#and it takes forever just to get half decent

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Hank

I'm eating a bag of mormon gorp that tastes like gasoline while watching the rain run down the mountain. The taste doesn't even bother me anymore - all homemade gorp tastes like this. It's just a natural consequence of everyone keeping their prepper shit in their garages. 

My dad's out in the clearing, wandering around with his GPS. He's got some pieces of wire out on top of it to try and make the effective antennae bigger, but it just makes it look like he's dowsing. Another mormon tradition. I ask him if he's close to find water yet, and he looks up at me, little rivers flowing off him, and says yeah - he can feel it. 

I'm sure he can. I settle under my tree and watch the droplets roll down the needles. Awaiting the final judgement of Judge GPS. 

A few minutes later, it provides: 

Turns out my dad forgot to record the location of the car this morning. The GPS remembers where we parked yesterday, but by luck my dad knows how to get from there to our car. Downside is that it's a nine mile walk just to get to yesterday's position, then another five miles to backtrack. That's fourteen miles total. 

I'm only thirteen. 

Think you can make it? my dad asks. And it's a kindness that he's worried, but it's not like there's an alternative. What else would I do, sit down in the murk and cross my fingers he finds me again? Ask him to carry me 14 miles? 

I'll be pretty jelly legged, I say. But yeah. I'll make it. 

Attaboy, he says. He fishes a bag of poptarts out and offers me one as - I think - a peace offering. A, sorry you're gonna have to walk 14 miles in the rain because I goofed kind of gift. 

I take a bite and, despite being individually wrapped, it still manages to taste like diesel fumes. We start hiking our incredibly long distance in terrible weather for foolish reasons, and I joke to my dad that the only way to make this day any more mormon would be by pushing handcarts. 

He laughs. Neither of us laugh again until 11 pm, when we stumble like drunkards into camp. My grandpa has stayed up late to make sure we weren’t lost, but he only stays up long enough to see us arrive. We try to eat a dinner of sweet potato stew, but after falling asleep in the middle twice, we agree to just go to bed. 

I sleep in well past nine and wake up to nobody in camp but my grandpa. My dad left with my sister to keep hunting around 5 am. I know that everyone assumes that their dad is invincible when they're 13, but I'm 28 now and part of me still thinks he's gonna live forever. That God made exactly one perpetual motion machine, and it raised me in the desert. 

---

Around noon my grandpa suggests hunting again. If it was my dad, I'd probably tune him out, but I like my grandpa's style of hunting. My dad hikes and hikes and hikes until the elk get tired and just let him shoot them. My grandpa finds the sleepiest, sunniest, coziest field and takes a nap there, figuring if the elk have any decent taste they'll come there at some point.

Man's got a knack for knowing what elk like - he's right more often than not. I think he might've been an elk in a previous life. 

I go with him, and much as I hate to admit it, the hike is good for me. I start off walking like a pirate on two peg legs, so stiff I might as well not have knees, but by the end of the mile and a half walk I'm almost normal. We make it to the edge of the clearing, and my grandpa finds a patch of grass taller and softer than the beds inside the trailer, and he curls up to sleep there. I look across the grass and I watch the comings of goings of critters through the field. Sometimes I use the scope to get a magnified view, but I never do so with my hand on the trigger. The thought of accidentally looking a person through that glass is something that sends a chill up my spine. 

Some deer wander through the glen, but it'd take a fool to mistake one of them for an elk. A few hours later, my grandpa wakes up and asks if I want to wander around a little. It's a lovely day. Rain comes in bursts in Arizona, and the day after is almost always clear as can be. And for a short while, all the desert browns turn green and lush. Hard mosses turn squishy and cacti swell up like fresh baked muffins and for a while you can get why people settled in these god forsaken wastes. 

So I go with him, and we walk on, me with my gun, him just taking in the forest. He looks so peaceful that I get a little jealous, but it's not until my grandpa stops and looks at me that I even notice it myself. Takes a mirror, sometimes, to know yourself.

Being near my grandpa is always a strange thing for me. He's quiet, and he doesn't talk much, and I don't ever get the feeling that he's particularly emotionally intelligent - but it's like he's interacting with a reality more raw and real than mine. Like I'm watching symbols on a screen and he's counting atoms. And sometimes, just being near him gives me access to that raw matter. Just something about how he is breaks the illusions of the world.

He looks at the gun like a foreign object, like he doesn't recognize it, then he looks at me. He speaks and he doesn't mince words. 

What would you do if an elk came across the path and you shot it right now? he asks. 

Well, I'd start cleaning it, I say, and he waves the words away like cobwebs in his face. 

But would you celebrate? he presses.

And I look at him, and I don't actually see any judgement staring back. He knows the answer, and he's at peace with it. He’s asking so I can see it too. He’s being a mirror so I can see my own face.

I think I might actually cry, I admit. And he nods along in agreement before reaching forward to take the gun off my shoulder. 

Lets just walk today, he says. No chance of killing anything. No worrying about that. 

Right, I say. 

He pops the chamber open and tosses me back my bullet. I catch it, and the relief I feel is palpable. 

Can I change my mind? I ask, and he shrugs.

Whenever you want. Hunt or don’t. It’s not the hunting that I’m worried about. It’s seeing you ignore your conscience.

And for a moment, I'm there in the real world with him, and my gloves are off, and reality is a metal cube in my hand: Sharp and cold and heavy.

Or maybe that’s just the bullet.

---

We make it back to camp a bit later than my dad. We get there and he’s waiting for us. If he's tired, he doesn't show it. 

How'd it go? he asks. My grandpa looks at me, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to explain it, and I am scared. 

Great, he replies. It's a shame Babs only has a doe tag. We saw a five-point out there. Close enough to hit with a football. 

No, my dad says. If his grin was a half inch wider, both ends of his mouth would meet in the back of his head and everything above his tongue would slide off.

Tell him Babs, grandpa says. And, not for the first time, and especially not the last, I try my hand at spinning a yarn. 

It's pretty good. But at 13, I still have a lot to learn.

