planted hard against the edge of the countertop. Steve was pretty sure she was about to stab him with it. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to squeak out. He could feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes. 

“Goddamn it, Steven!” his father exclaimed, slamming his hand onto the counter. It made the glasses rattle. “This has to be some kind of joke!”

“I’m sorry!” Steve said, louder this time. “Fuck, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” his father asked. “You didn’t mean to? You didn’t think it would actually happen?”

“I don’t know,” Steve responded. He suddenly felt very small, confronted by his father’s booming voice.

His mother stood silent in her spot on the opposite side of the kitchen island, but there were definitely tears running down her cheeks, and anger radiating off of her in horrible waves that Steve wasn’t used to. 

“No, you don’t, because you weren’t thinking at all, were you?” His father fumed. He was standing now, towering over Steve despite the fact that the two of them were almost the same in height. “For Christ’s sake, Steven!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to marry her-”

“We already talked about that. She said she wants to wait,” Steve explained quickly.

“No. No, this is not a question of want, Steven. I don’t care about what you want, you’ve forfeited that right! You both have!” his father spat back. 

“I’m not gonna force her to marry me against her will, dad, I’m not evil!” He shouldn’t have said it that way, he knew that. But god, he was mad, and a low blow like that was just as satisfying as he thought it would be. 

At least this hadn’t happened when he was 16. He would have been well and truly fucked if this had happened when he was 16. 

“You know what? Maybe this is just the thing you need,” his father snapped.

“What?” Steve asked, confused.

“A big mistake for you to finally learn a thing or two.”

Steve wasn’t particularly fond of his father’s use of the word ‘mistake’.

“I leave for Santa Monica tomorrow morning. I’ll be back in a week,” his father stated. “I want you out of my house before then.”

“Ronald,” Meredith broke her silence, exclaiming from behind the tears. Steve knew she wouldn’t explode the way his father was doing, but she really looked like she wanted to.

“No! We have been defending him and making excuses for years, Meredith. Years! If he wants to go play house with his little girlfriend, that’s fine by me, but he’s not gonna do it under my roof.” He doubled down and turned his gaze back to where Steve was sitting. “I think it's a damn good time for him to learn that his actions come with consequences.”

The older man turned away at that and pulled his keys off of the hook on the wall.

“Where are you going?” Meredith called after him. He didn’t bother with an answer, only walked out and slammed the door behind him. 

Steve was left alone with his mother, which was simultaneously much better and far worse. 

“We were already planning for me to move in with her,” Steve said. If his father had stuck around for a minute longer, he would have been able to explain that to him, too. “She needed a roommate anyway.”

His mother scoffed and shook her head.

“Look, I know that-”

“You make it incredibly difficult for me to be on your side sometimes, Steven,” his mother interrupted.

“I know,” Steve agreed. He did know. 

“I wish I could say that I thought your father was being irrational, but I don’t know if I can,” she sighed. “For once, I think he and I might be on the same page.”

“You are?” Steve asked. His father’s vitriolic anger hadn’t come as a surprise, he’d been expecting it, but he thought his mother would be at least a little bit understanding. She always had been before. Steve guessed that this was different, though. 

“You’re not going to be able to live in that apartment forever, Steven,” she said.

“I know that.”

“And you’ll definitely need a better job. I highly doubt your father’s previous offer still stands, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” she asked him. Her voice had a bite to it that he had never been on the receiving end of before. “You’ve been saying ‘I know’ for years now, Steve. You know you need to grow up, you know you’ll have to move out someday, you know you have to do something with your life, yet you have never made any actual effort to do anything about it!”

“Mom, that’s not true-”

“If you want to start making big, adult choices like this, you’re going to have to start acting like one. Clearly, you’re not a child anymore.” 

His mother untied her apron and tossed it onto the counter before leaving the kitchen, heels clicking on the tile.

Steve’s whole family had been waiting for that thing; that final, fatal event that would break the Hawkins Harringtons for good. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all piecing together whatever bits of gossip they could, knew that the string that tied Steve to his parents was being pulled thinner and thinner and thinner. His mother could only do so much mending for him, and everyone had spent the last few years waiting with bated breath for that string to snap, for Steve to lose his footing. Once it did, he would plummet.

