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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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The Dollhouse 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: It's thirstday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖

You’ve been waiting all summer to come back. Campus is like paradise to you. Sure, it’s fun to party but there’s also all the clubs and the general sense of community. You always manage to find your way right into the heart of it all.

You’re a bit disappointed to not be living on campus itself but you found an alternative not too far away, and in a nice neighbourhood too. Not to mention, your best friend ever, Polly, will be living with you!

The uber pulls up to the front of the idyllic building and your cheeks bloom with excitement. You spent the extra money to haul all your bags from the station, and it was worth it. You couldn’t have dragged it all that way, even on the bus.

The driver helps you get everything onto the curb. You thank him and tip him on the app. He looks at you with that fogginess that a lot of guys get. He asks if you need anything else and you assure him you’re just fine. He seems almost reluctant to go. His spindly fingers twiddle at his side as he slinks around the hood.

You stand with your bags and take out your phone. Polly said she was on her way. You don’t want to go in without her. You send her a message asking how close she is.

“Hey, what’re ya standing in the middle of the sidewalk for, bitch?”

You wince as you spin to face the grizzly snarl. You harrumph and scowl at Polly as she cackles. It’s funny to think she could do such a scary voice considering she always looks so dainty and perfect. Even then, she wears a blouse and skirt, with a scarf that reminds you of an Audrey classic. Never a stitch out of place with her.

“You sure are dressed for moving day,” you remark dryly.

“Mm, don’t talk to me Barbie Doll,” she tosses the derisive nickname at you, “I see you have on the classic Mattel shade today.”

You pout your pinkened lips at her and roll your eyes, “whatever! Pol! We’re gonna be roommates!”

You squeal together and she lifts her bag over the lip of the pavement, “hell yeah.”

You giggle and look up at the house. You went there once before for the walkthrough and it’s even more perfect than you remember. You bend to take your smallest bag and Polly shakes her head.

“Really? You brought all that? I hope you don’t think I’m gonna be your personal camel and carry it.”

“Don’t be such a downer,” you stick your tongue out.

“Excuse me,” a deep timbre rolls over as the front gate squeaks. You and Polly share a startled look then turn to the large blond man as he steps through. That isn’t Jonathan... “Are you girls here for moving day?”

“Uhhhhh,” you drone out and once more glance at your BFF, “we are.”

“Oh, let me explain, Jonathan can’t make it. He has an emergency at another property. He left your keys with me to deliver,” he stirs around in the pocket of his blazers as he stands across the pavement.

He's taller than the building manager you met in July, broader too. He’s bigger in every way and just as blond. He wears a pair of square glasses and only a plain tee under his suit jacket. He fishes out two key rings and shakes them.

“Here we are,” he grins. He steps forward and offers you one of the fobs. “Front door is a censor. All new system.” He gives Polly the other dongle. “By the way, I’m Steve. I help Jonathan with security. I’ll be popping in for routine measures but I shouldn’t bother you too much.”

“Oh thanks. I’m Barbie, this is Polly,” you squeeze the fob and smile at the grand facade of the building. “Awesome.”

Polly toys with her keyring and stays quiet. She’s usually a riot but around men, you’ve noticed she gets a bit shy. You don’t blame her. Steve is a big guy and his gaze doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Well, that’s great,” you continue, “good to be safe.”

“Yeah, especially with a house full of girls. You never know,” he says.

You blink at the subtlety of his suggestion. Obviously, there’s always those who will have the worst intentions but you try not to think of that. Besides, you’ve been around the block and it all looks very ordinary to you.

“Anyway, let me show you inside. You’ve already got a roommate waiting on your girls,” he announces and claps his hands. “Can I help you with some of this?”

He nods to your bags and you shimmy as you laugh at yourself, “oh, yeah, aha. I wanted to make sure I had everything.”

“No problem, think I can handle it,” he bends and picks up your two largest bags. He doesn’t struggle at all. You gather up the three smaller ones and Polly rolls her suitcase with her.

He stands inside the gate as he waits for you to enter. You lead the way up the walk as Polly clicks behind you. You climb the steps and strut across the porch.

“Go on in,” Steve calls from behind.

You do as he says and set your bags to the side of the entryway. You pause to take off your shoes as you see another pair on the mat. A pair of round-toed flats with bows.

“You two are upstairs,” Steve says, “at the top, rooms at the end of the hall. Do you want me to bring your bags up?”

“Oh, no, you can leave them at the door,” you face him again. “This is so lovely. Will you let Jonathan know we got here or should I call him?”

“I can take care of it,” he says. “I’ll be headed to him once the rest of you show up. My partner’s out of town so we’re short right now.”

“Your partner?”

“Like I said, security.”

“Ah, right, ha,” you rock your shoulders and he puts your bags down lightly.

“Sure you don’t want some help,” he peers upstairs.

“Really, we’re all good, right Polly?”

“Mhmm,” she nods and looks past him.

“Right, I’ll be outside. There's three more coming.” He nods and turns to go.

You wait until he’s out the door to proceed upstairs. As you do, Polly sighs.

“He was nice,” you say.

“I guess,” she agrees dully.

“He’s just doing his job.”

“I know, it’s just, boys, guys, or whatever, standing next to you with them is like being invisible sometimes,” she mutters. “Not your fault but... yeah.”

“Whatever. He’s a bit old for me,” you scoff as you get to the second-floor hall. You forgot how wide it was. Probably a good thing knowing it will be a full house.

As you come to the end of the hall, a door opens and you see a single eye peer out. You stop short and Polly hits your back. The girl shifts the door and sticks her head out.

“Uh, hi,” she squeaks, “I’m Lulu.”

“Hey, uh, we’re... Barbie,” you point to yourself, “and Polly.”

Polly leans around to wave with her free hands, “hi, Lulu.”

Lulu lets the door go and steps out, “it’s been so quiet around here. I got here last week. It’s so nice to have people around.”

“Oh, really?” You wonder.

“I’m on exchange so... yeah, had to fly in,” she smiles sheepishly. “Anyway, sorry to bug you. Just wanted to say hi.”

“You’re not bugging us at all! We were just chatting with Steve--”

“Steve?” She frowns, “oh, the big bald guy? That’s Sy.”

You frown and look at Polly, “no, Steve. Blond hair. Big.” You make yourself wide as you say the last word.

“Ohhhh, sorry, I haven’t been out of my room. I’ve been so nervous,” she giggles and it sounds like a tinkling bell.

“He’s the security guy or something,” Polly says.

“Right,” Lulu’s lips tremble, “cool. Um, anyway, if you need me to show you around...”

“Um, sure. We’ll drop out things off then I want to have a look at the kitchen. I was thinking of having some drinks once the rest got here. Maybe we can do a housewarming,” you chirp.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Lulu laughs again and it seems to clog her throat. She clears it and blinks, “sorry. Nervous.”

You smile. You like meeting new people and the most exciting part for you, is all the different personalities coming together. And there’s still three more girls on the way.

New things are always scary. For you, even the familiar is frightening. Sometimes what you know is the most dangerous. Like the bullies you went to school with for years.

Transferring to a new college is enough stress on its own but moving to a whole new city, that’s another beast on its own. Just like a dragon on its hoard. You clutch your worn novel to your chest as you walk down the street, your bag bouncing on the cracks in the sidewalk.

You should’ve written this down. You think you’re going in the right direction. After the greyhound, you counter the city transit into the core and from there, you’ve been walking in circles. Finally, you recognise a street name and stop to turn on your data and spend a few MBs on confirming your destination. Just at the end. Phew.

That gate was in the photos, those hedges too. Wow, it looks so much better IRL. You slow down in disbelief as you stare up at the siding. This can’t be. For the price you’re paying, you have to have taken a wrong turn.

“Moving in?” A chipper voice asks as a shadow skews over the pavement next to yours.

You blanch and look over at a boy about your age with reddish brown hair and warm amber eyes. He grins as you lower your chin then turn back to the house, “uh, yeah?”

“Me too,” he says. “Peter. It’s a pretty cool building, huh? My aunt knows the owner.”

“Mr. Pine,” you murmur.

“I call him Jonathan but, yeah,” he chuckles. “You’re a Thrones fan?”

You furrow your brow and glance over again. Then you check the book in your hand.

“I’ve only read the books,” you say.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly,” you answer and sniff. You stare up at the house as it sinks in. You’ll be sharing a space with him. Not only him, but four others.

“Should we go in together?” He offers.

“Sure, why not,” you clutch your phone against the book and drag your bag forward. “Um, Mr. Pine said we should call--”

“Yeah, that’s whatever. Like I said, I know him,” he insists as he goes ahead of you and unlatches the gate. “Come on.”

You come forward as he hitches up his duffle bag. Your suitcase rattles over the threshold as another figure appears from the porch, “Pete, didn’t say you were bringing your girlfriend.”

A large blond man, built like a warrior in a fantasy novel, descends the steps, “don’t think the roommates will be very happy about that.” “Whatever, Steve. She’s one of them. We just met.”

“Ah, another one,” the man says, “great, just one more then.” The man digs in his pocket, “Jonathan left the keys.” He takes out two fobs and doles them out between you and Peter, “I’m Steve. Security.” He explains.

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you,” you eke out.

“This is Molly,” Peter intones and you give a bashful look. Oops, you forgot that.

“Right, you two are on the first floor,” Steve says, “you wanna show her around, Pete?”

Peter clucks, “Peter,” he corrects, “Steven.”

The large man chortles and nods at you, “let me know if he gives you any trouble. It is my job to deal with the rabble.”

You smile tightly and Peter waves off the other man, “come on. I’m sure you don’t wanna stand out in the sun with this lump head.”

You show your teeth apologetically before you follow Peter. He strides down the walk and up the steps. You’re a few feet behind him.

As you enter the house, you hear voices. They hush and you listen for them as they seem to do the same. Peter stands on the mat as you unlace your sneakers.

“Hello?” He calls out, “anybody here?”

There’s some noise before footsteps come from somewhere deep in the house. You look up to the top of the stairs as a figure appears above. The girl bounds down as two others loom behind her.

“Helloooooo!” She trills, “I’m Barbie!”

“Barbie,” Peter says, “hey. I love your lipstick.”

“It’s gloss, actually, honey,” she winks, “you two are moving in? You’re friends too?”

“Oh, uh no,” you shake your head, “we just...”

“Good timing,” Peter says, “Peter, Molly.” He points in tandem with his introductions.

“So cute, Molly, well up there is Polly. That rhymes! Polly and Molly, and that’s Lulu,” she gestures up behind her as the girls wave, “think there’s only one room left.”

“What are we thinking?” Peter asks. “Party tonight? Ice breakers?”

“Something like that. Drinks?” Barbie suggests.

“You’re my kinda girl, Barbs.”

“Barbie, hon,” she chides with a wag of her finger, “anywho, I’ll let you two get cozy while we wait on the last one.”

“I hope it’s a dude,” Peter mutters as he turns away.

You smile at Barbie then follow him. You’re not sure where your room is but he seems to know exactly where he’s going. You wouldn’t mind a door to hide behind.

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magicalrocketships · 1 day ago

Note

You talked in the author's note about having more thoughts on Max's sexuality in Breaking every rule for you. I'd love to hear more about that, if you want to? 🤍

Oh, thank you for asking!! I did a whole disassociation thing after I posted the last chapter and I was like "it's very important to reply to comments and asks about this fic which meant a lot to me to write and to receive" and then I simultaneously thought orrrrr, alternatively, you can keep putting that off because you won't be able to properly tell people how much all the comments and asks meant. Anyway, that's a perfectly sensible series of thoughts to have, which brings me to this ask.

So, Max in Breaking Every Rule For You. This is half brain-dump, half director's cut of Max's POV. Either way, I accidentally wrote 3000 words about my beloved, feral Max. Sorry? Not sorry. I'll always want to talk about him 🧡🧡

He has literally no conception of this (and neither does Daniel), but he's very much on the asexual spectrum. He's demisexual, which is a word he's never heard and wouldn't know to use even if he had.