[saltlickmp3]

this is a post saying wOW LED ZEPPELIN ARE SO FRICKEN GOOD

because i have just remembered this fact

& led zeppelin III is the best one and you know I'm right it's way better than their fourth

[quirkle2]

first amv be nicies to me about it or else

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[guinevereslancelot]

applied to a bunch of jobs! 😅🙏

[zincbot]

misfits and magic has me smiling like you wouldn't believe. i'm enjoying myself so so so much

[recareels]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ what they’re like during sex (aka how they fuck!)

anonymous asked: how do you think sunday and aventurine are during sex?

characters: aventurine, sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, rough sex, marking, overstimulation, consensual noncon, dacryphilia, implied blood, implied degradation words: 1k

⋆₊˚⊹♡ aventurine

aventurine is sadistic 97% of the time. aventurine needs to constantly push things to the extreme, to the very edge of a perilous cliff, in order to feel anything at all. as such, i think he has pretty hard kinks (cnc, heavy degradation + dumbification, marking/branding, impact play, bondage play, power dynamics but never total power exchange (he wants some fight in you or else it’s boring), dacryphilia, intoxicated sex/intoxication, exhibitionism in very risky locations). his cursed luck enables him to get sex easily and quickly, so simple vanilla romps just don’t do it for him. there’s no thrill, no spark, no fun, especially if the person is faceless, nameless, and thrown away the next day. 

soft sex isn’t impossible with him but it is extremely rare, and you’d have to 1. be someone incredibly close and trusted to him, and 2. catch him at the right time, in the right mood (which is to say, he’d need to be really fucking upset, and be seeking solace or comfort in the form of flesh and pleasure). if you do manage to meet those two conditions, then consider yourself very lucky—you’re seeing a side of him that no one is ever allowed to see: small, vulnerable, weak. in a way, aventurine’s soft sex is more real, more raw. it’s honest; it’s hurtful. it isn’t exactly gentle, but it is slow and a stark contrast to his usual style of fucking, with all of it’s bites and bruises and blood. his breath is shattered, exhaled across your skin in shaky shards—half-stifled gasps that he tries to swallow against, nearly choking in the process; raspy moans that snag on sobs, stuttering painfully in his chest. 

when he gets like this, he needs to fuck you in some form of missionary, needs to see your face and feel your breath, needs to crush his lips to yours as his eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the corners to pool along the seams of your conjoined mouths. he ruts into you in an unhurried but steady tempo, each thrust deep and drawn out, almost as if he’s taking a moment to memorize you—the trembling of your flesh when his hips collide with your ass, the fluttering of your hole around his shaft. when he cums on these nights, it isn’t brutal and frenzied the way it normally is, with jackhammering hips and snarled words; it’s with his cock buried in your body, head pressed flush to your aching cervix, hips gyrating in small, tight circles, grinding his cum into your sensitive flesh. it’s almost as if he’s attempting to burrow into you, to find a safe space, carve out a home for himself, and stay there forever. 

aventurine is also extremely loud and extremely vocal. his dirty talk is impeccable, and his tone ranges from sugary sweet condescension, gooey words oozing from his lips like slow, silky syrup, to sharp and vicious, razored insults spit from his mouth as if they had sliced his tongue, hurled at you like daggers. his moans are clear and resonant, and he can get a little whiny when he’s close. he definitely has a penchant for sucking in air through his teeth in a harsh hiss (often chased by a deranged chuckle)—when he first sinks into your hole, tight and unprepared; when you bite him back twice as hard and pierce his skin; when you rip out a chunk of his hair, golden strands wound tightly in your fisted knuckles; when you land a good kick or a decent punch; when he finally pumps your womb full of thick cum. 

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday

sunday has range when it comes to his style of fucking; sometimes he can be soft, sweet, slow and sensual, rolling his hips with unhurried conviction and ensuring that his cockhead is gliding over your g-spot every single time. he murmurs out praises, tells you how pretty you are, how perfect you are, how precious you are when you sob while taking his cock, pace never faltering—a smooth, strong rhythm he keeps flawlessly as his tongue unfurls from his mouth to drag up your salty cheek in wide thorough strokes, consuming up your tears, then planting chaste kisses in their place. he breathes out encouragements, says you’re doing so well for him, promises you that you can take it for just a little bit longer for him, swears you can cum all over his cock once or twice more for him—he knows you can, and he’s going to show you, just like a good master would.

other times he’s fucking merciless, downright relentless, cock pounding hard and fast as he snarls out condemnations, fingers sinking into the flesh of your arms, your waist, your neck, your wrists and snapping vessels beneath their grip, leaving a smattering of five fingerprint-shaped blotches of violet to pool under the surface, or a ring of grotesque purple seared into your skin. his teeth are latching onto the back of your neck like he’s some sort of rabid animal, strong jaw flexing, burrowing ivory into your flesh until the skin splits and floods his mouth with pungent copper. this type of fucking usually occurs when he decides one of you is in need of an emotional stress relief, or when you’ve been ‘bad’ and are in dire need of punishment. 

in either instance, sunday will often fuck you well past the point of coherency, positive that you haven’t been fucked nearly enough until you’re unable to hold your own body up, bones melted and muscles heavy; until you need his help to do literally anything; until you can only drool out his name and his title, sweet lil brain gone stupid from pleasure turned pain, or vice-versa. he’s an absolute god at aftercare, and finds a deep amount of self-satisfaction in the act, never failing to end a session with meticulous care, irregardless of how vigorous or vicious he was. it is unfathomably important to him to wipe you down and patch you up and make you all better again, tenderly humming out sweet nothings all the while. 

in terms of noises, sunday emits mostly quiet little moans and breathy little haah whimpers when he’s sensual, and muted grunts and growls when he’s really fucking you harsh and rough—strained sounds that vibrate in his chest or claw at his throat with each ruthless slam of his hips, shoved back down by his tightly pressed lips.

[hyomaslut]

──★ ˙🍆 ̟ !! casual conversation between friends. 18+!

☆⌒(ゝ。∂).ᐟ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ ʙʟʟᴋ ʙᴏʏs ғᴏʀ ɴᴜᴅᴇs ᴘᴛ. 𝟷

✿ ─ characters: isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma, reo mikage ✿ ─ cw: smau!, extremely suggestive/borderline smut, aged-up!characters, college!AU, gn!reader, no pronouns, unestablished relationships/mutual pining, use of foul language, descriptions of genitalia, suggestive themes, you and chigiri are talking about npc college drama, proofread??? ✿ ─ notes: honestly the smau aspect was so hard cuz im a perfectionist and wanted read reciets and everything. all the apps for them suck. i managed :))) and i rlly hope you guys like it :)) feedback appreciated. i put chigiri's at the end cuz its so long. part 2 is here!!!!