Steve was now standing alone in his childhood home, scissors in hand. 

Steve didn’t know what to do, so he stood up and turned off the stove. He pulled out a tupperware container and boxed up the vegetables. He wrapped the meat in foil and left it out on the counter, because it needed to cool before it could be put away, or else it would screw with the temperature inside the refrigerator. He found a stopper and closed the bottle of wine, placing it in the fridge before gathering the three glasses. His was still full, and he wanted to chug it, but thought better of it and poured it down the drain. He cleaned all of the dishes, dried them, and put them away. He turned off the oven, and wiped down all of the countertops, and neatly hung the towel to dry. He turned off the lights, making sure to leave the one above the stove on as a nightlight. 

Truly, there wasn’t much left of his personal belongings that he really cared about that he hadn’t already taken to your apartment. Most of what he needed was already there. He could grab the rest of it when his mother wasn’t home; the rest of his clothes, important documents, that kind of thing. What all do you even need to bring with you when you're being forced out of your childhood home, anyway? 

Later. This was something he could deal with later.

So he left. Unsurprisingly, his father’s car was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to keep talking to his mom, to explain himself, to apologize, to say anything, but he knew it would just make it worse than it already was, so he just got into his car and pulled away instead.

He did need a better job. He’d been needing a better job for a while now, actually, but he definitely needed a better job now. And his mother was right, there was no way he would be able to work for his dad after that. 

He wished he was able to explain to his parents that hey, funny story, due to atrocities he won’t be explaining right now, the government actually gave him a frankly absurd amount of money a few years ago, and he’d be alright for a while. It wouldn’t last forever, but it was enough to keep the pair of you afloat, especially with yours, too. You had used a bit of it on rent right after your parents had left, but Steve’s money sat mostly untouched in a bank account his family didn’t know he had. 

See, the thing about government hush money is that you can’t just go out and spend it on something wild, because then people are going to ask where it came from. Believe him, if he had been able to go out and buy some fancy sports car or a bunch of designer clothes, he would have. His father would have told him to buy a nice watch and invest the rest of it (Steve wasn’t entirely sure what that actually meant, or how to even go about doing it). He was just grateful to have it right now.

He could put a down payment on a house for you and him. That seemed like something a responsible adult would do with it, right?

Steve pulled up to your building and was shocked with how well he’d held it together up until this point, because he felt like he was going to explode. When he got to your floor and walked into your apartment, you were sitting on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, textbooks and paper spread before you. The sound of him walking in pulled you away from your schoolwork and when you turned to look at Steve, you were clearly upset.

“You told me you were off more than an hour ago!” you said as you wiggled out from behind the table and stood up. “I was starting to get really worried, Steve, where were you?”

“I, uhm,” Steve started. He felt his voice crack, the sting of tears beginning to well in his eyes. He had to keep his shit together, for your sake.

“Did something happen?” you asked him. You brought your hands up to the sides of his face, and there went any chance of him keeping it together. 

“I told my parents,” he confessed. He was not going to cry in front of you. He wasn’t.

“What?” you questioned. You sounded a little bit hurt that he did it without asking you, but mostly just horribly concerned. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“We did, but it was eating away at me, and I just couldn’t sit on it anymore, and-” The floodgates broke and Steve’s words were cut off by a strained sob. 

“Oh, Stevie.” You pulled him into a hug and Steve wanted nothing more than for these stupid tears to just dry up, but it felt like weeks and weeks of pent up worry and fear were being pulled to the surface, and he didn’t have it in him to try and stop any of it. He was supposed to be the strong one for you, but Jesus Christ, that was difficult. “It was bad?”

“Well, they kicked me out,” Steve said.

“What?”

“Which, I mean, my dad’s right. I barely even live there anymore, so I guess it doesn’t really even matter,” he rambled out, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a child.

“Yes, it does,” you assured him.

“And I’m pretty sure that this is my mother's worst nightmare, so I don’t know why I didn’t expect her to be pissed.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. You pulled Steve towards the couch and carefully lowered onto the cushions, your grasp on his wrists bringing him down to your side. 

“And Robin and I got into a fight, too.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” you questioned.

“No, but I think if I don’t do it soon, she might disown me,” he admits. 

“She’s not going to disown you,” you protested. “She’d never do that.”