He continues to tell the truth about his experience of life, but Daniel doesn't know enough to understand what Max is accidentally telling him, and Max doesn't know that his experience isn't universal. So! This fic is basically Max experiencing sexual attraction for the first time.

OBVIOUSLY this does not excuse Max behaving monstrously to Zoe and being hopelessly cruel to Daniel. He is, however, experiencing a lot of stuff for the first time and he didn't know! That he could feel like this! He is horny about someone else for the first time in his life! He'd be feral anyway, and he and Daniel stay completely feral after the fic's done and long into the future, feral and horny and all over each other, but there's this whole extra layer to it that's just Max being like... you can feel like this about another person? You can want someone THIS MUCH? You can want to fuck and come and kiss and touch another human being? Everybody in the world isn't lying about wanting it?

So on the one hand you've got Daniel's much more linear experience of oh, fuck, I've been bisexual all along, and the person who's opened my eyes about it is Max, what does this mean for my life and am I allowed to have something with Max for the longer term? In contrast to Max being so fucking thirsty to experience all of these things he's wanting for the first time, and barely understanding what it is he's wanting and the impact on the lives of the people around him who love him. He's so fucking needy and he barely understands the reasoning behind that, but that's partly why he keeps bringing Daniel back and reminding him of everything he's promised, everything Max is dying to experience but hasn't yet.

Even like, right back at the beginning when Max wants pictures of Daniel, it's because he's literally never felt attraction to another person. He's never looked at someone's body and wanted to touch it (or, in Max's case, to come all over him over and and over again and make him fucking filthy and his and have him show Max how he touches himself and how he looks soft and hard and horny and everything in between).

And all the things he wants to do to Daniel, he's never done to anyone else because he was horny about it. Everything he's done is because he thought he should, because he thought everyone was faking it when they said they were horny for touching other people. He can't slow himself down. He wants all of it. And then he'll do things like just warm Daniel's dick because he didn't know it felt good, and it feels so good.

On the other hand, Max has a fixed conception of love and relationships and they are work. They are a job. He has had girlfriends because he was supposed to have girlfriends and he's literally not figured out he's gay because he's not been close to a man long enough for attraction to develop, and with Max it takes a lonnnnng time, he's known Daniel for years and it's only been in the past few months it's started to change how he feels about him, ever since Daniel said he was going to leave and Max realised he not only wanted him to stay, he wanted him. And he doesn't want what he has with Daniel (something good) to crossover into relationship (something bad, something that's work, something that's always been a to-do list item) because then it will be bad. Max is getting every single thing he wants for the very first time in his life, of course he wants to keep things exactly how they are and ringfence this space in his life where Daniel is and he's getting everything he wants. The downside is that it's horribly cruel, but he doesn't entirely understand that, because he doesn't entirely understand either how he feels or how Daniel feels, and because he thinks that what he experiences is the universal, which is that relationships and love are bad and work.

I kind of love that Max at the beginning isn't a great kisser - Max kisses like he jerks off, fierce and unimaginative. A race to the finish line. One day Daniel will make him slow it down. And part of that is literally because he's never enjoyed it before. He's never kissed anyone he wanted to have kiss him back.

But also, Max loves to jerk off. He loves to jerk off. Masturbation is the one thing he's always loved to do, because he's never been low on sexual desire, just attraction. He's jerked off thinking about Daniel before, too. Even before being really attracted to him. It's sort of why he wants Daniel in his bed, not because it's where he shares with Zoe when she's in Monaco, but because it's where Max jerks off, which is the one hugely positive sexual thing he's ever had in his life. Yeah, there's also some kind of "having a girlfriend is boring and work and I'm beating the system by having a better time in the space where that boring work happens" but Max isn't pre-meditiatively cruel in this. His cruelty is a by-product.

Also: Max doesn't know that things can be better than what he has.

He's barely managed to get his shirt off before Max is launching himself at him, making some Max-like attempt at human touch by cupping Daniel's face in his hands and pressing their mouths together. It's not romantic. It's not anything, other than fast, and maybe a little furious.

"You talked about kissing me," Max says, pulling away just enough that Daniel can feel the heat of his breath against his mouth. He's still cupping Daniel's face, and Daniel wants to cover Max's hands with his own and keep him there, make him stay still, make time slow down for them just this fucking once. "You said you thought about it. Kissing me. I've never kissed anyone like that, Daniel. I want it."

Max is telling Daniel the truth but Daniel doesn't pick up on it. Max hasn't ever kissed anyone like this before. And he wants it.

Daniel spends a lot of time thinking about Zoe. Max doesn't think about her at all. He buys Daniel gifts because he's wild about him, because he needs to, like, put some of what he's feeling out into the world but he just— doesn't know how to do it. He's overflowing with it.

"Think all the time about kissing you," Max tells him, still kneeling over him, leaning in so that he can mouth at Daniel's neck, kiss him so that Daniel will have a fucking love bite he'll have to cover with concealer if he wants to leave the house. Daniel doesn't stop him. Max can mark him up any way he wants. Daniel will take any scrap he can get. People shouldn't live off scraps, but Daniel will take anything Max throws at him. He'll judge himself later. "You have a good mouth, Daniel, I think about it so much." He kisses Daniel's jaw, along the line of it, over his stubble and up to his ear. It is not foreplay. It is just Max, taking what he wants. Daniel giving it because he wants the whole fucking lot of it and to drown in it afterwards. Better drown than starve. Max kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Once, twice. The side of his nose. Is this Max, trying to be gentle with him? Trying to give something he normally only takes?

And then Daniel changes things, he tries to break up with Max and Max goes insane with it. For Max, Daniel really is ruining things. He is being a stupid motherfucker. This really is just sex because Max doesn't know how to understand what he's feeling. And he doesn't want to feel! Feeling is bad. He keeps trying to make the feelings stop. Of course Max just keeps trying to take things back to the space where things were working, because he wants it so much. Of course he's jealous, because he's fucking feral and a mess and he has no idea how to feel things like a real boy, because he never fucking has, and how he feels about Daniel is really fucking easy if only he knew how to identify or name any of the feelings he's feeling.

So yeah: Max is heartbroken for the first time in his life, but he also just doesn't understand it. His chest hurts. He wants Daniel back in the space where it was all working. Daniel isn't the stupid motherfucker, Max is, for not managing to keep it so that Daniel would still kiss him and want him and touch him and text him, and Max is for not being able to stop himself from feeling stuff he doesn't understand. And then Zoe goes, and he doesn't feel anything. Not really. The only thing he's thinking about is Daniel. And then you get Max's entirely pragmatic, ruthless side, whereby he just makes sure Daniel is safe. He pays whatever he needs to pay to make sure Zoe is satisfied. He tells her the truth about not feeling about her the way he feels about Daniel. He doesn't mean to be cruel. It's a by-product again. It still is hopelessly cruel. He still only wants Daniel. He's the stupid motherfucker, not Daniel.

And all the time, Max thinking he can get Daniel back to what they had before if only he keep trying. He knows Daniel wants him back. And he thinks he's getting it. He thinks he's getting Daniel back. It's want like he's never wanted. He thinks he's managed it, and then Daniel just— shuts him down. And Max just… breaks. It takes him by surprise as much as it takes Daniel when he sees Max crying, like he's crying and he didn't mean to start but he also can't stop. He loves him. That's what this is.

"You are not listening," Max says, wiping his tears on his shoulder. "All of this time I am trying and I am trying not to want you and not to feel things but it did not work and I do and I did and I feel it in here and it won't stop." He presses the side of his fist to his chest, like Max is referring to his own fucking heart, which he can't be, because Max is Max, and Max doesn't feel anything, and he doesn't fucking feel anything for Daniel. "It is not fair that you won't listen. Always I am asking how do I make it stop, because you are just supposed to be sex, you are dick and that is for the dark and instead you are always just here, in my head and you have made me go mad thinking about you. Everything I do is very insane and it is all about you and my girlfriend left me and I do not care because she is not you and you tell me that you miss me too but now you are saying no when I want you more than I want anything and it is not okay."

It's the first time in his life he's ever been in love, and he's trying to make sense of it because he couldn't stop loving Daniel if he tried, but here's Daniel telling him he doesn't, and that he's stopped, and that is just— so far outside of Max's understanding. It's not fair and it's not okay and he doesn't know how Daniel could stop loving him if love is what he feels back for Daniel.

And then he stays. He tells Daniel that no one kisses him like Daniel does. He says: "Nobody touches me like you do," Max says, which is probably a lie since Zoe loved him and wanted him and probably would have touched Max any way he wanted if he'd only told her. "Nobody, Daniel, nobody makes me feel like you do."

Daniel makes a soft, unholy noise in the back of his throat.

"It's true," Max says, urgently. "It is true."

Daniel doesn't realise how true. That no one has ever made Max feel or want like this. That this is the first time he's ever been attracted to someone.

And for Max it's so clearly worlds apart from him and Zoe. They're not comparable.

"She was my girlfriend," Max says. "But I didn't love her like I love you."

For a moment, Daniel's brain judders to a halt. It's felt like he's been on a constant spin cycle since last night, but for a moment, everything's still. "Yeah?"

"With you it is very different," Max says. "Everything is very different."

He keeps stroking the inside of Daniel's wrist. Daniel can't think of anything to say. He just watches Max touch him.

"Of course I kissed her, Daniel. She was my girlfriend. I did all the things you're supposed to do with your girlfriend. You cannot be tearing yourself up into knots about her when she is gone and you are here."

And

"I thought about your dick a lot. I thought I would like to see it. I jerked off and used my fingers and thought about you jerking off. I thought if I was going to suck a dick then it would be nice if it was yours."

"You had a girlfriend."

"Yes. I had everything I was supposed to want. Red Bull and Zoe and one day I will have my World Championship. But not you because you are a stupid motherfucker and you left me."

And Max loves jerking off. It's his favourite thing.

But like, Max finally gets what he didn't know he wanted, which is more than just having sex at regular and irregular intervals, he gets a boyfriend, someone he can actually love and want to be with and it's all turning his conception of relationships and love upside down and he has to re-evaluate how that fits into his life, because relationships have been a boring part of work before, and now they're not, so he just has to… figure that shit out.

This conversation where Daniel asks Max if he's gay:

"Max," he says softly, after a minute. "Max, do you like girls?"

Max shifts on the pillow. He rolls his eyes. "Of course I do, Daniel, do not ask stupid questions. They are 50% of the population."

"I'm not—" Daniel searches Max's face. He wants to find something there that Max isn't showing him, some measure of understanding, of common ground beyond the fact that they're fucking and in love. "Do you like dating them?"

"I am dating you," Max says, as if he's talking to someone who barely understands English.

"Yes, but. Before. Did you like having sex with girls?"

"Zoe was my girlfriend. Of course I liked having sex with her."

This isn't Max just obfuscating. He hasn't defined himself as gay. He is, but he didn't necessarily— need to know it or define himself as such? It just wasn't important to him. He didn't really want to have sex with anyone so not wanting to have sex with girls less than him not wanting to have sex with guys he wasn't attracted to didn't matter so much? And now there's Daniel so it's even less of an issue because it turns out he can ferally cheat on Zoe for months and still not intend to ever be with anyone who isn't Daniel.

Honestly it's more of a journey than Daniel will ever know to get Max to this:

"I will do better," Max says, when there's nothing else coming, and Daniel's about to step out into the road. "I will learn, Daniel. To be a good boyfriend."

It's not something he ever even considered before, and now not only does he want to, he's going to work on it too.

Max smiles at him. He still fingers Daniel, because Max likes to multi-task and do it efficiently, but he lets his gaze rest on Daniel's. He looks happy. He looks so, so happy. "It has never been like this," he says, and Daniel doesn't say because you've been having sex with girls and you don't like them. He'll believe it's just about him. That Max feels like this about him and him alone.

Max telling the ultimate truth - it never has been like this, not a single element of it. Not kissing, not sex, not loving somebody else. Daniel doesn't entirely hear it, but then why would he? Even Max doesn't realise how much of a truth it is.