ISAGI YOICHI...

your fingers fly across the keyboard to tell him that yes, you were very serious. isagi literally jumps out of bed to go shower and everything. he has been crushing on you since forever and god knows he’s not blowing this chance you’ve given him by sending a shitty picture. you get an image attachment 20 minutes later, yoichi standing in front of his foggy bathroom mirror, the phone in his hand covering half of his face. he’s barely out of the shower, hair dripping wet and towel hanging extremely loose around his hips. his other hand sits at the base of his dick, acting as both a size comparison and a way to draw your attention to it. it’s obviously of decent length as far as you could tell, but the girth. you cant even pretend your mouth doesn’t start watering at the sight.

ITOSHI RIN...

you don’t have time to feel all that bummed about it though, because within a few minutes you’re shocked to get a picture from rin, the camera facing downwards towards his legs. nothing would be all that out of the ordinary if it weren’t the obvious tent in his shorts. the fabric around his crotch looks stretched by his hard dick fighting against the confines of his soccer uniform. it’s not exactly what you asked for, but you can’t find it in you to complain, because it’s way more than you actually expected to get. your mind starts racing. he’s hard from just a few suggestive texts? that means one of two things. either he really is a virgin like you thought he’d be, and the littlest of acts gets him riled up. or he’s just that into you. both of those possibilities sounded like fun. and the idea of those possibilities made you greedy. enough to push your luck.

MIKAGE REO...

two pictures come in quickly and you laugh at the idea of him rushing to take these for you. he sends the first one, taken standing in front of the full length mirror in his boxers, dragging down the waist band of them so you can see the first few inches of his shaft, phone in front of his face. he’s perfectly clean shaven, zooming in closer, maybe he waxes it? you can’t help but be impressed by his attention to detail. it’s so reo that it makes you smile. second one is sitting down in some fancy looking suede armchair, underwear gone, cock in one hand while the other splays over the bottom half of his face, poorly covering the wide self-satisfied smirk. you assumed he set up his phone with a timer considering he wasn’t holding it. as you stare at it, the initial evaluating that everyone does when they receive a dick pic fades away, and you feel heat creep up your face. reo was really hot, and just this once you figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell him you thought so.

CHIGIRI HYOMA...

you get through the stressful minutes waiting for his response by chewing on your nails. maybe you really just fucked it all up. but then, to your surprise, a photo loads in. its hyoma sitting on his bed in front of his mirror, his fingers buried in his hair to push it out of his face in possibly the sexiest way you’ve ever seen. his other hand holds his phone, his pretty face in full view with his gaze locked on the screen. your eyes can’t help but travel down to the only part of your crush you haven’t seen. and boy was it worth the wait. his dick curves up towards his abs and its a lot bigger than you expected. long and a perfectly pink tip. you bite your lip at the thought of it stretching you out, and then feel slightly guilty for thinking of him that way, as if you haven’t done it plenty of times during your so-called dry spell. if the whole soccer thing doesn’t work out, you’re sure he could be a pin up model. or maybe a greek god.

hyoma's got long again ;-; mb,,, but can you blame me??? i want to do a part two with at least nagi and bachira, but idk who else i want to include. open to suggestions ♡

© 2023 hyomaslut. please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content onto any other sites.

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

–based on this blurb PART TWO HERE

– wrote this with 5 hours of sleep, not proofread because i'm lazy so i apologize in advance for the mistakes or if its shitty :3 wasn't actually going to write this but i couldn't stop thinking about it sooo

it was 3pm on a thursday, you were sat in your history class bored out of your mind. it was your last class of the week and it had only half an hour left but with the way your professor was droning on and on about god knows what, you couldn't wait to get out of here fast enough. 

you had a live scheduled in two hours, as well. you needed enough time to rest and freshen up before you turn your camera on. you did live cams anonymously on some sketchy website just to get by, a cam girl if you will. you grew up in a strict religious household so you've never thought you'd end up doing this but desperate times call for desperate measures, it was an easy way out of your financial problems. plus, if you were careful enough no one would have to find out. its not like you were going to do this forever, only until you graduate and find a job with a decent pay. by then, your account will be deleted and forgotten about, as if it never existed in the first place. 

your mindless scribbling was interrupted when your professor called your name. "l/n, zweig"

your head snapped up to the front and then to patrick zweig who sat two rows infront of you. 

"your presentation will be a week from now, your topic will be on the reconstruction. i expect you'll do a thorough research." 

you quickly wrote down the details as your professor dismissed the class, students rushing to get out of the room while you stayed behind to gather your things. before you knew it, patrick stood infront of you. his backpack slinging over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. 

you didn't know patrick zweig, you knew of him. a great, cocky tennis player who was supposed to go pro after juniors but his friends, art and tashi, convinced him to accept his standford offer. so he'll have something to fall back on if things don't go to plan. 

you've heard people talk about him, how he's reckless in his plays yet he keeps winning. how he doesn't do anything in class yet he keeps passing. you had to stop yourself from sighing in front of him, is he going to make you do everything? 

"y/n, right?" you've never heard him talk before, atleast not anywhere near you so you were surprised that his voice sounded ... attractive. you took this time to actually look at him, he wore a plain white shirt and denim jeans, which isn't much but he made it look so good. his face was slightly scruffy, his nose statuesque and his pink lips was pulled into a slight smirk. you had no idea why his appearance made your heart beat faster than normal. 

the two of you discussed when to meet, deciding to do the work in your dorm every other day during his free time. so now, on friday evening, you were sat on your desk working on the outline for your project as you wait for him to arrive. 

not long after, there was a knock on your door and patrick entered in his tennis attire, carrying his equipment. "a single room?" he asked with his eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of your room. the white walls adorned with tapestry and posters, your bed covered in a pink bedding and your desk was cluttered with your study materials. 