“My parents just did,” Steve lamented. “My mother just did. Who’s to say Robin isn’t next, huh?”

Steve would never, ever be able to make his father proud, because his father would never, ever let him even get close. He had known that for a long time, and maybe there was a part of him that was relieved by that. He knew that it was an entirely unattainable goal, so he never really bothered to reach for it. His mother, oh so cruelly, always made sure Steve knew that he could do great things. Why did she have to go and do that? Steve knew his mother held him to a high bar, he just hadn’t ever considered the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to jump high enough.

So maybe that’s why it hurt so badly when you curled into him that night when he finally crawled into bed. Maybe that’s why he called into work the next day, even though he knew it would probably make Robin totally freak out. Maybe that’s why he waited until he saw his mother’s car leave the driveway before going into his - what used to be his- house to box up the last of his things.

Maybe that’s why he missed the Hawkins Police Department truck parked outside of your apartment building when he was bringing groceries inside a handful of days later. 

“I’m back!” he called into your apartment after releasing the wildly heavy grocery bags onto the kitchen counter. Making more than one trip is for suckers. “They didn’t have any pineapple juice, so I just got a pineapple, figured it can’t be too hard to just-”

Steve cut himself off when he looked up from the paper bags to see more than just you sitting in the living room; Joyce was sitting on your left with an arm wrapped protectively over your shoulders, Robin on your right with her legs pulled up underneath her and a tissue box in her lap, and Hopper was propped up on the arm of the couch. You were in the middle of the array, in tears. 

“Hello,” Steve nervously greeted, eyes wide as frisbees and blood running cold.

There was absolutely no universe in which this went well.

Robin’s expression, which had clearly been soft and sympathetic before Steve had interrupted them, quickly changed into anger. She shot up from the couch, earning her a disapproving tut from Joyce and making you wince away from her. It took her three wide stomps to cross the small space and grab onto Steve’s wrist with more strength than he knew she had in her.

“Ow, Robin!” Steve complained as she dragged him out into the hallway. She slammed the door hard behind her and it made Steve jump.

“What the fuck, Steve!” she demanded.

“Robin-”

“I mean, seriously, what the fuck!” Steve could already hear the noise complaints from the neighbors as she chastised him. “You lied to me!”

“I-” didn’t, is what he wanted to say, but he knew better than that. “I’m sorry.”

“How long have you two been back together then?” she questioned. Steve really didn’t want to admit it. “How long?”

“Six months,” he replied, sheepishly.

“Six months?!” Robin shrieked in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, you really did lie to me!”

“Robin,” Steve said, hushed and ashamed and really fucking mad at himself.

“For half a year! You lied to me for half a year!”

“I’m sorry!”

“She had to turn down her job offer from the school,” Robin barked. 

“I know that.”

“The job that she’s been talking about for, oh I don’t know, six months? Probably more than that, actually!”

“I know, Robin, alright?” Steve assured her and crossed his arms across his chest. “You think I don’t? I am highly aware of that!”

“And, I’m sorry, but you’re far from the King of Responsibility!” Robin said. 

“What does that mean?!” Steve questioned, a tint of frustration layered over his words. 

“I’m just saying, you aren’t exactly known for your maturity,” she spat.

“You think we wouldn’t be able to take care of-”

“She can. I know she can.  She’s more than capable of doing whatever the hell she puts her mind to, but you?” Anger and resentment dripped from her mouth with each word. “You, I’m honestly not sure. If you were more willing to lie to my face for six months than you were to just tell me the fucking truth, I’m sorry, but that’s really winning you any responsible adult points, is it?”

Tears pricked behind Steve’s eyes. He wanted to yell, to scream at the top of his lungs that, no, Robin, you’re wrong, I can do this!, but he really wasn’t sure if it was true. If his closest friend, one of the people he trusted most in the whole world, really thought that he wouldn’t be able to do this, then maybe she’s right, right?

The apartment door next to Steve slowly creeped open.

“Everything alright out here?” Hopper asked, carefully planting himself just slightly between Steve and Robin. 

Robin lost her vitriol like a tea kettle after the burner got turned off, leaving her with no more steam to fuel what she needed to say. 