"I always thought people were lying about kissing," Max says, without moving or looking at him or anything. "It was so boring. Everyone had to be lying. Nobody could like it unless they liked boring things."

What the fuck.

"So boring," Max says. He still doesn't move or look at him "Sex was boring too. I didn't know why anybody went out of their way when they could just jerk off. Masturbating was so much better than sex, Daniel."

Christ. Daniel's fingers twitch in Max's. "Did you ever think that was because you didn't like girls? And you kept having sex with them?"

"Eh," Max says, and shrugs. "I kissed boys too. Two of them. It was still boring."

Daniel's never thought sex was boring. He's liked it pretty much every time he's had it. He's been kissing girls since he was 14 and could make them laugh enough to kiss him over bags of crisps after school. He thinks about the two boys Max has kissed. What he did with them. When it was. Who it was. If he really thought it was awful. "Do you still think it's boring?"

Max shifts at that, twisting so he can look up at Daniel with the most insulted, don't be fucking stupid look on his face. "I have just licked my come out of your ass, Daniel. I want to have sex with you all the time. All of the things I jerked off thinking about doing I want to do with you. I want to kiss you forever."

Anyway. TL;DR, Max is demisexual and is new to sexual attraction and wouldn't be able to label himself as that if somebody paid him.

#breaking every rule for you #director's cut #kind of??#waffling on about fic #anyway!!!! I will talk about this forever

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cinematicnomad · 8 months ago

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cinematicnomad's steddie fic recs

i've been reading a lot of stranger things steddie fics over the past 2 months so i've decided it's time for me to make one of my requisite fic reclists, both for myself, and for anyone else interested. here's my usual reminder that i prefer lengthy fics, and that i am also a sucker for canon divergent fics (which basically all of these are bc eddie is alive post s4 obviously unless it's a time loop fic—if i tag a fic as "canon divergent eddie lives", assume this means the fic is compliant through the end of s4 except for eddie's death) and happy endings. all these fics are complete, though it's possible that if the fic is part of a series the series may not be complete. i will try to always add appropriate tags!

T = teen M = mature Ex = explicit NR = not rated

bracing for impact by writersagainstwritersblock (1/1 | 9k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; wayne POV; steve has bad parents; outsider POV

wayne watches as eddie falls hopelessly in love, with of all people, goddamn steve harrington.

it's not a big deal by aidaronan (1/1 | 11k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; mutual pining; angst w/ a happy ending

eddie survives, but his entire life is locked away in the upside down forever (his books, his dnd stuff, his guitar.) everything that wasn't on eddie when steve carried him into the ER, gone. so naturally steve starts giving him things. handing eddie back those little outward markers of who he is.

you oughta know by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (1/1 | 12k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; future fic; angst w/ a happy ending

days stretch out, long and slow. steve tries to ignore the only thing he’s sure of: eddie ran. he ran from him, ran from all of them. or: steve's having a rough couple of years, thanks for asking. compliant fic: i'm brave, but i'm chicken shit (1/1 | 13k+ | M) eddie POV; eddie centric; 1990s; recreational drug use

introduced me to my mind by alchemystique (2/2 | 16k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; mutual pining; getting together; happy ending

"eddie," wayne says, and eddie fights the urge to scream, or laugh, or cry. "i'm not running," eddie tells him, even though that is a fucking lie. "you should call him more," wayne says, and eddie rubs the meat of his palm into his eyeballs until he sees stars. doesn’t think about what 'call him more' means in context—do they talk about him? series: sweet leaf (4/4 | 16k+ | T) outsider POVs; rockstar!eddie; period typical homophobia

steve harrington's guide to making it work by eggbertsheggbert (8/8 | 23k+ | NR) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; bad harrington parents; steve is kicked out; angst w/ a happy ending

steve harrington has never been good at asking for help. especially not since he started being seen as the protector of the group. so, when his parents kick him out after discovering his sexuality, he figures he can get extra shifts, save up, and get a place before anyone realizes anything is wrong. join steve as he takes on the weight of the world. he's got it figured out, he's definitely NOT struggling, and—above all else—he can make this work.

the power of love by lacerta26 (8/8 | 27k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; outsider POVs; series; post-canon; coming out

jim gets mostly to the end of the house and then someone speaks. "i came out here for a smoke," eddie, his voice low, hushed. "yeah, but this is much more fun," steve now, almost laughing but not quite. * jim had only stepped out for a cigarette when he learns something new about steve and eddie and if this was one of the boys bringing home a girl, he’d have the exact stern words to make sure they were being a gentleman but his usual shovel talk isn't quite going to cut it because he has to let them know it's fine, more than fine, for them to be who they are, here.

hands where i can see them by SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan (12/12 | 29k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; multiple POV; established relationship; emotional hurt/comfort

eddie thinks that he and steve have a good thing going; being friends with benefits is honestly a pretty sweet deal. steve is a great friend, the sex is great, everything is great. except for the fact that steve hadn't realized they were only friends with benefits. except for the fact that steve thought they were in a relationship. except for the fact that eddie doesn't realize how much he'd valued that relationship until it's gone (and he's trying his damnedest to get it back).

it's alright if you love me by alivingfire (7/7 | 31k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; outsider POV; character study; 5+1; steve-centric; hurt/comfort

"oh, haven't you heard? steve harrington doesn't cry." in which steve harrington breaks up, breaks a few hearts (including his own), breaks free, and finally gets to break down. or: 5 times steve didn't cry, and 1 time he did.

off the beaten path by pukner (6/6 | 34k+ | M) canon divergent post s3; alternating POV; queer awakenings; cliffhanger ending (must read sequels)*

"i'm saying this," says steve, loudly, cutting him off, "because someone i love is, uh, gay. and i love them, but like, platonically. and also me calling you a queer might've been a little hypocritical, in retrospect." there is a long, baffled pause. "what," says jonathan, "steve, are you—are you coming out to me?" steve frowns, "oh, yeah, i guess i am. cool." or, post season 3, steve manages to figure out that he's bisexual, despite his best efforts to repress it, comes out to robin and jonathan byers of all people, and figures himself out. also, there's a cute guy who might be actually insane running the kids' dnd club and he's got his eye on him. and his bandana. too bad eddie munson hasn't had a similar revelation. he's still under the impression that he's a straight man obsessing over steve harrington for normal, extremely heterosexual reasons. OR: steve figures out he's bi before eddie figures out that he's gay. eddie still manages to fall first. series: *off-script (2/2 | 67k+ | Ex) eddie POV; internalized homophobia; mutual pining

a tattoo is worth a thousand words by writersagainstwritersblock (18/18 | 40k+ | M) canon divergent post s3; eddie POV; babysitter steve harrington; getting together

"ambidextrous, princess, it’s what makes me so good with my hands." eddie wiggled his fingers. "you mean for guitar?" steve asked, completely missing the innuendo, and also nearly knocking eddie flat at the thought that steve harrington knew he played guitar. "you stalking me or something?" eddie asked. steve frowned. "uh, no, but your band played in the middle school talent show, it's pretty hard to forget a thirteen year old screaming death metal before his voice dropped." eddie almost laughed at that. almost. "you saying i'm unforgettable, princess?" "if that’s how you want to take it, munson." eddie realized this was turning towards something far more dangerous than taunting a boy known for getting into fights, like flirting with a very, very straight boy known for getting into fights. OR after the events of season three steve shows up on eddie's doorstep asking for a tattoo... and then keeps showing up much to the dismay of eddie's traitorous heart. sequel: visible ink (12/12 | 57k+ | M) outsider POVs; firefighter!steve; tattoo artist!eddie; found family

the one in which a time loop is fucking exhausting. by badpancake (12/12 | 41k+ | T) canon compliant; time loop; steve POV; temporary character death; suicide; angst w/ a happy ending

it’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t know what comes next. he’s dove into the water hundreds of times. screamed as his flesh was torn apart, heard master of puppets in the distance and held back tears. felt max’s cold, small hand in his as she laid in the hospital bed. there are things that always happen, no matter how hard he tries: el doesn’t arrive in time. eddie dies. max is put in a coma. steve fails. they lose. "steve, how many loops have you been through?" his head is nodding, and his eyes are watery, and eddie has approached him like a spooked animal. "i lost count.” AKA: the one where steve harrington is stuck in a time loop, and eddie munson is really fucking hard to save, or: fuck volume 2, these bitches are in love.

steve the reluctant by rachtay13 (7/7 | 46k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; oblivious steve; steve plays dnd

robin raised her brows. "you know what, harrington?" she nodded her head. "yeah, you know what? i dare you to make a friend. i dare you." read for steve in denial, excessive d&d gameplay, robin as a mermaid, and eddie's glinting rings. as one reader said "the most frustratingly dense version of steve i have ever read and i am HERE for it."

you're so fucked up and i love it by genericfanatic (18/18 | 54k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; eddie POV; accidental relationship; hurt/comfort

eddie munson hated steve harrington. he'd apparently saved his life, dragged him out of hell and got him to a hospital while nancy rushed behind him working on alibis and half truths to prove he couldn’t have murdered chrissy. and here he was, doomed to live for the foreseeable future, in debt forever to steve fucking harrington. but eddie really hated how normal steve fucking was.

where do we go from here? (quietly fading away) by allandmore (9/9 | 60k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; angst w/ a happy ending; non-graphic violence

"what's scarier than saving the world? figuring out what to do afterwards. i get it," eddie turns on his side, one shoulder on the wall, and grips the front of steve's shirt. His face is so close steve can feel the warmth of his breath. "but we've got time now. right, steve? we bought us all time. time to figure all our shit out. isn’t that what matters?" OR steve harrington struggles to find purpose after the upside down. (but maybe purpose doesn't have to be big. maybe it's helping dustin navigate sophomore year. maybe it's reminding robin to send in college admission letters. maybe it's eddie munson. maybe).

star of the masquerade by glorious_spoon (6/6 | 64k+ | M) canon compliant; eddie POV; time loop; temporary character death; angst w/ a happy ending

steve jerks awake, sitting up so quickly that robin almost topples over and staring wildly around the room. when his gaze lands on eddie, he blanches visibly. "oh, shit," he mutters. "come on, no. come on. not again." "harrington?" eddie asks slowly. he does not love the way that steve is staring at him right now. he really doesn’t. steve looks like he’s staring at a ghost, a bloodied monster, like eddie is something that should not exist in the light of day. "you good, dude?"

one size fits all by entanglednow (10/10 | 65k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; fake/pretend relationship; misunderstandings; slow burn

steve just wanted to do something nice for a friend, he doesn't mean to get eddie's ring stuck on his finger, and it's definitely not his fault that everyone he knows is jumping to conclusions.

renegades (leave a light on) by queerofthedagger (13/13 | 66k+ | Ex) canon divergent s2; eddie POV; road trip; slow burn; strangers to lovers

eddie doesn't expect to get into trouble for his recent drug business, although he probably should have. even less does he expect steve harrington of all people to save his sorry ass with a nail bat that looks awfully at home in his hands. least of all, though, does he expect harrington to insist on skipping town for a while to avoid the fallout. the winter holidays of '84 seem intent on proving him wrong on all fronts. thrown into a spontaneous road trip-slash-cut-and-run to san francisco—just until things back home blow over, munson—eddie has all the time in the world to confront such questions as: why would harrington care to help him? why does he wake up from nightmares more often than not? and, maybe most importantly, why is the former king so ready to leave hawkins behind on a whim? or: idiot boys make impulsive idiot decisions, and along the way—reluctantly but inevitably—they fall in love. a story of endless winter streets, finding family, and leaving home to find a new one.

falling without caution (people watching) by super_skam310 (10/10 | 66k+ | NR) canon divergent eddie lives; eddie POV; slow burn; eventual happy ending

steve harrington is a man that demands your attention; whether your give it willingly or not is inconsequential. eddie's camp tended to be in the latter category. OR eddie's borderline obsessive watching of steve spanning from steve's freshman year to season 4, culminating in the unfortunate realization that the king had been dethroned the moment nail bat hit monster flesh and that maybe steve harrington was lovable all along.