"i got lucky" you sat on your chair as he settled on your bed, laying on his back in exhaustion. there was something familiar about your room, he just couldn't put his finger on it. has he been here before? did the two of you hook up and he had just forgotten about it? or maybe it's because most dorms look the same, it's probably just similar to tashi's. he put the thought on the back of his mind as you started to discuss your project with him. 

it went surprisingly well the first day, although patrick was stubborn, he knew he couldn't just skip on this project because he'll end up having to do it alone so he decided doing it with you now was the better option. the next day, he got too comfortable that he's so easily distracted. you started bribing him with his own pack of cigarettes, taking it from his hands and putting it under your thigh as the two of you sat across from each other on your bed. 

it was a little difficult to work with him, considering he's not so good at studying but it was fun, you had fun with him. he made jokes that you tried to keep a straight face on but end up laughing so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. he keeps trying to flirt with you too, which just ends up with you scowling at him and slapping his arm. 

and as soon as he left, you turned your camera on and positioned yourself on your bed. normally, you would only strip and massage your body, never going as far as playing with yourself in front of your viewers. but this time, you couldn't stop thinking about patrick. how big his hands were compared to you, you imagined it wrapped around your wrist, or holding your waist, or choking you. the thought making you squeeze your thighs together. you made soft noises as your massaged your breasts, imagining what it would feel like to feel his hands cupping you. you felt yourself get wet as you pressed your fingers against the fabric of your panties.

tonight's live felt a bit more sensual, it was almost difficult to stop yourself from getting carried away but you needed to be careful. so after an hour, you turned the camera off and placed your laptop under your bed. as soon as you lay back, your hand found its way inside your white, lacy panties. you shiver as the pad of your pointer finger brushed against your sensitive clit, feeling the slick against your skin as your press against your cunt. 

you spent the next hour touching yourself to the thought of patrick using your body, feeling his lips against your skin, lapping up the juices leaking out of you. the sounds you were making were too pornographic that you had to place your hand over your mouth. your fingers covered in your juices as you desperately fucked yourself. it felt like a pretty sight to see that you almost regretted turning your camera off. 

you wanted someone to see you, you wanted him to see what he was doing to you. 

the next time he came over, he had just come straight from tennis practice. his skin was slightly moist with sweat and he wore shorts that rode up his legs when he sat on your bed. you couldn't focus on anything but his thighs. 

“you feeling alright? you're looking kinda red, zoning out too” you blushed, feeling like he just caught you red handed. 

you nod, “yeah, it's just a little hot” 

he smirked, telling you to take your shirt off if it's that hot, he wouldn't mind it at all. you rolled your eyes at his suggestion, turning your attention back to your laptop. you were tempted to do it, it took you everything in your body not to. even with your choice of work, you still had a little bit of self respect and discipline left. 

that night, you ended up touching yourself on camera for the first time. making yourself cum infront of your viewers while they had no idea you were thinking of patrick, again. having your lips on his skin, straddling his lap and feeling his bulge press against your clothed cunt, his hands on your breasts as you bounce on his cock. you made the highest amount of money you've ever made since you've started. but you made sure to tell them it was a one time thing. 

the next evening, was the day before your presentation. patrick was on his way over so the two of you can practice and prepare yourself for tomorrow. 

you bumped into him on your way to the communal bathroom, telling him to go right ahead. 

patrick entered your room, dropping his equipment by the door as usual. instead of laying in your bed like he always does, he sat on your chair. leaning back with his arms crossed as he observed the trinkets on your desk and the photos pinned on the corkboard. 

a few minutes later, you walked in and sat on your bed, facing him. he turned around in your chair to ask you something about the photos but the sight of you on your bed left him dumbfounded. the realization of why your room looks familiar finally came to him, the only reason it took him so long was because the only way he's ever seen it was through the camera, facing the exact direction he's looking at right now. 

you were the anonymous cam girl he had been jerking off to after your sessions, you were the girl he had just sent a hundred dollars to the night before. 

[leah-lover]

Drive to survive. Leah Williamson x F1!reader

Who is going to replace Lewis Hamilton? This question has taken the f1 media by storm for a whole season. Some believed it would be Andrea Kimi Antonelli, while others hoped for Max Verstappen, or Carlos sainz. However none of them expected you. A woman would join F1 in one  of the most decorated cars in recent years. A woman would take the seat of the legendary Lewis Hamilton. 

The support was significant but the pushback was overwhelming. Many people applauded you for entering a male dominated field. They went on saying how much of a role model you were to young women, how you would change the f1 world forever, bring in new fans , and make f1 a more equal place in real life not just on paper. The other drivers welcomed you with open arms in their interaction with you or in  the way they talked about you most importantly lewis. 

As a result of your new found fame you were asked to join events and panels talking about women's sport or women in sports. Throughout your pre-season you were fully booked from training to preseason testing to the media event. 

The only time you ever thought about something other than how radical what you are doing is or what you were going to do next was when you saw a particularly stunning person. 

A tall blonde woman with a great mind you took a glimpse through when she answered the questions she was asked in the BBC panel you were on. She was educated, beautiful, well mannered, beautiful, very good with her words, and very very beautiful. 

You answered your questions to the best of your ability, took some pictures and headed towards the green room. When you came in you looked at the table and saw snacks and one lone mini chocolate bar. As you extended your hand to grab, you were met by another one going for it too. You extracted your hand quickly and looked at the eventual winner of the mini chocolate bar. It was her, the blond beauty that goes by Leah Williamson. 

“ Uhmm sorry. Here, take it.” Said the smiling young woman. 

“ No it's fine, you go ahead, I shouldn't anyway. It's pre-season.” You responded.

“ We can split it then. I am sure half of a mini bar isn't going to hurt.” She added. 

You two then split the bar. “ I am Leah Williamson.” She said as she extended her hand. You told her your name and shook her hand. 

“ You were very good there. Very good answers.” You complimented Leah. 

“ You too.” She said shyly. 

“ Do you want to get out of here?” You ask. 

“ Does that line work on everyone you meet?” 

You laugh nervously. “ No. I don't use it much. Uhmm, I am hungry and I want a buddy to go get food with.” 

“ I am sorry, I have to go to another press conference. But maybe someday soon.” 

You hand her your phone so that she can save her number in. When you look at the name she saved her number as “ arsenal's number 6.” Which gave you a glimpse of her sense of humor. 

Your season started a short while after you two started to date. You clicked instantly and one might say it was love at first sight since it only took 6 dates over 2 weeks for you to reveal that you two loved each other. 

You both  understood that your careers were busy, her with arsenal's and the lionesses and you with traveling around the world and driving your fast car. 

The start of your season was expectedly slow. You were decent throughout the qualifiers.  You started at p6 in Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Australia, all the way through china. You were a little overwhelmed by all the media attention and scrutiny. But by round 8 you scored your first p4 which you interchanged by p5. 

You were very excited for your home race on Silverstone. You were excited by the presence of your friends and family, and most importantly your girlfriend. While other lionesses were invited in my McLaren you insisted on Leah being in the Mercedes garage with you. 