“I’m waiting out in the car,” she muttered as she whizzed past Steve and turned down the stairwell. The two men in the hall listened to her descending footsteps. Once they heard the front door open and slam back shut, Jim broke through the quiet.

“Robin wanted me to check up on you after you called out,” Jim explained. “She was worried you were mad at her, after your fight.”

“Right,” Steve said.

“So, imagine my surprise when your mom answers the door, only to tell me that you don’t live there anymore,” the older man said. “She wouldn’t tell me why, just gave me an address and shut the door.”

“Look, if you’re here to give me another angry dad talk, then you don’t have to bother. Mine did a pretty damn good job all on his own,” Steve asserted. 

“I’m not here to be angry.” Steve could tell that Hopper was choosing his words very, very carefully.

“Oh, that’s unlike you,” Steve commented, arms still crossed and eyes on the floor.

“Don’t be shitty!” Jim snapped. Steve withered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still not able to look the man in the eyes. Jim just sighed.

“Do you have a plan, Steve?” he asked. 

“Yes. No,” Steve replied. “I don’t know. She seems to have one.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m just not sure if I fit in it,” Steve confessed.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jim huffed. “Maybe you do need another angry dad talk!”

“What do you want me to say?” Steve interrogated. “That everything is under control and totally normal? I have no idea what’s going to happen! None! And, honestly? I’m fucking terrified, Hopper!” 

“Steve-”

“I have to be good at this. I have to! Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’m not, but I am so terrified that I won’t be able to, and I’m going to let her down, and I can’t do that!” It all came out as some sort of paranoia fueled stream of consciousness. “I’d rather die than be anything like my dad, but what if it’s just in my blood? Like, I’m just predestined to turn out just as shitty as him!”

“You definitely won’t,” Jim said, as if it were just a simple fact. “I can assure you, there are very few people on this earth as shitty as your father, and you are not one of them.”

Jim wasn’t overly fond of Ronald Harrington; he was an all-around asshole to most people he met.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, you two aren’t kids anymore,” Hop said. “You’re grownups, you two are smart. You can make your own choices. If this is the choice you two wanna make, then make it.”

“You’re making it sound so simple,” Steve snarked.  

“It kind of is,” the chief replied. 

“Really? Because this feels like the least simple thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve said. “You’re really not mad?”

“Well, I’m not thrilled,” Hopper grumbled. “But, like I said. You two are grownups. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment. Steve knew that Hop was more than likely lying about how mad he was, though he had been preparing himself for Jim to completely lose it on him. He probably would have deserved it. 

“Does it ever get less terrifying?” Steve asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“Nope.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“And it’s not just the fun parts,” Jim added.

“I know,” Steve responded.

“It’s more than just tiny socks and decorating the nursery.”

“I know that.” 

“Just makin’ sure.” Jim was far from happy, but he gave Steve a nod and a pat on the back, which was as close to congratulations as he was going to get. “I know the kids give you a hard time, but you’re smart, and so is she. You two know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you.”

“She’s really, really scared, Steve,” Hopper said. There was something in his voice; a silent question of  ‘do you really know what it is you’re getting yourself into?’

“I know,” Steve replied.

“You don’t get to panic now, alright?” Jim told him. “And you don’t get to change your mind.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Steve said; ‘I do know, and I want all of it.’ “I would never do that to her. Never.”

The pair went back inside, and you seemed to be in slightly better spirits now, even if you still had a sea of tears in your eyes. Both you and Joyce turned to face the two men with questions in your eyes, and Jim’s small nod seemed to be enough of an answer for Joyce to shoot off of the couch to envelop Steve in a tight hug. 

“I have lots of baby things I can bring by for you two,” she gushed after pulling away.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said to her, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joyce assured. “It’s all just collecting dust anyway.”

Which left Dustin, who in a lot of ways, Steve was the most worried about. He could take the anger from the grownups. Hell, he could take it from Robin, but Dustin, he was less sure about. 

In true Henderson fashion, he found out about Baby Harrington a few days later, entirely by mistake.

“I still don’t understand why they kicked you out in the first place,” Dustin stated from his spot on the living room floor of your (Steve’s!) apartment. He was digging through a pile of old clothes Steve decided he no longer needed. He had a lot of things, he’d realized while moving in, and he really only wanted a few of them, needed even less. He would donate whatever went unclaimed, but Dustin wanted first dibs for himself. 