in the margins by foxy_mulder (4/4 | 70k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; angst w/ a happy ending; suicidal thoughts; hurt/comfort

steve is having a hard time adjusting to the new normal, after everything that went down. he doesn't want to bother his friends with his problems, though, when they've got so much weight on their shoulders already. steve stumbles on an alternate version of hawkins, where none of it ever happened. everyone’s alive, his headaches are gone, his friends actually want to hang out with him, and he’s…happy. (the party has to fight another monster. but this one doesn't prey on people's fears. it preys on their deepest desires.)

skull rock era by chattrekisses (11/11 | 71k+ | Ex) canon divergent s2; steve POV; slow burn; internalized homophobia; fix-it

steve harrington never planned for eddie munson. steve was supposed to marry his high school sweetheart, have 2.5 children, and take over the family business. he was supposed to live a blissful life on a nondescript cul-de-sac, complete with a white picket fence and a closet full of tasteful polo shirts. he was supposed to make a graceful transition between being the golden boy and being the american dream. mediocrity was what destiny had designed for steve. reality had other plans. (or, steve and eddie, against all odds, fall in love.)

roll for seduction by spikeisthebigbad (37/37 | 74k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s3; steve POV; steve plays dnd; fix-it

when steve reluctantly agreed to play dungeons and dragons with the hellfire club he expected to hate every second. he did not expect to spend his friday nights flirting with eddie munson. what if eddie and steve were dating during season 4? starts after season 3, and eventually ventures into season 4. not canon compliant.

in over my head by staymagical (16/16 | 75k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; head trauma; temporary amnesia

one moment, steve is entering his room, ready for bed, and the next he's in forest hills staring at a very confused very concerned eddie and the run-down remains of the old munson trailer. three hours later. thus begins a secret shared between friends, steve leaning on eddie as they try and understand and navigate this new terrifying post-concussion symptom of steve's. with vecna dead and the gates closed, it can only be steve's own scrambled brain giving up on reality. it's a race against the unknown, trying to find answers and search for solutions before it happens again and steve isn't sure how long he can keep pretending he is alright when he is anything but.

leave the light on sometimes all night by anniebibananie (7/7 | 78k+ | M) au—no upside down; steve POV; hurt/comfort; slow burn; eventual smut

june 1986 steve is lonely. he’s always been lonely, honestly. an empty house, absent parents, friends that didn’t really know him. frankly, he probably doesn’t really know himself, either. it used to be easier to ignore—between sports and parties and searching for the next girl to hang around with. then nancy wheeler told him he was bullshit. in the wreckage of the storm, he realized she probably hadn’t been that off base to call his life bullshit. [life in hawkins, indiana is boring, ordinary, no supernatural entities. steve still changes. luckily, he still makes some new friends, too. certain people are simply meant to be in the same story.]

the lathe by palmviolet (13/13 | 82k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; fix-it; angst w/ a happy ending; implied self-harm

"this time, do it right. this time eddie won’t bleed out in his arms, in anyone’s arms. this time, steve will do it right." — or, steve relives the day they try to kill vecna over and over, and eddie just can't seem to stop dying. steve finds this totally unacceptable. sequel: disaster / lucky (1/1 | 7k+ | M) coda; eddie POV; implied/referenced self-harm; trauma recovery

it's got what it takes by rose235b (20/20 | 83k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; friends to lovers; slow burn

“i can walk you to your car if you need to go though.” eddie’s hand stopped moving. robin’s eyes snapped towards steve as if it wasn’t a nice thing to offer. “i’ll just maybe grab the vest so i can leave it for tomorrow.” he was undeterred though. if he could help eddie munson after the worst period of his life by literally just walking, steve would walk across the entire state of indiana. eddie looked back at him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to search for something on steve’s face. “okay.” it came out softer than steve was used to eddie being. steve's on his never ending quest to make up for past mistakes. eddie's post-vecna mess of a life seems like the perfect place to start. - or, two idiots fall in love very slowly to the tune of 80s music.

(something happens and i'm) head over heels by gibbouslunation (11/11 | 94k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; head trauma; angst w/ a happy ending

eddie made a strangled disbelieving noise, expression flickering. "you are not apologizing to me right now, for like, feeling a normal way about stuff. i can’t believe you." steve pushed a shaking hand through his hair. his heart rate no longer in his ears meant he felt he could at least think a little more clearly. "maybe it was the heat. doesn’t always have to be something messed up, right?" eddie gave him a placating nod. "sure, heat exhaustion is a helluva thing." it had been happening a lot recently. the…forgetting. zonking out. whatever. he was pretty sure he was just extra exhausted, it had been a few weeks since everything but it might have just been the adrenaline or something finally wearing off. sometimes it was like he just forgot someone was speaking, or couldn’t remember for a moment what they’d been talking about. like blinking out of a fog maybe. it does not get better, in fact, it actually continues to get worse.

water closet by stillmadaboutpetra (7/7 | 103k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; found family; slow burn; character study

steve's heard that a lot of life changing conversations usually happen in the kitchen or on the porch, but in his experience, it's the bathroom. a series of bathroom conversations (plus a whole lot of everything else) that slowly change steve, and his little world, in the wake of surviving vecna.

burned on the pyre by oklahoma (13/13 | 105k+ | Ex) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; temporary character death; angst w/ a happy ending

"i’m gonna save your life, eddie munson." - caught in a time loop created by eleven where he is forced to relive the same day over and over, steve has to come up with a plan to kill vecna entirely while also making sure eddie and max don’t lose their lives in the process.

the beat has just begun by forgetthemoon (12/12 | 106k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; period-typical homophobia; fix it; slow burn

vecna dies. so does eddie. the world doesn't split open. in the aftermath, steve goes home to an empty house. well. almost empty. steve sighs, hanging his head. one more thing. then he can go to bed. the dirty towel can wait until later. he tosses it towards the bathtub without looking and turns to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste. when he looks in the mirror, eddie's staring back at him.

lonely is the night by intrajanelle (23/23 | 109k+ | T) canon divergent post s2; canon rewrite; eddie POV; hurt steve; angst w/ a happy ending

harrington had fallen, splayed in front of his preppy little beemer, like the jock equivalent of a fallen fucking angel. eddie, not having thought this through, watched harrington’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and said, "well, crap." or: post-season 2, eddie and steve get to know one another.

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin (14/14 | 113k+ | T) canon compliant; eddie POV; ghost!eddie; happy ending; fix-it

being dead isn’t like eddie thought it would be. for starters, he’s a lot more alive than he expected. or, the ghost of eddie munson’s still hanging around, and he’d really appreciate if someone could notice him, thanks.

the end is here (and we do it a hundred times over) by placebythering (13/13 | 125k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; temporary death; suicide; angst w/ a happy ending

steve jolts awake, staring up into the dull beige of the camper’s ceiling. there’s a distinct brown stain, likely from a leak. the cushion of the back seat is hard against his back, and if he strains he could hear yelling and laughing from the outside. he wonders if he’s finally lost his fucking mind. —or, steve relives the day of the end over and over again.

caught in the middle, helpless again by margosfairyeye (14/14 | 131k+ | Ex) canon compliant; eddie POV; time loop; angst w/ a happy ending; canon-typical violence

fuck, eddie has been here before. the deja vu was bad enough but this is like, double, this is like deja deja vu or deja vu vu or something, this is unprecedented shit here. and eddie knows what comes next, knows like the roiling ache in his stomach that they’re going to go in, go though the portal and into the upside fucking down and didn’t they already do this? -- -- eddie loops through the time from lover's lake to his death, over and over again.

blood, love, and rhetoric by sourpastels / @lesbiansidney (18/18 | 143k+ | M) canon compliant; alternating POV; eddie lives; canon typical violence; accidental roommates

eddie believes three core things about the art of performance. 1. all the world's a stage. 2. performance is both a weapon and a shield, he wields it as both. and 3. you can’t act death. to quote stoppard: “it’s not gasps and blood and falling about—that isn’t what makes it death. it’s just a man failing to reappear, that’s all…” and eddie had gasped and bled and fell about, and was foolish enough in that moment to believe that was death. but he forgot a crucial step: he reappeared. or: steve is taking it day by day, flitting between the high school and the hospital and hopper’s cabin, locking any thoughts of eddie munson away at the back of his mind. meanwhile, eddie is just trying to get out of the upside down, with nothing but a nail-shield and the world's worst company.

sleight of hand by smithereen (19/19 | 143k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s2; alternating POV; internalized homophobia; slow burn

steve needs a weed dealer. he gets a bit more than that. (this is an AU set a couple months after the snow ball in season 2.)

take the money and run by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (22/22 |143k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; road trip; getting together; future fic

"rules. like, there’ll be no eating in my car. you're not driving my car. no heavy metal," steve keeps listing, "you’re not picking up women and fucking them in m—" "i'll try to control myself," eddie interrupts with a quip, a smirk. fucking girls in steve’s car, or anywhere else for that matter, isn’t going to be an issue, unless something pretty fundamental shifts in him. steve continues, completely ignoring eddie, "you’ll wipe your feet. you're not dragging dirt all over my car. no hitchhikers. no cutesy road games. no smoking in the car. i'm not paying for all the gas." "ass, gas or grass, got it," eddie says, like he's taking this very seriously. he is not taking this seriously. or: road trip!

if your heart surrenders by asbealthgn (39/39 | 163k+ | Ex) canon divergent pre-s1; alternating POV; slow burn; secret relationship; angst w/ a happy ending

“that one’s on the house, okay?” eddie says, and steve opens his eyes to look back down at him. on his face is the slightest hint of concern, and something else steve can’t place. he’s still holding his hand. "thank you," steve says. he’s not sure exactly which thing he’s thanking eddie for, the weed or the hand in his or the lack of judgment at his fucked up head. he just knows that he’s grateful. eddie gives him a smile, a gentle curve of those pretty lips. "anytime, harrington."

tuesday's gone with the wind by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (9/9 | 184k+ | Ex) alternate universe – no upside down; eddie POV; rock band; drug use; plane crash

corroded coffin's leased plane went down on june 13th, 1995 in the woods of louisiana. ten people on board died. eddie munson survived. before he survived, he really lived. companion series: wildflowers...and all the rest (15/15 | 151k+ | Ex) gareth POV; original female character; one shots; growing old; slice of life

gossip by jcmadgirl (11/11 | 213k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; pre-canon; sexual assault; angst w/ a happy ending

steve's whole life story, told through multiple snapshots of the events that made him into the person that he is today. or, a rewriting of stranger things from steve's POV.

i never did believe in miracles (but i've a feeling it's time to try) by cuoredimuschio (26/26 | 215k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; multiple POV; slow burn; mutual pining; getting together

eddie is beginning to think that, somewhere in the helter-skelter of surviving the upside down, being swarmed by possibly rabid but definitely rancid demobats, and charbroiling vecna’s slimy ass, he accidentally tripped through the wrong gate and landed in an alternate dimension. well, a different alternate dimension than the one he was already in. because steve harrington is flirting with him.

vignettes of lost connections by hardlyhalcyon (halcyonfrost) (50/50 | 229k+ | Ex) canon divergent pre-s1; alternating POV; secret relationship; angst w/ a happy ending

steve harrington and eddie munson had met long before dustin henderson dragged steve down to reefer rick's cabin. hawkins wasn't a huge town, and there was only the one high school, but the two were never friends. didn't even like each other. in all their darkest moments however, they somehow found company together. or the one where steve has depression, eddie becomes his safe space, and when eddie encounters battles he can't fight, steve reminds eddie of his own strength. a pre-/peri-/post-s4 fic with steddie before s4 events, continuing through and after.