Knowing your girlfriend was going to watch you for the first time, knowing she was there for you and only you, gave you more motivation than you ever hoped for. You got in your car for qualifying ready to impress. As soon as you left the garage, you pushed the car to the limit which gave you your first ever pole position in F1. You were ecstatic and the team was happy for you too. 

Race day was crazy, you couldn't see your girlfriend because you had to prepare yourself for what probably was going to be a rainy race. 

The track was dry and empty in front of you. You were in pole, you just had to keep your position. As soon as the light turned green you pushed as fast as you could. Your team informed you of a few crashes behind you and an angry Max Verstappen in a red bull. The red bull team expressed their concerns about foul play in my result in qualifiers which led max to have an alleged grudge. You didn't think much of it, you just focused on staying in p1. 

“ Careful Max is being reckless trying to overtake you “ said one of your guys on the radio. You couldn't let fear creep in after all your girlfriend was watching. She to whom you promised the win. 

You went on denying him every opportunity to overtake and in time the race was just about you and Max going head to head with all the others being a full lap behind. You kept thinking of Leah and the sex you two would have after the win and how proud she would be of you. That was what gave you the edge over him .

You two changed tires at the same time. While Mercedes was faster, Red Bull was fast too. You speeded out of the box, felt a shock wave throughout the entire car. You didn't register what happened quickly. Your brain went silent then you said some words to yourself.

“ Silverstone, Leah, pole, win, box, max.” You thought. The car was getting hot, and you were getting light headed. You heard a voice through your ear but you couldn't register what they said. 

A few seconds passed before you saw an ambulance, you heard sirens and saw white foamy gas. The kind of gas they used for fires. 

“ Fires, I crashed, the car is on fire.” You thought again and quickly tried to get out of the car. 

You wanted to get up but couldn't. You were dizzy. You were going to die. 

[louisferrignojr]

actually tommy lives on the top floor of a duplex. he's been renting it for years, and the landlady is a sweet old woman who lives alone on the lower floor and is charging him like, 2005 market rates. he's thought about buying his own place, especially after transferring to harbor, something closer to his new workplace, but he's grown attached to the place itself and his landlady. they've developed a good relationship over the years and she does remind him of his late grandmother.

tommy takes care of odd jobs here and there, both in his own place and hers, saves her the hassle and cost of calling a plumber to fix a minor leak that only needs some pipe thread tape, cleans the gutters, drives her places if his work schedules allows. and she doesn't care if he wants to paint the walls or renovate the bathroom to put in a rain shower.

as she gets older tommy starts telling her to get herself a home health aide, offers to help her with the paperwork, but she refuses, insists she can handle herself just fine, thank you very much. tommy tells her "i'm not gonna live here forever, you know, i won't be around to help you, and then who's gonna look after you?" because he's been saving up to buy his own place and after a decade he's got a decent amount saved for a down payment, and alice tells him, "well, get on with it, boy, what are you waiting for? houses aren't getting any cheaper, you realise that?"

evan is so excited to meet her finally, he has no idea what he's in for because she gives him a stern look and asks him half a dozen questions and tommy has to interject and tell her to stop grilling his boyfriend, and alice raises an eyebrow and says, "i will when he puts a ring on your finger," and evan is stammering, scrambling for something to say, and tommy keeps his cool, says, "who's to say i'm not gonna put a ring on his finger?" and evan turns to look at him with that same awestruck expression like when tommy first kissed him, and then his face splits into a grin and it takes everything in him for tommy not to pull him in for a kiss.

alice rolls her eyes like, "oh, i don't know what the rules are with you boys. but i'll be expecting a hand-delivered invite to the wedding, you hear me?" and she sends them off, out the door, tells them to have a good time on their date and behave.

eventually, tommy goes around to her place one day for tea and lemon cake, and offers to buy the property from her, and alice gives him a look and says, "you know, that would save me a lot of hassle actually," and tells him to hurry up and get married and start adopting because she wants to meet her future grandkids before her time is up and tommy gets to his feet and hugs her so tight and when she pats his back and tells him, "oh honey, it's okay," tommy starts full on weeping.

[hangup119]

don't get the deal | h. taesan (TEASER)

being the shoulder to cry on is no easy task - especially not for han taesan, who has lived almost half of his life painfully smitten over someone he is confident would never, ever think of wanting him as more than just a friend. he wonders if he will ever get out of this so-called "friend zone," or maybe he just doesn't get the deal at all.

pairing. han taesan x fem. reader

genres + warnings. friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, one-sided pining, eventual happy ending, slight angst + profanity, taesan is bad at feelings, reader is even worse

playlist. don't get the deal by beabadoobee; but i like you by boy next door; somethin' stupid by frank sinatra; about a girl by nirvana; disasterology by pierce the veil; if i'm james dean, you're audrey hepburn by sleeping with sirens

expected word count. 7k-10k words | teaser word count. 1.3k words

author's note. hey goisss... ive had this in the drafts for so so long but for some reason i started working on it again and im nearing the end so hopefully this will be out very soon !!! dont quote me on that tho live laugh love user hangup119's work ethic <3 ALSO btw this teaser is like a flashback kinda thing but the real story actually takes place in their college days

@onedoornet | reblogs appreciated!

IT WAS HIGH SCHOOL WHEN YOU RUINED TAESAN'S LIFE FOREVER.

To be more specific, it was during your last year of high school when he realized that there was simply no way he was ever going to win you over. Not now, and certainly not ever.

Because here’s the thing: Taesan was not a bad-looking guy, he’s far from it, actually. In fact, he had enough business cards from agency recruiters that could fit a whole shoe box, so his looks clearly were never the problem here. Was it his personality, then? Probably not that, either. He was pretty chill most of the time, and he had never really acted up around anyone unless it truly called for it. He always made sure that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself around you, and there were never really incidents that could have painted him in a bad light in your eyes. He had decent grades, so he wasn’t stupid either, which was one of your major turn-offs. And he was sporty—he participated in the school’s soccer team, and he even had a bunch of fans giggling over him whenever he so much as passed them by while chasing after the ball, so his popularity was pretty decent too.

Was he simply not… your type? But that couldn’t be—you were always making heart eyes at Park Sunghoon who was two grades above, and he was told all the time that he was basically a lookalike of the guy! Not to mention you were always at Jung Sungchan’s games, cheering his name even when the guy was literally being benched. Taesan never got benched. He was the star player of his soccer team. You fawned over Park Wonbin when he performed at the school’s talent show, but Taesan could also sing and play the electric guitar just as well. You squealed over Lee Sohee because he was sooo cute! but Taesan knew how to get real fucking adorable, too! He practically had all of their qualities combined into one, and not once did you ever look back at him. 