“Because they’re assholes,” Steve responded. 

“Okay, yeah, fair, but hasn’t Robin been begging you to get a place with her for, like, a year?” 

“It’s not like I was able to really take my time apartment hunting.”

“I still feel like crashing on Robin’s couch for a while would’ve made more sense than moving in here,” Dustin supplied. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I needed an apartment, she needed a roommate, that’s it. Alright?” Steve loved Dustin like a little brother, but good lord, he could be obnoxious sometimes. “Now pick out what you want so I can clean this shit up.”

Dustin finished his haul, though he grumbled about how Steve was rushing him the whole time, and gathered the previously neatly folded clothes into a messy pile.

“I didn’t think of how I was gonna get any of this stuff out to the car.” Dustin, at not- quite- eighteen years old, had finally gotten his drivers license. ‘Thank god,’ Steve had remarked, ‘that I don’t have to be your fucking chauffeur anymore.’ That sentiment only lasted a little while, though, as it quickly became clear that a drivers license meant that Dustin could come and bother Steve whenever he wanted to. And he wanted to all the time. “Will you help me carry it all out?”

“No, I won’t, because there are more trash bags in the cabinet under the sink.” Steve pointed towards the small kitchen. Dustin got up off the floor, going into the kitchen and checking in seemingly every cupboard you had.

“I said under the sink, dude!” Steve heard the squeaky cabinet hinges open and shut, the rustle of the plastic trash bag.

“Steve?” Dustin called after a moment. The apartment was small, and the only real thing separating the kitchen and living room was a few feet of counter and the floor switching from tile to carpet.

“What?” Steve responded, not bothering to look up from the clothes he was shoveling back into their own trash bag. 

“What’s this?” Dustin asked him. When Steve finally looked up at him, he was pointing towards something on the fridge, and it took Steve a second to realize that what Dustin was referring to was the ultrasound pictures that he’d forgotten to take down.

Well, shit.

Steve rocketed towards the fridge to put them away, but Dustin was faster and grabbed them before he could. The damage was already done.

“Dustin, please give me that,” Steve asked. 

“This has her last name on it,” the younger boy observed. 

“Put it down, alright? You weren’t supposed to see it in the first place, so just-”

“Is she fucking pregnant?” Dustin demanded. 

“Dustin, please.” 

“I didn’t think she was dating anyone, though?” the boy thought out loud. “Oh, my god, I wonder if it’s someone we know!”

Oh, it definitely is.

“Dude, c’mon, please just give me the picture.” Remember what Steve said about Dustin being obnoxious?

“Wait, why are you moving in with her if she’s pregnant?” Dustin inquired. “I’m pretty sure that extra bedroom is gonna be pretty occupied in nine months.”

“It’s closer to six, actually,” Steve clarified, and Dustin’s eyes widened. “But that isn’t the point, can you please just-”

“Steve?” the boy asked, tone shifting away from curiosity into something Steve found much more concerning.

“Yeah?” Steve sighed.

“Why did you move in with her?” he asked again, although the way he spoke the words made Steve think Dustin probably already had it figured out. 

“Why do you think?” was all Steve could come up with to say.

“Oh, my god.”

“Dustin-”

“Oh, my god!”

“You cannot tell anyone, okay? This is totally top secret,” Steve begged.

“Did you-? You two-!” Dustin stuttered out. “Oh, my god!”

Dustin was about to start hyperventilating and Steve was doing his best to keep that from happening, pulling the glossy image out of Dustin’s hand as if it were made of precious porcelain, when the sound of keys jingling in the door distracted them. Both boys fell into bitter silence as you opened the door and took in the sight in front of you; a very frazzled Steve and a very distressed Dustin.

“Hi?” you greeted. “What’s going-”

“You’re fucking pregant?” Dustin exclaimed.

“What?” you spat out in response. Steve could tell that your mind was working a mile a minute to come up with a way to cover for yourself. “I-I don’t, uhm-”

“I left the sonogram on the fridge by mistake,” Steve confessed. He felt awful. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Oh,” you replied. You hadn’t moved from your spot in the entryway, hadn’t put down your bag or taken off your coat. You just stayed frozen.