as the world falls down by daeneryske (36/36 | 245k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; bad harrington parents; period typical homophobia; angst w/ a happy ending

after saving eddie from the upside down, steve hides him at his house while the party concocts a plot to clear eddie's name. what steve doesn't expect is how much he likes hanging out with eddie as they get to know each other. under the looming shadow of the mind flayer threatening to destroy hawkins, steve and eddie realize they're each grappling with their own darkness, from steve's father's impossible expectations to eddie's feelings of worthlessness. their friendship develops into something more even as the party prepares to fight Vecna and his monsters one last time. steve must decide if he's ready to shrug off the rigid roles assigned to him and become his own person. eddie must learn to embrace what steve has been trying to show him every day since nearly dying: that he's worth saving.

nothing else matters by bigskyandthecoldgun (31/31 | 279k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s2; steve POV; secret relationship; period typical attitudes; everybody lives

"you ask a lot of questions about me," steve tells him. "because you're interesting," munson says, quiet and honest. "you're a lot different than what i've heard." steve hums, eyes closed. "yeah," he says, eyes fluttering open when munson takes the joint from him again, "you are, too." or: steve ditches the prom to get high.

since you've gone (i've been lost without a trace) by steddieeddie (7/7 | 300k+ | M) canon divergent s4; multiple POV; comatose steve; grief; angst w/ a happy ending

may 31st 1986, two weeks until graduation. robin, eddie, and nancy are all set to walk across the stage, eddie being given a free pass after the whole ‘almost framed for murder’ thing. the three have been trying to be excited about their graduation, but it feels almost mundane to be excited when steve wouldn’t be there. they would be sat out on a football field in the blistering heat while waiting for their names to be called, with dustin and max in the crowd, cheering them on in steve's place. there would be fake smiles plastered to all their faces, no matter how realistic they tried to make them. none of them have genuinely smiled since steve got vecna'd. sixty-five days. steve had been in a coma for sixty-five days. the doctors keep telling the party that it doesn't look good, that steve's injures had been severe, and that they didn't know if, when, he would wake up. but they refused to lose hope. he'll wake up. it's just a matter of time. OR five times steve harrington didn't wake up, and one time he did.

the most dangerous thing (is to love you) by brokebeatle (21/21 | 304k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; shared trauma; slow burn; period typical homophobia

"i know you care about what those little twerps think of you, and i can assure you they think way too highly of you," eddie says with a wink, and steve gives a half-hearted smirk for just a moment. "but look…i know i can’t ask you to stop worrying about those kids, so how about this? you worry about them, and you let me—actually let me—worry about you." steve pushes his hair back, and yet again, gravity instantly pulls it back down, since he’s looking at his feet. "…i don’t need anyone to worry about me." "too fucking bad. someone’s gotta do it, and it’s gonna be me." "why?" steve replies with a raspy laugh, shaking his head slowly. "why? why." eddie crosses his arms tightly across his chest, knocking his foot into steve’s again with a bit more strength. "because we’re friends, dipshit." —in which eddie's got a reason he's been planning on leaving hawkins since long before the world almost ended. the only thing keeping him in town at this point? his promise to be friends with steve harrington. and eddie doesn't break promises.

the man that i could be by ohstars (26/26 | 325k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s3; steve POV; secret relationship; period typical homophobia; angst w/ a happy ending

"steve harrington isn't straight. it's been a few weeks since he sat on that bathroom floor at starcourt with robin, where she shared her biggest secret with him and unintentionally unlocked an entirely new side of steve. since he’s had to come to terms with being open to exploring that side of him, but he's finally acknowledged that he's most likely, definitely, without a doubt into guys." -- after coming to terms that he may be queer, steve harrington does a little exploration on his own and meets the one and only eddie munson. just as things are going well and accepted the fact he's falling for eddie in their own little bubble, steve's world is shaken by a tragedy he can't quite talk about. and when the dust settles and he's nearly ready to put the pieces back together, his worlds collide when he realizes his eddie is the same eddie playing D&D with the kids. the same eddie who's now wanted for murder thanks to another upside down monster. how will he save the day when he can barely focus watching his ex mingle with his monster fighting team? series: the men we've become (4/4 | 45k+ | M) future fics; alternating POVs; domestic living

#stranger things #steddie #fic rec #steddie fic rec #reclist by cinematicnomad #reclist #steve harrington #eddie munson #i will probably continue to add to this post as time goes on #one of the benefits of a read more #but for now #these are all the fics i've read and loved #updated 6/16/24

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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Epinephrine

Summary: Bucky races to win as you watch with anticipation.

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Nerves, K-I-S-S-I-NG, swearing, POV switch, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: My third Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 3) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Dialed In AU, but can be read as a standalone. Apologies for any inaccuracies, but I'm human and still had fun writing this.❤️ Thank you @targaryenvampireslayer for the POV switch suggestion! Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Epinephrine. Both a hormone and a neurotransmitter, the chemical messenger transmits nerve signals to prepare your body for fight or flight. Most call it adrenaline. Some liken it to pre-race jitters.

Bucky considered it his own personal fuel.

Just breathe.

It amazed him how so many wrote off motocross as just another sport without considering the physical and mental training they put into it or how dangerous it was. Position, weight distribution, and correct form on the bike were all things to consider when practicing and racing. Not to mention no two tracks are alike, the conditions constantly changing. You had to take the hills, jumps, turns, and distance for your own safety and those around you.

He mentally wished Steve and the others a safe race, even Rumlow. Prick or not, he didn’t want the guy to get hurt. He sure as hell didn't want to lose to him either.

"For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t hit him. Because he would have won and guys like him don’t deserve to win."

No, he doesn't.

His heart raced a little faster, his right palm starting to sweat as the nerves and excitement clashed in his chest. The knot in his stomach settled as he waited for the race to start, his focus on the path in front of him. The rough terrain ahead called to him, urging him to unleash whatever anger, fear, joy, and anything he had built up inside. He would go all out, leaving no regrets in his path.

All leading to you after he crossed the finish line.

"Good luck."

Gave me all the luck I need, Spitfire.

With your voice in his mind, it quieted any doubt that lingered. He knew his strengths and even his limits when it came to the sport. Getting back on the bike after his accident already proved that he was a winner. He didn't need to prove himself to anyone else.

But he hoped you would see his worth.

And as the gate dropped, he smiled behind his helmet.

You grabbed Natasha's arm as the riders took off, keeping an eye out for Bucky. She didn't pull away or make a comment when you dug your nails in. You appreciated her a bit more because of that. You also didn't understand why you were nervous when you weren't the one on the track.

I've seen plenty of races, but I didn't have anything at stake before.

"Sorry," you muttered as you let the redhead go.

"It's okay. He's got this," she assured you.

You nodded, doing your best to give her a smile. A mile and a half long course and likely a twenty to thirty minute race and extra lap, you knew it was standard. But watching the dirt fly as you focused on Bucky's helmet, your heart felt like it was in your throat. You didn't just want him to win, you wanted him safe.

Just breathe. He knows what he's doing.

"If he gets hurt, I'm kicking his ass," you said, sucking in a breath as another rider got close to his back wheel.

"And nurse him back to health," Natasha teased.

"Yeah. With a uniform and all," you teased, actually kind of into the idea.

Down girl.

You got uncharacteristically quiet after that, your stomach dropping when Maddox gained on Bucky. He was still in a good position, his friend, Steve, up there with him. It was almost like witnessing a roller coaster ride, the ups and downs, the twists and drops. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you could only imagine how the guys out there felt actually experiencing it.

Exhilarating.

As the riders got close to the final lap, you jumped up. You somehow stayed on your feet when your head spun, but you weren't going to miss this. Bucky and Maddox were almost neck-in-neck, but Maddox probably thought he had it in the bag. That kind of cockiness didn't always pay off.

You sure as hell didn’t want it to pay off today.

"Come on, Hothead," you whispered.

While Maddox turned his head to look at Bucky, the latter kept his head facing forward and elbows up. As if he didn't care that his competition was there. He raced smarter, not harder, as you watched with bated breath. He kept his lead toward the finish line as you couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky Barnes won the race.

He won. He fucking won.

"Fuck yes!" you shouted, uncaring of your language as Bucky took first, his left fist pumping in the air. The way everyone else cheered, they probably didn't notice. But you finally felt like you could take a proper breath, the mental ride coming to a stop. "For the record, I'm just happy he made it across the finish line. This has nothing to do with the date."

I can actually smell my own bullshit.

"Wow. You managed to say that with a straight face. Impressive," Natasha said, nodding toward the course as the race wrapped up. "Come on. Let's go congratulate him. And by we I mean you."

"He raced a good race. It was very exciting," you said evenly, but you eagerly pulled her along to get out of the stands and through the crowd.

You weren’t sure if you were actually allowed to go up to greet him, but people moved to let you through. Was it your strut or Natasha’s subtle stare that made everyone jump out of the way? As you got closer to Bucky and the other riders, you felt like your heart was going to race out of your chest when you stopped at the edge of the course. Especially when took off his helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face as he shook his hair out.

Fuck me in the dirt, please.

“Go,” Natasha encouraged after some of the guys congratulated Bucky, except for Maddox who stood feet away with a glare on his face.

Sore loser doesn’t look good on him, but he’s not why I’m here.

Holding your head high, you locked eyes with Bucky when he looked your way. Seemingly forgetting the others around him, he walked toward you to meet you halfway when you stepped in the dirt. The two of you stood there for a long moment before he smirked. A slight one, but still a smirk.

“Looks like I won,” he said, his voice rough.

“You did. Congratulations,” you said, stepping back to hold out your hand. “And it looks like you get to go out with me, so double congratulations,” you simpered, previous annoyance that he bet a date with you completely forgotten.

“Are we shaking on it?” he chuckled, his gloved hand reaching for yours. A spark of electricity moved up your arm once he took it and you refused to deny your attraction at that moment.

“You could say that,” you smirked, yanking him close. “But I prefer to seal it with a kiss.”

You took a moment to appreciate how soft and warm his lips felt when you initiated the kiss this time. You allowed his tongue to slip inside and explore when you parted your lips, feeling the beat of his heart as he pressed his chest against your body. It wasn’t hard or urgent, but excitement and passion consumed you. It didn’t matter if he got your clothes dirty. Or that a few of the riders whistled and cheered at the display.

He smiled against your lips when you had to take a breath. “I thought you said you weren’t a prize.”

“And I thought you said your ass was all mine after you win,” you reminded him, almost wishing you reached around to squeeze it. Even dirty and sweaty, he still looked and smelled amazing. It was a phenomenon.

“I did and I meant it,” he said, sneaking in another kiss before he had to pull away. “You sticking around?”

“I’ll be with Nat. Go do what you have to,” you said, turning away to back to your friend. She had a smile on her face. You had one on yours, too.

“I still have to get your number, so don’t go anywhere!” Bucky called after you.

“Who said I was giving you my number?” you asked over your shoulder. “I never agreed to that.”

“How am I supposed to take you on a date without it?” he asked.

“You seem like a smart guy. You’ll figure it out, Hothead,” you teased, egging him on just a little.

“Want me to get on my knees, Spitfire?”

Yes and split me open with that talented tongue of yours.

“She’ll give you her number,” Natasha said, waving Bucky on as you laughed. You may have checked his ass out again because he did say it was yours. And he no doubt checked yours out as you walked away. “You are giving him your number before we leave.”

“I will,” you promised, giving her a small smile. “I’m glad you introduced me to him,” you added gently, looking forward to getting to know him more.

“And I’m glad you put a smile back on his face.”

Hearing that felt like a victory.

I guess we’re both winners today, Hothead.

Yay! He won! Was there ever any doubt? More to come. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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tinycozycomfort · 1 year ago

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rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta.

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done.

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for.

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation.

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for.

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him.

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing.

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.”

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?”

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.”

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out.

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.”

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?”

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?”

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.”

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?”

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it.

She might be.

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—”

“Hey.”

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.”

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else.

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class.

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on.

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—”

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.”

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.”

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.”

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home.

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.”

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours.

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream.

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old.

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways.

But it’s not up to you.

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel.

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating.

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome.

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts.

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking.

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged.

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him.

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.”

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull.

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack.

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy.

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take.