And that’s when it hit him. 

It was prom that night, and he was off at the corner drinking from a cup of water instead of jumping along with the fray and bouncing up and down to some Drake song when his friend, Kim Leehan, approached him. 

“I’m not slow-dancing with you, Leehan,” he muttered, taking another sip of his bland water. “Piss off.”

Leehan raised his arms in response, smiling in a way that was just so Leehan-like of him. “Woah, woah, I get it. Someone pissed in your cup, or something? Literally and figuratively,” he laughed, leaning against the wall next to him. “Lighten up for once, ‘san. It’s your first and last prom, you know?” 

Taesan only grunted in return. 

“Look at you; so emo tonight,” Leehan said, defeated. He followed the other’s gaze towards the dance floor, where everyone is packed together like a can of sardines. “But you’re always so normal around Y/N.” 

Taesan paused.

Leehan laughed again. “Hm, maybe not?” 

Sometimes, it was both a blessing and a curse to be friends with someone like Kim Leehan. 

“Stop talking about things you already know,” Taesan murmured, chucking the water cup into the trash can a few meters away. He placed his hands inside his pockets, looking straight ahead amidst the dizzying lights and the dispersed crowd now that a slow song started playing.

“Why don’t you go ask her for a dance?” Leehan suggested, signaling towards the dance floor. 

“She’s literally holding hands with Yang Jungwon right now,” Taesan deadpanned. “Are you kidding me? How’d she get him of all people as her prom date?” 

Scoring the smartest and the most popular student in your school has got to be the biggest flex of your high school career. Taesan had almost no complaints except for the fact that Yang Jungwon was your date instead of—him! Any moment now and he’d be losing his mind. Actually, scratch that, he probably already was. 

Leehan hummed. 

“Do you think,” he began, slowly, darting his line of sight between you who’s giggling at something Yang Jungwon said, before turning back to Taesan, the angstiest kid he’s ever known. “That, maybe, if you had just asked her out to prom with you… then maybe she’d have said yes?” 

Finally, the gears inside Taesan’s head started to turn. Leehan smiled at the sight.

Taesan quickly scoffed. “No way,” he denied, crossing his arms. “Why would she go with me when she’s got Yang Jungwon as her date? It’d only happen in my dreams.” 

He figured it out anyway. It wasn’t because he wasn’t as handsome as Park Sunghoon, or as sporty as Jung Sungchan, or as musically talented as Park Wonbin (though he’d beg to differ), or as cute as Lee Sohee. Heck, it wasn’t even because he wasn’t as smart or as popular as Yang Jungwon. 

Maybe it was never because of those things that made you look at them instead of him. 

Maybe you were just never interested in him at all. 

And Taesan will have no other choice but to live with that fact forever. 

Leehan’s smile dropped, and he peeled himself away from the wall. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped for a second just to say: “You’re so—stubborn.” 

Taesan looked at him indignantly. “...What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Leehan shrugged, finally walking away. “You tell me, dude.” 

And then he was gone, rushing off to join the rest of their friends while Taesan stayed in the back, alone and miserable all because of his newfound epiphany. Though he supposed he was already miserable the moment you entered the venue with Yang Jungwon right beside you. 

It was a time of new beginnings for Taesan; a time to finally move on from you. 

Though, if only it was that easy.

Two weeks later, when you were working on a final project with him, you unexpectedly dropped the news that you and Jungwon have broken up. Because Jungwon was going to some Ivy League, and you were decidedly… not. You couldn’t handle the thought of being long-distance, so you decided to just cut things off with him since it can’t be helped, you know? And then you proceeded to laugh it off with that huge, idiotic smile of yours before continuing on with the project. Taesan didn’t know what was so funny.

Eventually, he had to share his water with you when you started sobbing hysterically inside of the library, hiccuping and all. 

He admittedly felt awful seeing you cry over Yang Jungwon, your high school boyfriend of probably only two months, but most importantly, he felt awful because of the relief that suddenly washed over him. 

…And what did that make Taesan?

So, really, maybe it was for the better that you would never look at Taesan the way he wished you would. That no matter how many times he has lent you an ear to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, you never bothered to stop for a moment and think that hey, maybe this guy likes me to some capacity, and maybe I should give him a chance. Because what kind of friend is he to feel relieved at the fact that you had gotten dumped by your boyfriend? That when your heart was broken, he could only rejoice at the fact that he now has a higher chance of getting with you once again even when it is so clear that he never once did? 

How could he sit next to you and think such thoughts? 

And yet, even when you keep jumping from one person to another, falling for someone, crying over another—Taesan will always be there for you when it all comes crashing down. A friend to cheer you on, to lift you up, to steady you—because that’s all he’ll ever be to you. 

Han Taesan was only seventeen years old when you ruined his life. 

And for what it is worth, he is still in love with you.

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[seokgyuu]

The Sweetest Thing - Teaser

All your life you’ve been your sisters’ punching bag. Never good enough. Never fully accepted. When your mother makes one of them choose you as her maid of honor you reluctantly agree. Semi-vacationing in Tuscany with your ‘beloved’ family, you meet two handsome strangers one night and let them do whatever they want with you. Too bad you didn’t ask for their names first.

Pairing: Heeseung x F!Reader x Sunghoon 

Genre: Strangers to ???, Porn with Plot

Warnings: CHEATING!!! reader is hooking up with her sisters’ fiancés, sisters are horrible and suck, mentions of past verbal abuse, reader is somewhat a pervert (she defo is), heeseung & sunghoon definitely are perverts, heeseung & sunghoon are mean, they have nothing good to say about their fiancés, alcohol consumption, adult content MDNI! smut warnings will be in actual fic

Word Count: 5.7k (so far)

Release Date: August 8th

Taglist: @skzenhalove, @haelahoops, @deobitifull, @shiningnono, @jakeswifez, @slut4hee @gyuhanniescarat , @branchrkive @doublebunv , @capri-cuntz, @jaehyuniewifeu, @whateverhoon, @c-oupsie you can be added by replying to this post or sending me an ask <3 there must be an age indicator in your blog since this is a nsfw fic! 

Something about the Italian sky seems different. Maybe it’s because you’re not close to a big city, but the stars shine brighter than you’ve ever seen them. It feels like a movie; the stars and moon so visible with no cloud in sight, the small street of Arezzo you’re currently sitting in - a small restaurant with a small menu but a nice older man that speaks decent English. A glass of wine standing on the small table beside you and the first bit of peace you’ve felt in days. 