“Oh, I have so many feelings!” Dustin wheezed, leaning forward. “Oh, my god!”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned him.”

“You’re having a fucking baby?” Dustin asked you.

“Yes,” you timidly responded, slowly placing your work bag onto the side of the couch.

“With Steve?!”

“Yes,” you said again.

“That Steve?” Dustin pointed a thumb over his shoulder to where Steve was hovering behind him. “Steve Harrington? Our Steve?”

You nodded. “That Steve.”

“Holy shit,” the boy breathed out.

“Please don’t be mad,” Steve requested.

“What? Mad, why would I be mad?” he asked. “Who’s mad?”

“Well, so far, everyone,” Steve explained.

“Wait, is this why Robin’s not talking to you?” Dustin asked.

“Robin’s not talking to you?” you piped up, concern dripping from your words. 

Steve hadn’t mentioned that part to you yet. 

Robin had been giving Steve total radio silence ever since she had found out. Even at work, she was refusing to say a single word to him. She went and hid in the bathroom anytime Steve tried to say anything at all, and she had even recruited Keith to be her disinterested, detached middle man and relay VHS-related messages if she really needed to. 

To say the least, she really hadn’t taken it all that well.

“Later?” he said to you, silently begging you to table this conversation for a time when you didn’t have a very upset teenager in your kitchen.

Sticky silence fell over the three of you, sealing to Steve’s skin and filling his lungs up in a way he hated. Dustin was the one who peeled through it first. 

“Are you actually having a baby?” The question was directed to Steve this time. Dustin was wildly expressive, he always had been, and he looked very, very overwhelmed. Steve felt about the same. He just nodded, and it took a second for Dustin to properly process the news.

“Gimme the picture again!” Dustin insisted. 

“No, dude! We only have a few and-”

“Excuse me, it’s my nephew, I think I get to see the picture if I want to!”

The tension dissolved as soon as the words came out of Dustin’s mouth. Steve had been so, so worried that he’d be mad, madder than Robin was. 

“Hah! See, Dustin thinks it’s a boy, too!” Steve exclaimed to you. Reservation made way for excitement. Like Dustin said, it’s his nephew.

“Oh, god, please don’t start with this again,” you said, smiling despite the faux exasperation in your voice.

“You think it’s a girl?” Dustin asked.

“I think,” you say as you shuck off your coat and lean against the counter, across from the boys, “that Steve is going to get his hopes up about it being a boy, and then be disappointed if it isn’t.”

“Not possible,” Steve clarified with a smile. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about it because I’m right, and it’s gonna be a boy.”

Dustin didn’t end up leaving until a good few hours later, when Steve noticed how your eyes kept fluttering shut as you leaned against his shoulder. He had to manhandle the boy out the door; he had a seemingly unending vault of questions (“you guys have been sleeping together this whole time?!”), but you were totally wiped. 

You really just wanted to just go to bed, but Steve insisted you ate something first, and a mug of soup later, you were practically dead on your feet. He cleaned up any dinner mess (canned soup doesn’t really result in any mess, but he’d be damned if you had to put your own dishes into the dishwasher), and sent you off to get ready for an early turn in. 

He’d just put the pot away when you summoned him into the bathroom.

“You alright?” Steve asked, leaning against the doorframe. You were standing in front of the sink in your pajamas. He could smell your mouthwash.

“Come look.”

Steve took a step into the bathroom to sidle up next to you as you pulled the bottom edge of your too-big t-shirt up. Your fingers ever so gently ghosted over your stomach.

“That wasn’t there before,” you asked, tilting your head back against the crook of Steve’s arm to look up at him. “Was it?”

Steve was entranced by your reflection in the mirror, by the way the swell of your tummy absolutely gave you away. 

“I don’t know.” Steve spoke just barely above a whisper, the way he would have if he was standing in a church. You felt like an angel beneath his arm. “I don’t think so.”

“I feel like I would have noticed it if it was,” you said, eyes glued to the mirror just as Steve’s were. 

“Definitely would’ve noticed,” Steve quietly gushed. “You officially have a baby bump.”

Realistically, you still had a couple more weeks before anyone else would actually be able to see it. Still small enough to hide behind your clothes, but absolutely, undoubtedly there. 

You hummed, and Steve noticed the way you were trying to hide your smile.