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding.

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating.

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed.

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal.

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all.

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him.

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself.

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy.

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it..

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you.

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat.

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?”

“What?”

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?”

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to.

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?”

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself.

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why?

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away.

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.”

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous.

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.”

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more.

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.”

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear.

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other.

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun.

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?”

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.”

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?”

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?”

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?”

“So you can get his number.”

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes.

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.”

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.”

And then you’re alone again.

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed.

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous.

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing.

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet.

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind.

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now.

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion.

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind.

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time.

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement.

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip.

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable. He’s going to be a problem.

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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microficmay · 9 months ago

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Microfic May 2024

We are back, folks! Join us for our best and biggest year of microfics ever!! Microfic May is an open daily prompt challenge in which participants write a microfic a day in May. Here's the scoop for 2024!

We define microfics as works of fiction that are 50 words or less. However, this limit is merely a suggestion. We accept all lengths!

Open to all HP characters, ships, ratings, topics, and genres (as long as works are tagged and spoilered appropriately).

Participants must be age 18+ and follow DLDR, SALS, and YKINMKATO. (What does this mean?)

All prompts are optional, can be skipped, switched around, or combined. Just have fun and write!

For an extra challenge, try one of our optional ‘Weekly Challenges’ along with the day’s prompt.

To submit a work, add it to our collection on AO3 Microfic May 2024 or mention us on Tumblr @microficmay AND tag #microficmay2024.

Check the Info and FAQ pages for more info! (if the links aren’t working on mobile, try here)

🫶 Prompt list in plain text under the cut! 🫶

Prompts List 2024

Day 1: Create Day 2: Resplendent Day 3: Horizon Day 4: Decision Day 5: Dreams & Reality Day 6: Flare Day 7: Innocuous Day 8: Will Day 9: Agony Day 10: Rise & Fall Day 11: Curse Day 12: Vivid Day 13: Talisman Day 14: Humility Day 15: Nothing & Everything Day 16: Squabble Day 17: Worthy Day 18: Healing Day 19: Impatience Day 20: Push & Pull Day 21: Unhand Day 22: Precious Day 23: Mistake Day 24: Elation Day 25: Day & Night Day 26: Vex Day 27: Dandy Day 28: Fetching Day 29: Thrall Day 30: First & Last Day 31: Fulfilment

Alternate Prompts

Alt 1: Evolve Alt 2: Superfluous Alt 3: Idle Alt 4: Warmth Alt 5: Life & Death

Weekly Challenges (Optional)

Week 1: POV Challenge ↳ Create a microfic using 1st or 2nd person point of view.

Week 2: ‘A/An’ Challenge ↳ Don't use the articles 'a' or 'an' in your microfic.

Week 3: Format Challenge ↳ Create a microfic using a non-traditional format. Examples: epistolary, text fic, dialogue only, poetry, song lyrics, script, etc.

Week 4: Alphabet Challenge ↳ Include all the letters A-Z in your microfic.

BONUS CHALLENGE ↳ To be announced!

#microficmay2024 #microficmay #hp fest #harry potter microfic #microfiction #mod post

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steddieunderdogfics · 16 hours ago

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General Rec:

you must've known for a long time (the shape of things to come) by bramble_berries

It's so fluffy and angsty and romantic!

you must have known for a long time (the shape of things to come) by bramble_berries

@bramble-berries

Rating: Explicit

31,988 words, 13/13 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), firetower au, excon!Eddie, Light Angst, Fluff, Humor, Fluff and Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, 90s AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Falling In Love, Flirting, falling in love over radio, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Tender Sex, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Emotional Sex, Referenced Minor Character Death, Isolation, Masturbation, Masturbation Fantasy, Service Top Steve Harrington, Bottom Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Character Study, Frottage, they're switches, Mutual Pining, it’s about yearning, and also grief, and also banging, POV Eddie Munson, self-sabotaging Eddie, Eddie Munson Has Self-Esteem Issues, author is demi

Summary:

“Tower two?” Steve’s uncertain voice crackled through the radio. “You there, man?” Eddie held down the button, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and released the button. He did it two more times. Shit! Steve would surely recognize his name. That was the last thing he needed. He made a split-second decision and pressed the button to talk. “Yea, yea, I’m here. Sorry. Uh, bee got in. I was trying to get it out the window. I’m, um- Eddie Makowski.” His intonation raised at the last syllable like he was asking a question. He cringed. Hoped Steve didn’t notice it. He made a split-second decision and pressed the button to talk. “Yea, yea, I’m here. Sorry. Uh, bee got in. I was trying to get it out the window. I’m, um- Eddie Makowski.” His intonation raised at the last syllable like he was asking a question. He cringed. Hoped Steve didn’t notice it. There was a long silence. Then, “Makowski, huh? Ok. Um, nice to meet you then, Eddie Makowski.” - or: Eddie gets a summer job, not knowing Steve will be his only coworker. They fall in love over the radio waves.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!

#steddie #steddieunderdogfics #fic rec #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic rec #slow burn #90s au #future fic #angst with a happy ending #no upside down au

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buddierecs · 8 months ago

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secret relationship buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (right in front of me) by: finduilas "it’s such a long time coming and still it takes buck by surprise. It takes him by surprise even though he is the one that leans in and finally kisses eddie. his second surprise is that eddie doesn’t push him away, doesn’t even look at him with confusion. or worse, rage. no, eddie kisses him back like buck is a tall drink of water and eddie is severely dehydrated. buck knows the feeling" word count: 13k important tags: anal sex, versatile buddie, getting caught, accidental clothes sharing oh, my dream (never quite as it seems) by: woodchoc_magnum "in which buck and eddie are trying out a friends-with-benefits thing (that's rapidly turning into more) when the world comes crashing down on them. as buck hovers somewhere between life and death, eddie has to deal with their friends, family and the buckley parents." word count: 44k important tags: friends with benefits, whump, season six, sperm donor arc, coma, fluff and smut, bottom!eddie diaz

ours to keep by: brewrosemilk 'buck and eddie pass their single, shared brain-cell back and forth, trying to keep their relationship a secret." word count: 8.9k important tags: blow jobs, porn with feelings, pov alternating, pov outsider, crack treated seriously sideways (incomplete series) by: buddiefanrpnj "what was it buck said to him that night… "you don't need to pretend with me." well, eddie is fucking done pretending. aka eddie makes his choice … this story starts at the end of red flag, 6x9" word count: 325k important tags: pining, love confessions, major character injury, first times, oral sex, rimming, demisexual!eddie diaz my hands are shaking from holding back by: barnesbegin "buck refuses to believe friends look at each other the way he and eddie do. however, eddie is dating ana flores. so buck just gives him space and hopes eddie will come to his senses soon. but after a heated fight between the two, where a confession is unintentionally made, things take a turn." word count: 84k important tags: pining, slow burn, eventual smut, eddie diaz is in denial the kids had sex, chim. by: whiskis "buck and eddie's extra activities got buck's voice all fucked up (pun intended)." word count: 5.3k important tags: oral sex, face-fucking, coming untouched, idiots in love, light dom/sub race to the sun (rest when it's over) by: honestlydarkprincess "buck challenges eddie and eddie takes said challenge. It causes their relationship to be revealed in a rather unique way." word count: 3.5k important tags: come slut!evan buckley, multiple orgasms, manhandling, marking, sir kink, possessive sex, dom!eddie diaz, sub!evan buckley, strength kink loose threads by: daises_and_briars "new to dating and keeping it quiet, buck and eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. but when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up." word count: 3.7k important tags: swapped clothes, blowjobs, pranks a phone call in late december by: brewsrosemilk “i’m so fucking cold without you,” he admits, then - and he’s not only speaking metaphorically; the snow storm is raging outside, screaming around the corners of the house; the room is drafty, and somehow despite the sweat gathering at the base of his spine and his neck - he feels cold. he wants eddie. That’s all he wants. - "me too,” eddie hums, though - immediately soothing the anxiety. “never again. never again, i promise,” he sighs" word count: 4.3k important tags: phone sex, fluff and smut

romance is not dead if you keep it just yours by: weasleyworks "basically eddie and buck are in a relationship but have only told christopher." word count: 3.6k important tags: morning sex, kinda secret relationship, idiots in love your laugh (echoes down the hallway) by princessfbi "the long awaited jeep sex fic" word count: 5.5k important tags jeep (car) sex, semi-public sex, rough sex, blow jobs, praise kink, secret relationship.

and no one knows what goes on behind closed doors by: starlingbite "none of the team knows that after a long shift, when christopher is still at school, eddie follows buck across town to the loft. they don’t know that as soon as the front door is closed behind them eddie pushes buck against it and presses their lips together." word count: 4.6k important tags: plot what plot, anal sex, cock warming, top!eddie diaz, bottom!evan buckley, barebacking

general audience rated secret relationship fics mature rated secret relationship fics

#911 fandom #911 show #911 abc #911 fox #buddie smut #buddie fic #evan buckley #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #buddie fics #buddie recommendations #secret relationship #ao3feed #ao3 link #ao3 #evan buck buckley

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messy-crisantemo · 7 months ago

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Since last week, I wanted to make a

🎴 GenTan fic recommendation list Part 2! 🍉

Don’t forget to check out Part 1 too!

As the last time, this list is based on my personal likes and, ofc, on the fics I’ve read. I tried to include all GenTan flavors ❤️💜 They’re not put in any particular order and most of them are completed fics. I’m adding some of the tags, but not all of them since I don’t want to make this post extra long, so please read them again once you go to the Ao3 link. Anime-onlies, beware of spoilers. Please enjoy!

sliding across the clouded sky by mimimimi (reiiiiii), 179k, WIP

(Figure skating AU, Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Aged-Up Character(s), Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining)

The life of a figure skater is short. People expect you to retire at a young age and the moment you have an injury and take a break to recover, you're done for.

Shinazugawa Genya had to deal with it now that he's gotten the biggest injury on his skating career. And the press isn't helping at all, either.

The only light keeping him connected to the figure skating world? Kamado Tanjirou.

Starting with a classic! This beautiful slow burn explores the nature of their relationship as something that makes grow both Genya and Tanjirou. It has lots of funny and tender moments.

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic! by Side_Ponytail, 4k

(Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Getting Together, First Kiss, POV Alternating, Fluff and Humor, Scheming)

Tanjiro takes his siblings to see the Barbie movie, Genya’s siblings drag him along, and Parent Trap levels of shenanigans ensue.

No Barbie Movies were spoiled in the making of this fic.

One of the funniest and most adorable fics I’ve ever read. If you need a boost of sugar, this is it.

June Bridegroom by 125389, 2k

(Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Established Relationship, Kamado Tanjirou-centric, Horror, Manga Spoilers)

Upon concluding an important day, the boundary between dreams and reality blurs as Tanjirou reveals the true nature of his feelings and whom he's really marrying.

A fic for those who love to suffer and don’t fear to embrace the tragic nature of GenTan.

a checkered haori by DragonsAndCryptids, 2k

(Post-Swordsmith Village Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Scents & Smells, Pre-Relationship, Fluff)

After the confrontation with Sanemi, Genya steals Tanjiro's haori because he likes the way it smells and it helps calm him down.

He doesn't want to address why that is, but when Tanjiro finds out, he doesn't give him much of a choice.

Tanjirou being Genya’s weak point, we all love it.

All Bark, No Bite by Rigmaroler, 92k

(Witch Tanjiro, Werewolf Genya, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Worldbuilding, Fluff, Action/Adventure, Sharing a Bed)

When Tanjirou first sees the wolf, he only has one thought in his head. He sees it under the light of the moon, just bright enough for the wet blood in its dark gray pelt to shine. Its teeth are bared, white, sharp and long as each of Tanjirou’s fingers. Its growl is a low bass rumble that Tanjirou can practically feel in his bones, rattling his spine. Its muzzle is stained red with blood, and marred with a jagged scar that cuts through its dense fur.

Or: Tanjirou is a witch's apprentice with a bad habit of bringing home strays. Genya is a young man who's been called a monster so many times, he's started to believe it.