It’s when you take your next sip of wine you see them. 

Two men straight out of a magazine walking towards one of the free tables next to yours and sitting down. There is nothing you can do but stare. Both of them have dark hair, one of them a bit shorter than the other. They are dressed elegantly, designer shoes and pants, blazers hanging over their chairs. Even if you wanted to - you could not possibly say which one was more attractive. 

What a nice way to end a horrible day, you think. Smiling, you finish your glass and immediately order the next, not entirely used to drinking so much, but not caring since you are miles away from home and no one here knows you anyway. The waiter nods and then proceeds to go over to the newcomers. The one with the slightly lighter hair and the mole on his nose orders in perfect Italian, with just enough of an accent for you to know they aren’t from here. Your choice of table appears to be perfect for watching them, listening to them converse in a language you understand. 

And it all stays innocent like this - they talk about their flight and about friends - until suddenly the conversation sways.

“I honestly- fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, you know?” The one with shorter hair says and his friend sighs, taking his wine glass and finishing it in one go. Impressive. There was at least half left in yours. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. We committed and now we’re fucked.”

“Just that we aren’t getting actually fucked.”

They look at each other before they laugh, shaking their heads. Meanwhile, your ears perk up. 

“Fuck, I really don’t know the last time she let me hit it, Hoon. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Yeah, same here. Like, yeah, we fucked once the day before her flight. But literally only missionary and she didn’t suck me off.”

“Again? Dude, is she ever even putting her mouth on it?” 

“Nope. Ever since we got engaged she’s like this fucking prude. Is yours like that too?”

“Yeah. I got her flowers and her favorite chocolates and she still wouldn’t even jack me off, like fuck, if it’s gonna be like this forever I can just go cut my dick off.”

Jesus. These two seem to be in very happy relationships. Makes you almost feel better to not be in one. Even if your mother would beg to differ. She’s been desperate for you to find a match for ages. For whatever reason, really, considering her two golden girls were about to get married to rich and handsome heirs. 

“Just one good blowjob, man, that’s all I want, really. I miss getting some good fucking head.”

The way short hair looks at mole - with so much understanding and pity, you can’t help but chuckle. Chuckle loud enough for them to take notice. 

Their gazes burn on your face before you even see them. But when you do your smile dies and instead makes room for horror. They heard you laugh at them. Even worse, they know you’ve been listening. Shit. 

Thankfully, you are three glasses of delicious white wine in and the fourth one is almost empty. Which means you aren’t the sweet little wallflower you’d usually be. Scary, how alcohol can change people.

“Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped.” You apologize, placing your hand over your heart. 

“Agreed.” Short hair says, his eyebrow raised. Now, with both of their eyes on you, it seems like they are even more attractive. Perfect faces with pretty eyes and soft looking hair. Handsome men in unhappy relationships that fail to give them what they need. It’s almost comical how the switch in your head turns over, how the persona you normally never let anyone see until you’re in a secluded space comes out and gives you the courage to speak your next words.

“I just couldn’t believe my ears,” you let your finger glide over the rim of your glass, eyes on the two men with your tongue slipping out to lick over your bottom lip, “how anyone would be opposed to having sex with you.” 

Oh.

Sunghoon and Heeseung’s ears perk up just like yours did earlier. Eyes widen slightly as they understand the innuendo in your words. 

They think about the same thing - the last time they took a girl together. Probably during senior year in college. Back then, they used to do that regularly. Having almost the identical type in women. Instead of having to let her choose, she’d get them both. 

But it’s been years since then. They are in committed relationships now, about to get married. And still - neither of them can deny that you fall right into their usual prey, or well, the prey they’d chosen back in college before their parents had picked out their wives for them. 

It’s the way you look at them, the way your eyes say so much more than your words. It is also the way both of them feel like they are 22 again with nothing but getting their dick wet on their minds. One thing about Heeseung and Sunghoon - they always worked perfectly in a pair. Back in college and now, too. They can almost read each other’s minds at this point, only a short exchange of looks needed to know neither of them gave a single fuck about anything right now.

“Want to sit down with us?” Sunghoon asks and points at the free chair opposite them. You smile. 

“It’d be my pleasure.”

header credit @wongyuseokie <3

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part iii: at your best you were magic

(this one has length, you guys, but the boys needed so much RESOLUTION 🥺)

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤❤️

<<< part two // start at the beginning

Eddie kind of expects to be clocked hovering outside the window, or by the rattle of his van. He kinda expects to be left standing on the porch.

His heart’s fucking pounding, and he’s halfway to shivering because he didn’t wear a decent coat, because no one’s there anymore to bully him into being a little more aware of taking care of himself and he…he kinda feels like he did when he was running for his life, when they found him in Rick’s boathouse, he’s maybe gonna hyperventilate and wouldn’t that be a pretty fucking picture, pass out from lack of oxygen, or die flat-out, heart giving out on the steps of the man he loves, that he loves and that he wasn’t good enough to keep and—

“Oh.”

It doesn’t even matter how flat it comes out: Eddie’s breath catches just to hear that voice, holy fuck.

“Steve.”

He can’t even keep the word in, that single name in his chest knocked clean to launch from his lips, and Steve…

Steve looks rough. Drawn, kinda pale but in that exhausted washed out way where he’s not just blanched for his skin tone but in a way that makes the saturation of his whole self seem washed out and sallow. He’s got more stubble than he normally allows, much as Eddie has enjoyed the hell out of that gorgeous scruff now and again—he knows Steve only lets it get that way when they fuck too many hours in a row to want to get out of bed and properly plan to leave, or of he’s sick, or anxious, or…

Not good.

Eddie thinks it’s probably the generally not-good thing that’s to blame, here.

And yet somehow he’s still the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen in his whole fucking life. No contest.

God, Eddie’s so fucking gone on him. All he wants is to reach, and pull him close, and keep all the sour things from his heart. All Eddie wants is to fucking…love him. For the rest of his goddamn life.