“You’re allowed to be happy about it, you know,” Steve reminded you. Your eyes caught his again, and your small, shy smile grew just a little bit bigger as you pulled his hand away from your hip and placed it firmly against the slope of your tummy. He felt his breath hitch, like the action of touching you was breaking some sort of cardinal law, but he stroked his thumb up and down, up and down across your skin, and you flattened yourself as deeply into his chest as you possibly could. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering in the scent of you for as long as he could allow himself to.

His hand stayed glued to you for the remainder of the evening.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @hoesbloated @luvlexi-darling

[seeingteacupsindragons]

William and Sherlock are both incredibly disconnected from their own emotions in a lot of ways, and learning to grow past that and reconnect with those parts of themselves is an important part of not only their arcs, but the series as a whole.

Their humanity and their emotions being tied to that is a really strong undercurrent in the series. This kind of undercurrent tends to be strongest when there are, well, nonhumans somewhere floating around in the story, but YuuMori rests its discussion on this without resorting to that trick.

Instead, it works a lot with the way these two main characters think about themselves, relate to themselves and others, how they treat and refer to others, and how they each behave. Both of them can easily be dehumanized because of the not-entirely-healthy way they deal with their emotions at first, and both of them get a handle on their emotions and living with them as they start to remember and participate more in their own humanity.

I also find interesting how they relate to their own emotions, and despite how disconnect they feel from them, how strongly they really influence their behavior.

Sherlock, on the surface, seems obviously emotional. When he likes people, they know. When he's grumpy, everyone knows. When he's excited and happy, everyone knows. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and even in the face of rejection, he never actually stops doing that.

He's a brave man, for that. Honestly, Sherlock is very bold and strong of heart. I think he has to be, for the way he restarted William's.

But being bold of heart doesn't mean you actually engage with your emotions. Equally, it can mean you ignore them.

Despite all I described above above, he's frequently confused and surprised by how he feels (see: being jealous of Mary, see: trying to deal with his frustration with William 'dumping' him briefly, etc.). He suffers through conflicting feelings about Mary, about William and Mycroft, and Irene and Hudson. He's not really that great at handling his feelings. And he acts out when he's upset with no real acknowledgment of what he's doing—he shoots his own wall, he insults John because he's mad, he barely apologizes and tries to avoid the earnest openness it requires he gets extremely high and damages his own beloved, expensive instrument...none of this is really engaging with his emotions or properly dealing with it.

But as we edge toward The Final Problem, John has done a lot of his work on Sherlock and Sherlock is opening up to John and admitting to his fears. He's still not handling them great—stop with the self-sacrifice, boys!—but he can at least understand and admit to how he feels. He can even tell John how he feels about William, and, hell, even Louis, even his uncertainties about their relationship. He knows and acknowledges all of the messiness in there.

William isn't there by The Final Problem. Oh, sure, he manages to tell Sherlock all the important things. But he's taking caveats to protect himself—with the letter, he assumed he'd die and not have to deal with the fallout. He gets there a little bit later, after he stops seeing himself in a role.

While Sherlock is obviously emotional, William tends to be more buttoned up and closed off. I suspect he would probably insist that he doesn't act emotionally at all. Fans sure do. Personally, well. You know those guys who get so caught up in, "No, I'm being logical," while they throw a tantrum when no one agrees with them?

Yeah, that's William.

He's caught up in an environment where everyone affirms his emotional impulses and tantrums as logical and brilliant, when he's really just...Feeling A Way and acting on it. He's upset, he's hurt, he's angry, and now everyone else has to deal with him trying to soothe himself because he literally does not realize these things are a Him problem. He has no idea how to cope with his feelings, because he can't even admit he's having them.

And I very truly don't think he realizes until after The Fall that he was so emotional and so unaware of the emotion that he couldn't try to compartmentalize or account for the bias to see things more clearly.

It's pretty explicit on that rooftop that William sees emotions and being connected to emotions as being human, as having a heart, and Sherlock saved him by reminding him of it. Sure, Sherlock did that way back when they first met, but it was also clear that even back then, that quick connection would lead to William's defeat and their exact situation—even if they hadn't gotten there yet.