Genya letting himself to be loved, Tanjirou learning that he can also want things for himself. Just beautiful.

The hidden stairs (Red velvet flicker) by Wild_Quetzal, 4k

(Alternate Universe - Vampire, Horror, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, vampire!Shinazugawa Genya, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers)

A couple of minutes later, Tanjirou is left in his chambers. The place is big and empty. Despite the cold temperature, Tanjirou pays it no mind. He presses his ear against the heavy wooden door, then he sniffs it. Nothing seems out of place. He’s truly alone.

What the old lady who gave him instructions told him echoes in his mind: “That man is no Count. He’s a thief.”

Tanjirou arrives at the castle looking for answers. His host will only give him more questions. What is Genya hiding?

Yes, it’s the self-promo part. We had werewolf Genya and now we have vampire Genya in some very gothic and dramatic romance.

#again please check out more of all these authors’ works!#I can’t recommend them enough!#gentan #genya shinazugawa #tanjirou kamado #genya x tanjirou #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny fic #fanfic rec #fic rec #fanfic reccomendation #kny

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argikiya · 1 year ago

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Bonus/Special/Extra chapters of some of my favorite books/series.

As most of my favorite series or books are getting a lot of bonus chapters but most of the time they are only available in certain special editions which is a true menace and impossible to get hands-on globally, I'm making a guide for the chapters as I've found a lot of helpful Tumblr users/readers already posted them in the internet. So I'll collect them, make a thorough list, and keep editing them if any new material is released. Feel free to comment if you want to add anything or let me know about any other series. I'm keeping the list under the cut to avoid spoilers for those who want to avoid them.

Red, White and Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston

The henry's pov chapter from the new Red White And Royal Blue collector's edition. - set after the incidents in the book

The Folk Of The Air Trilogy - Holly Black

The Cruel Prince Barnes & Noble exclusive short story - A Visit to the Impossible Lands

Some deleted scenes from TCP (AU)

Deleted scenes of The Wicked King from Barnes & Noble exclusive edition

Cardan's letter from Queen of Nothing -(read after finishing the series)

Deleted scene of The Queen of Nothing from Holly Black's newsletter.

Walmart exclusive The Stolen Heir chapters.

The Stolen Heir Barnes & Noble bonus content.

There are also additional Folk of The Air contents and a more detailed list - click here

Legendborn Series - Tracy Deonn

Selwyn's pov chapter and Bloodmarked excerpt - to read after the first book

The Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater

A Very Declan Christmas - Holiday Drabble

300 Fox way Holiday Piece - written as part of an event

A Minor Raven Boys Holiday Drabble -click here

Book #4.5 - Opal

The Secret Sanghai Universe - Chloe Gong

This one could be a little confusing as it is a really long universe containing two separate but interconnected series. So I'm making the list according to the timeline of the book's contents are in (not based on the timeline they were published/released) which list Chloe Gong once shared in her Instagram stories and also available on her website. (Check out her list for more detailed, less-confusing blurb on the contents of each bonus content and their timeline)

A RomaJuliette Christmas Special

The Benedikt & Marshall bonus - Barnes & Noble Exclusive Our Violent Ends Edition

The semi AU romajuliette + benmars fic - click here

Roma's Letters - Barnes & Noble exclusive These Vioent Delights.

Book 1 - These Violent Delights (Post TVD contents ↓)

5. Roma Gets a New Mug

Book 2 - Our Violent Ends

6. The Priest and The Shepherd (Set before Foul Lady Fortune but better if read after reading FLF)

Book 3 - Foul Lady Fortune

Book 3.5 - Last Violent Call

Book 4 - Foul Hearts Huntsman (Post FHH content ↓)

7. In True Delights - The Epilogue of all epilogues

Once Upon A Broken Heart - Stephanie Garber

The three different special edition epilogues of A Curse For True Love

The first epilogue

The second epilogue

The third Epilogue

Simon Snow Trilogy - Rainbow Rowell

My Rosebud Boy A Simon and Baz AU - Rainbow Rowell

This short story was written as a bonus for people who ordered Scattered Showers from the Bookworm in Omaha, Nebraska. It's an alternate universe story about Simon Snow and Baz Pitch, characters from Rainbow's Simon Snow Trilogy. It was printed by the author in a brochure format.

for everyone who's missing out on this cute little gem here is the google drive link - I found it from the tumblr comment section where a generous fan shared the link. Thank you.

All pic credit @pinterest

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sometimes-love-is-enough · 5 months ago

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Every time you talk about giving yourself writing challenges, I think about how it would be fun to have a 'handicap bingo'- where you get a random writing 'handicap' like not being able to say any character's name, and have to write a full story with it. Idk. I think it would be fun

Min's Writing Challenge

Rules: Roll a d20, accept your fate, write a fic of your choosing and follow your fate to the letter. (Creative workarounds encouraged.)

Roll twice; you have to use both. If you roll another 1, the extra challenges compound accordingly.

Pick a single letter, A-Z. You're not allowed to use it for the entire fic. (Bonus challenge: E.)

Every sentence must be under ten words long. (Bonus challenge: five words.)

Pick a poetry/lyric style (sonnet, terza rima, ballad, etc). The whole fic must be written in that form. (Bonus challenge: keep it still obviously a normal fic, with appropriate tropes and narrative conventions.)

You must write in future tense.

You must write in first-person POV.

You must write in second-person POV.

Take your least favorite fanon concept/trope, and make it into something you want to write. (Bonus challenge: play the trope entirely straight - no subversions! - and make it enjoyable anyway.)

No character names allowed. (Bonus challenge: no dialogue tags either; you can't use descriptive phrases like 'the man in the prince costume' to work around it.)

No dialogue allowed. (Bonus challenge: no internal monologues allowed, either.)

Dialogue only - playscripts encouraged.

Epistolary fic - only letters, emails, notes, etc.

Write an AU, but the alternative universe is a profession!AU that you know nothing about. (Bonus challenge: no research allowed.)

Unreliable narrator. (Bonus challenge: the narrator is good at being unreliable, to the point that they might legitimately fool a reader.)

Whatever fic concept you have, you can only write the very ending of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to use any exposition to explain how you got to that point.)

Write any AU of your choosing, but you must choose at least one major canonverse event/plot point and adapt it accordingly to your setting of choice. (Bonus challenge: Make the canonverse event and AU of choice absurdly incompatible.)

Must start in medias res, with a 'yep, that's me. Bet you're wondering how I got into this situation!' moment. (Bonus challenge: Don't plan what the in medias res situation is before you write it. Force yourself to resolve whatever bullshit you come up with on the spot. I've definitely never done this in my life, ever.)

You must write in outsider OC POV - no canon characters allowed. (Bonus challenge: No Sanders Shorts/related characters allowed.)

Pick a fairy tale, fable, or myth. The fic must be a retelling or reinterpretation of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to reread or reference any version of it while you're writing - from memory only!)

Dealer's choice - pick from any of the above.

Good luck.

#god help you if you nat-one a ten AND eleven #asks #writing challenges #obviously targeted for sanders sides fandom but if anyone else stumbles upon it - go wild

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redjayson · 1 month ago

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“Shh, Shizun, it’s alright,” Luo Bingge says, voice lilting in a singsong manner. Shen Qingqiu can’t look away from his red, red eyes. He blinks, and they aren’t eyes at all, but feathers, perched on a mound of coiled, shifting vines that are dotted with white thorns dyed their own bright red from Shen Qingqiu’s blood. “Go to sleep, Shizun,” the black-and-red bird sings, coaxing. “Go to sleep,” Luo Bingge repeats, as he flickers back into being.

or: Shen Qingqiu is attacked by a monster that drops him into a dream of a perfect world--with Luo Binghe featuring front and center.

chapters four and five of fall for your reflection are up! with that, the fic is finally complete! I'm working on some extras (alternate POVs, to fill in some of the gaps left by following Shen Qingqiu's POV so closely), but it will still be a bit before those come out. hope everyone enjoys the (26k) conclusion to this fic!

#fic: fall for your reflection (drown in a dream)#ignis fatuus agelaius #my fic #svsss

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whoyacallinyellow · 7 months ago

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Could you do an alternative version of borrowed time but it's a happy ending? Like they meet again maybe a couple of months or years later and idk it's super fluffy (idk I loved ur Javier fic it made me cry so hard)

Borrowed Time II (.5)

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: RDR1-2 events Content: 18+ mdni, high honor Javier, fluff, loyalty, canon typical events & violence, possible spelling mistakes, some google translated Spanish, (slight angst? sry couldn't help myself) Type: second pov (wc - 3195) / pc: my PS5 a/n: here's my mediocre yapping, anon! I believe someone suggested this to me before, so here we are :) (btw I took some writing inspo from my spotify playlist.)

Summary: Javier is left with nothing after the gang's demise. Enticed with returning to Mexico, he finds redemption within his loyalty to you.

After being chased out of Beaver Hollow by the law, Javier found himself alone with Williamson. Somewhere in the sticks of northern Ambarino, where the risk of a grizzly finding them was higher than any lawman.

Laying low and listening to Bill squaller on about Dutch for a month was about all he could stomach, Javier reckoned he liked Bill a lot more when he didn’t talk.

As each day came to a close, one could guess where Javier’s mind wandered too. His bitter thoughts permeated on losing everything. Money, the gang, and you— Hell, the man didn’t know what to do with himself, considering you an extension of himself at this point.

Where were you? Did you make it out okay? Were you hurt?

These were a couple of the many questions that swam in the sea of Javier’s head.

“Are you still thinkin’ ‘bout that woman?”

Bill’s words of disgust were often displaced through his racing thoughts, but he wouldn’t be wrong. You were all Javier had upon entering these foreign lands, now he possessed nothing but the rocks in his boots.

The days would merge and turn into weeks, it didn’t take long for the plan of fleeing south to form in Bill’s lackluster head. Keen on the protection Javier could potentially bargain in Nuevo Paraiso.

Javier knew he was a dead man returning south, under no circumstances was that a can of worms he wanted to open with—Bill Williamson, out of all folk.

Besides, there was no man’s bidding Javier would consider doing to get the leverage Bill desired. But Bill’s ideas soon evolved into frustrated persuasion.

“How do’ya know that woman wasn’t the rat, anyhow?”

Bill would rant about you, the delusions Dutch fed him would resurface, but soon be swallowed back down with the same loyalty Javier once held so close.

“My chica wouldn’t, I’m telling you, cabrón. She’d save your neck just as much mine.”

Perhaps not completely true, Javier’s apathetic statements held no power over Bill, but at least it stopped his ear from being chewed off.

For all Bill was concerned, you were a coward just as much as the rest who left. Especially for plaguing Javier’s mind.

Bill would resort to not just questioning your loyalty to the gang, but your loyalty to Javier all together. The bold claims would make Javier think back to Clemons Point.

After a particularly nasty fight with Dutch, Molly sat on a nearby log as he sharpened his knife. He never knew what to say in situations like that, it was probably best he stayed out of it.

“The way she looks at you…”

The timid words escaped her. Realizing there was no one else around she could have been talking too, he met her stricken gaze which glistened off the moonlight.

“Huh?”

He wondered, caught off guard by the illusive topic. Molly wiped her rosy cheeks before she tenderly spoke.

“I wish I could look at Dutch the same.”

Javier just stared at the tear-stained woman in pity, unsure what to make of her unanticipated words.

That night's shift would give him plenty of time to think about it. Before eventually settling on giving you some extra attention. If it wasn’t obvious enough, he soon learnt that what you two shared was irreplaceable.

There was no doubt to Javier that you loved him, every lead he went on, you’d listen for the horses. Ready to greet him by his hitching post for a kiss, or with small talk that was exclusive to you both.

Javier would often get teased for the love you shared, perhaps some of it branched into jealousy. Not that he minded, the others knew you were off limits.

So it was safe to say that Bill’s claims was one thing Javier didn’t take lightly. With curses spat, and threats thrown, Bill had no other choice but to eat his words.