Sherlock managed to throw away William's plans because he forced William to feel that restarted heart and actual engage in the world. To remember he's part of it, not being of pure logic who only interacts with the world and isn't of it. Every time William dehumanizes someone by calling them a devil or an angel or a hero, he's disconnecting them from their humanity—even himself.

He doesn't call anyone that afterward. He can finally see the world clearly, unclouded by his forced narrative, by the emptiness he was forcing on himself. The world is beautiful, and he's ready to engage with it fully now.

Because Sherlock reminded him he had a heart, that he was a living, breathing human, and sparked emotions he couldn't dismiss or avoid or pull away from.

Because to be human is to feel, and to be human is to be part of the world, and to be part of the world is to live.

[fabled-lady-twilla]

Went to my best friend's pool party yesterday and I found another MHA nerd and we got to vent about the ending... IN REAL LIFE! It felt so good, lmao! 🤣

It's one thing to be able to get angry and vent online but totally another to be able to rant to a fellow MHA fandom nerd in real life and scream at each and be like.... WHAT IS HORIKOSHI DOING???????

We both agreed that the writing took a huge quality hit towards the end of the manga and were MAJORLY sipping the copium juice in the sense that we were hoping that maybe Horikoshi is going to do what Kishimoto did with Naruto Shippuden. So maybe he purposefully made the ending terrible and didn't give it the time it deserved because he's planning a super secret epilogue series or something....

🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃🧃

Like I said, MAJORLY sipping the copium juice because we were SO frustrated and upset. She recommended me some BakuDeku fics that I'm excited to read and I was totally feeling her out because we were asking each other what our favorite OTP's were and in my mind I'm like OMG I CAN'T SAY I LOVE SHIGADEKU BECAUSE SHE'S GOING TO JUDGE ME LMFAOOOOO.

She's like NOO TELL ME I WON'T JUDGE YOU! So I did and I'm like I knoooooow it's a rarepair and they're mortal enemies but I like Izuku and Shigaraki and she was so nice and was like, 'I can see it because they have so many parallels and are each others foils' so I told her about the ShigaDeku fic I'm writing because I NEEEEEED to give them a happy ending! It was just so funny to talk about it IRL.

All in all, it was a really good day. I need more IRL fandom friends because it felt so good to scream about the ending of MHA hahaha.

[maidragoste]

on the lines of daemon and his mommy and odepius issues, i literally was sitting there and thinking: "wow, daemon is like someone who goes clubbing too hard and can't come down from whatever high they're on." like this man has me stressing.

also, it cant just be me who's frustrated with not only team green but also team black like both sides feel lacking to me, but team green seems to be doing more which has me stressing as both sides have major feats. like the last 4 minutes had me pumped but then again why was i waiting for the last 4 minutes when the whole episode should've had me jumping lol.

had to get it out there because i feel like you're the only person who listens and responds with good and critical feedback ;)

have a good rest of ur day/evening/night!!

I didn't know what odepius issues was so I had to google it 😭😭

I honestly don't know what to think of Daemon and what the writers are doing with him 😭😭 plus I was really confused when Alys told him that it was a shame he hadn't met Alyssa. Like, does Alyssa die giving birth to Daemon instead of Aegon in the show's canon? but at the same time Viserys in the first season said that Daemon was her mother's favorite 😭😭 THE TRUTH I DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING

I knew before the season started that I wasn't going to take Daemon's scenes seriously but I honestly can't believe he calls himself king ☠️☠️

anon, I swear you're not the only one. I'm also very frustrated with both teams 😫😫 I hate how the writers are eliminating characters from the team black ALSO I HATE HOW RHAENYRA KEEPS SAYING THINGS ABOUT PEACE. THIS SERIES IS LITERALLY MAKING ME HATE THE WORD PEACE ☠️☠️

I feel like things happened in this episode but at the same time nothing happened. I don't know if it makes sense. AND AS YOU SAY, I JUST GOT EXCITED IN THE LAST MINUTES WITH THE JACAERYS SCENE (especially because I had seen a leak that said that Rhaenyra was the one who came up with the idea of the dragon seeds and I was so angry so I'm glad that wasn't true)

GIVE MY MAN MORE SCREEN TIME!!

Aww, anon, you flatter me 🤭 I love talking to you. I hope you also have a good day/afternoon/night 💖💖