“Me ‘nd her go way further back than you and I.”

Javier’s irate words would soon remind Bill where he stood— below you.

That was Bill Williamson’s final straw for him to realize their parting was long overdue.

��If you wasn’t a fool, you’d be comin’ with.”

Was the last thing he spat to Javier one cloudy morning, bedroll and guns thrown on his unkempt steed.

You won't be seeing me again.

Javier thought in vain. Watching Bill’s departure in silence, just as he watched yours— except their time was up.

A cruel nightly cycle would leave Javier somewhere beneath the stars. The same night sky you’d lay him down gently in; he wondered if you were looking up at them too— or maybe you don’t think of him much anymore, just to get by.

Dozing off provided no sort of relief, the same thoughts that ate him alive during the day showed no mercy for a night's rest.

The dreams began after Guarma, and have stuck since. Most nights he would wake up confused, drenched in sweat, and frantically reaching for his gun belt only worn hours prior.

Your sweet voice would unknowingly soothe his hurt, all while he dismissed your attempts of rebuilding the bond you once shared. Javier regrets the distance, but he’s not sure if he would ever be ready to talk about Guarma.

Nonetheless, the terrible dreams always persisted, but managed to worsen after you left. They were so convoluted, Javier wasn’t sure which was a worse way to die; a watery grave, or succumbing to torture in a cage.

Other nights, Javier would dream about the day he returned to you at Beaver Hollow, god only knew how long they were gone for.

It was a rather gloomy day, at the end of the camp path was where he found you by your lonesome, as if you’ve been waiting for any sign of the missing men. Javier had seen better days, unshaven, wounded leg, and tattered garments that barely resembled the botched heist clothing he once wore. Javier approached you with a conflicted feeling of dread and relief, unsure of what to expect of you. But to the man’s horror, you crumbled before him.

You were just as much of a mess as he was. A terrible feeling arose from within his ribcage and drifted up, he momentarily thought he was going to black out from the knot building in his throat. An unmanageable feeling in his legs had already begun to brew throughout the day, vibrating and distorting his ears, blocking out your sobs he created. A near breaking point was threatening to consume him— he didn’t even know what day it was, how could he not know?

“You stupid bastard,”

Fallen at his feet, he cradled you soon after his initial shock dissipated.

“I know, I’m here now.”

Javier could barely recognize the hoarseness of his own voice, the words felt foreign to say after being gone for so long. Hopelessness overflowed from within him, and seeped into your frame that he held. All he could do was shield you from the cruel world he created for you both on that barren dirt path.

Your frantic pleas to leave would go unacknowledged, only to be substituted with soft hushes that were swept away in the trees. He couldn’t have just left, he had already sacrificed too much to quit now. Javier always swore Dutch would change your lives for the better.

—

In the recent nights of Macfarlane’s Ranch, life was still.

Javier’s dreams would evolve into a vessel of his old possession. Through bittersweet nostalgia, a buck would galavant by a stream, only to eventually stop and stand in triumph before fleeing into the distance. Those dreams offered Javier both temporary comfort and the humbling desolate nights he needed to return to you.

While staring off into the plains, Bill’s idea would occasionally infatuate him. The uncut ties of Mexico were beckoning, it was only a day's worth of digging in. Javier wasn’t sure he was built out for the vaquero life anymore, but those old chains around his feet would pull him back down.

Javier would eventually decide he wouldn’t watch the west die out, with false hopes of one last score followed by a life of freedom— he figured he already lost what made life rich.

At the ranch, Javier would chat up the yokels, describing you to the best of his abilities. Which usually stumped him— you... well, you were just you. He’s never been apart from you to have to worry about your description— Javier was always there.

Days passed without trace of you, it was probably best he left before the law caught wind of his excessive presence.

It was hopeless, yet he prayed on the North wind that it would him to you.

You could run the fool around in circles looking for your whereabouts. Hell, you could be in Timbuktu by now. Just like the day you left, the same hopelessness would creep upon Javier in those rare moments of disparity.

Those moments would eat him from the inside out, that discomforting pit forming in his stomach was always enough to empty it on the ground.

—

The aimless paths of New Austin was a place where the souls of saddle tramps go.

Into the horizon of the blazing sun was where you sat, under the only tree seen in miles. Your shire grazed in between you and the lonely road, like a black flag it stood in the orange dirt. Not even it could escape the mourning which life embraced.

You are not sure how much time passed you there, perched up under the tree, you’d watch the road. Studying the little silhouettes of cowpokes slowly growing as they approached periodically, all you thought of was Javier. Hope overturned your grudge until they were near.

Some of these men would simply tip their hat as they passed, others would offer you a ride to town, and a few just stared at you; their forlorn eyes scratched at the walls of your soul. As if they were trying to tell you something.

Just as unfortunate as yourself, the nameless victims would soon be swallowed and spit back out by the blazing desert that awaited them.

It wasn’t until a clear morning for Javier to stumble upon that fork in the road, leading to the tree where you sat; seeking the same retreat you did days ago.

Sickeningly poetic; with no such weight on your shoulders, you seemed to have found the freedom Javier had been chasing all these years. Right front of him this entire time in the devoid lands of New Austin.

Usually well groomed, the man showed a five o'clock shadow, earning a more rugged demeanor his months away from the luxuries of camp.

Lost puppy-dog eyes stared your way, being shielded by his bowler cap. The hair you used to run your fingers through was neatly tied back, and draping over his poncho.

“Javier,”

You greeted solemnly, your tranquil gaze greeting the man from where you sat. The thumping began in his ears as he staggered off Boaz, stiffly trying to shake the sudden feeling that your voice gave him.

“hola amor.”

He uttered awkwardly, approaching your newfound paradise underneath the old shady tree.

“I reckoned you’d be in Tahiti by now.”

You remarked bitterly, eyeing your lover from under the brim of your hat. He gripped the front of his gun belt, knuckles turning white and misshapen after all the years of abuse, the same hands that would be placed around your hips as he guided you through a busy town.

Javier let out a rueful huff as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. It flustered him to be antagonized in such a low moment of his life, especially by you.

But he simply did not possess the words and feelings begging to be shared with you— there were just too many.

Expecting you to continue, there was a deafening silence.

It was more than just the silence that plagued these western lands, but a sadness that often followed Javier everywhere he roamed, you could see it in his smile.

The lands gave Javier a place to duck under his doubts and troubles for a time, like a buck stuck beneath the bottom wire.

“It’s over,”

Javier’s voice came out as a whisper, thumb and finger caressing over the stubble on his chin.

A conclusion which needed no further words, you understood.

He never imagined it not meaning anything, but yet his brothers were reduced to the barrel he pointed.

Small shines of orange bathed through the wilting leaves which provided your gracious shade. As you contemplated his words, a soft breeze accompanied the both of you.

Finally arising to meet his frame, he towered over you slightly— lost along the way but finally found,

you were no longer his partner in crime, nor a part of the Van der Linde gang— but just his chica he met all those years ago in Old Mexico, before the world was big.

Javier knew he couldn’t make up for your lost time together, but for now, being with you would do.

Without a word his arms wrapped around you and trailed down to the small of your back, the smell of rolled tobacco leeched off his poncho, a smell you’ve grown fond of over the years. As his cheek rested on the crown of your head, a different kind of silence was shared.

“Oh Javi,”

Your voice now both sorrowful and tender, it was impossible to hold a grudge against the warm honeypot eyes that yearned for you.

“lo sé,”

Javier murmured softly, giving into the relief that a calmer life brought.

Behind where you rested revealed a testament the tree possessed. A bald spot in the maple-colored wood had bark torn away, faded letters with sap-filled groves were carved by previous visitors of the solitude tree:

‘blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’

Javier united your lips with a long awaited kiss, your cheeks softly being caressed by his thumbs. To him, it was like falling for you all over again. But this time, he wanted to do everything right.

“Figured the law got you.”

You mumbled one of your many worries after the man pulled away. Javier scrunched up his nose, cringing at your doubts.

“Course not, nunca.”

Eventually bidding your farewell to the tree, you joined Javier at Boaz’s saddlebags for what seemed to be a celebratory smoke.

“They were hangin’ around that ranch, it’s not safe.”

You proclaimed, even the west had reminded you that a quiet cabin life was unrealistic. He hummed against the tobacco in between his lips, considering your words.

“Where does that leave us?”

Javier asked through an exhale. His sharp eyes squinted under the sun, staring at you in devotion.

For the first time in a year, you made that choice together.

With possessions on your shire and the both of you on Boaz, was where Javier liked you best. Feeling your heartbeat on his back always reminded him of Mexico, yet you were his home.

While riding, your hands would instinctively grasp Javier’s gun belt. Marking both the leather and his heart throughout the years you spent together.

Later that day Javier’s buck would graze upon the open fields you crossed, only to scamper off once your horses made way. Its coat bright and shining off the sinking sun, he swore it’s the biggest one he’s ever seen.

Expecting a comment, Javier thought maybe you dozed off, or perhaps he accidentally sipped his flask instead of his canteen.

Aways up north yielded reassurance and prosperity, the man decided that tonight he would sleep instead of keeping watch, an unusual gesture he knew you both needed.

Far away from the lands you once both resided, a comfortable wilderness separated you and any dangers— Maybe tomorrow night he would keep watch, but tonight, he just needed you.

Javier’s shaking hands prepped a small flame, and smoothed out the creases of your bedroll that night. The same hands that would work a revolver effortlessly, and confidently beat in the faces of men in a moment's notice.

but for you? they trembled.

Fingers that had been busted more times than you could count were now fumbling through every button of your shirt, leaving a trail of his lips where his hands once touched.

Nonetheless satisfied with these tasks, the crinkles beside his eyes would reflect off the flame as he flashed you a content smile.

The fire crackled within your cozy makeshift camp, its orange flame lighting up Javier’s torso just enough to highlight the tones and scars on his chest.

Javier was used to catching you staring, never failing to tease you about it. A mere husky chuckle and verbal warning would remind you of his diminutive willpower when it came to you.

Joining you beneath the blankets, his body radiated with the warmth you craved. With a protective arm easing you towards him, your skin colliding with his was enough to wash all his hardships away.

Your lips ghosted down his neck, causing a loose sigh to escape his lips. Javier cooed words of endearment, unsure if he deserved your regained affection.

You felt him tense around you as your lips traveled down to his adam’s apple and the large horizontal scar that covered it.

“lo siento,”

He muttered softly, finally getting the long awaited words out— It was for a lot of things, that scar was just one of them.

His breath hitched and ran down your bare skin, your torso being consumed by his restless large hands. Only you reminded Javier of his scars, usually in a way of gratification, having earned them throughout your time together.

But that healed slit along his throat brought the man waves of embarrassment, Javier was thankful for your love nonetheless, and you for his loyalty.

With belated love and words begging to be said, Javier knew his lips had a lot of catching up to do. But tonight you both needed rest.

As if it was tradition, he ensured you found your peace first, maybe it solaced the man knowing you were safe within his arms.

Gusts of winds whistled through the trees, causing them to sing a song made just for the two of you. His coarse hands ran down your sides before settling at your waist, once again basking in what he could have lost.

Up yonder was where the starry night sky shined just for him to see you. The constellations washed away his most honorable sins, and extended the borrowed time you both had been lent years ago.

The blanket you shared was pulled over your shoulder, ensuring your undisturbed rest. Javier’s gentle lips ghosted over your cheek for just one more kiss goodnight.

You were long asleep, closely tucked within the arms of the man you called home. Yearning to chase the relief your shared nights provided, Javier’s eyes grew heavy. Through a gentle state of somnolent, his prideful buck accompanied him in the meadow it frolicked.

Whispered words slipped into the night and greeted his slumber.

“te amo.”

#rdr2 headcanons #javier escuella #x reader #javier escuella x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #high honor #red dead redemption fandom #this was supposed to be longer but i cut it out to make it flow better #not sure if i like it but i had fun writing #javier is my fav to write i think #save me javier save me :(

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