“I,” Eddie’s voice comes out raw, sandpaper rubbing to bleed; he would have wanted better, Steve deserved him to be better no matter what they were, what they weren’t, what they’d never be or maybe could be—but Eddie knows he’s weak as a rule, and here and now he breaks clean open, heart cleaving straight down the middle to bleed free because…

Fuck: Eddie had been hurting for being without Steve, but he’d underestimated just how much seeing him, breathing his air again would undo him. The sheer relief down to his cells, just to know in his bones that Steve was in the world. He’d been less than a shell, he’d been only half-floating through the world on his own for the way he’d healed himself around the give and take of Steve and to know it again, even just at arm’s length, feels like breaking water for the first time after drowning, but then it every single atom of him had been diminished on its own, then started vibrating again all at once after a fucking age spent stopped-dead.

“What are you doing here?”

Of all the things Eddie could hate out of the situation he’s standing in—outside of anything and everything that surrounds the fact of Steve, all that is Steve because that could never be hated at all—but of all the things to hate, the worst is maybe how flat Steve’s tone is. And worse?

How Eddie can’t read him. How, how did Eddie…

How did Eddie lose that?

“I,” Eddie moves his mouth, lips stretching awkward around the sound, and he’s adrift, man, he’s fucking loose ends with no hope of ever tying together, ever tethering to anything but the man in front of him, he believes that in his soul: with anyone else, anywhere but here, and Eddie would still just have this collection of stray threads of what it means to be himself, just reaching for Steve fucking Harrington forever and for always, holy fuck, and—

“I’m,” he grasps as best he can at the straws of what it means to form a thought, but all of what he comes up with is insufficient, rehashes the same core sentiment: I’m less of a person when I’m not with you, I’m scared by what that means but I’m more scared by what it means not to have you, I’m most scared by how hollow your eyes look and how dry your hair is at the ends because I pay attention where maybe almost everyone else has been letting that slide under the radar, I’m so fucking in love with you I think they could cut me open and only find you inside, I’m yours and I will be yours long after I’m more soil than corpse in the fucking ground, I’m—

“Jesus,” Steve huffs, and something in Eddie’s chest perks up at the bitchy little tone he throws put as he seems to give up on whatever was letting him stand in the doorway as he throws the door open and backs up into the hall, waving Eddie’s direction with too much resignation: “get in here, you’re gonna get frostbite, man.”

And maybe there’s a plummeting in Eddie’s gut at the tone but…he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He also doesn’t need to experience the thickness of the tension that descends immediately between them once the door clicks closed, suffocating, burning in his lungs.

“Hey,” the word gets punched out of him, not least because Eddie’s a little afraid that he won’t be able to draw another breath to get anything further said.

“Hey.”

And Eddie still can’t fucking read him, and holy shit, does it sting.

“Steve,” he only just manages not to moan but then—

“Why are you here?”

And it’s so…toneless. Kinda curt. So blunt and somehow Eddie feels it more like a spike, a fucking harpoon through his sternum that drags bloody against his heart with every goddamn beat.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips; “Dustin, he was—”

“Oh,” Steve sighs a little, bitter at the edges and Eddie’s just grateful that it’s something; “he send you?”

And Eddie doesn’t expect to feel it like a slap to his fucking face like this but: fuck if he doesn’t. Fuck if that’s not exactly what it is.

“No one sent me,” Eddie’s fucking quick to correct that because Dustin may have begged him, but Eddie thinks his heart’s been ready to scramble to Steve’s doorstep and maybe just fucking grovel and promise to try and be whatever about him made Steve happy to begin with, or not be whatever put Steve off of him and they could be happy again, maybe, and Eddie’s chest could feel less in a vise all the goddamn time.

“He, uh,” and Eddie stumbles a little around giving context when all Steve does is raise a doubtful brow at his denial that he’s here primarily because of anyone but himself.

“He said some stuff that,” Eddie swallows hard, works his throat around a lot of half-formed things he doesn’t think he can quite get out before he ultimately just rasps:

“I got worried.”

“Nice of you,” Steve laughs a little save there’s no humor, sniffs a little and it’d read haughty if you didn’t know what to look for, if you couldn’t tell that Steve’s eyes are stretched too wide, and shine a little too bright and his hand’s twitching to rise to the bridge of his nose and pinch which only ever means—

“Not necessary though.”

And it’s so hollow, it’s just…it’s filled with so much nothing, those words, that voice, that it’s an anguish all on its own, and fuck, but how Eddie’s voice breaks on the next words that he doesn’t even give conscious consent to even come out at all:

“You’re supposed to be happy, Stevie.”

He feels the way his lashes stick as he blinks too fast, his heart hurting because Steve looks like he’s in fucking pain and why are they both in pain—

But Steve’s expression is all scrunched up, and he’s frowning, fucking baffled at Eddie from across the space, so small, cramped to the wall next to the closed front door but as good as a continent, an ocean stretched between for how Eddie’s can feel his heat, can’t reach, and then Steve’s squinting and near snapping:

“What?”

And it’s said so sharp but then weirdly without the bite in its anding, like he’s too worn down, too drained somehow to manage it, or even really want to. Eddie..

Eddie isn’t sure he wants to keep learning just how many times, how many ways a heart can fucking break.

“I,” Eddie’s throat’s dry as shit and he cannot possibly care because his heart’s pounding in a way he doesn’t know he’s felt before, because it’s all wrong, isn’t it, it’s all so fucking wrong; “whatever I was doing that was bringing you down,” he shakes his head, desperate as he leans forward to Steve as far as he dares, closer but not close enough, never close enough:

“If I’m gone, you’re supposed to be happy and it’s like,” Eddie groans, and maybe it’s more of a whine really, fuck it all, that fits, that fucking makes sense because; “you didn’t want me here anymore, so I—”

“I never said I didn’t want you here.”

Eddie startles, heart in his throat again and hammering, violent and hellbent as Steve cuts him off, voice bowstring-taut where it cuts through the mounted tension, but does nothing to diminish it in the process; does nothing to ease the way it makes Eddie’s pulse work harder, desperate to fight the weight of it.

“I have never once wanted you to be anywhere but here,” and Steve’s voice is fucking…pained and just, just: how?

“Stevie,” Eddie pleads, because he doesn’t fucking understand; “you flinched when I touched you,” and Steve does it just then, the slightest bit; Eddie’s chest clenches just at the echo of it.

“You moved away from my mouth when I tried to kiss you,” and oh, how that had hurt, how that had withered things in Eddie’s ribs that never died long, just regrew to be burned back because Eddie didn’t know how not to love Steve, didn’t want to know such an unthinkable thing: but good fucking god, if it didn’t start to hurt worse than dying when Steve stopped wanting him—and Eddie was okay with it not being love, for Steve, with it being too much or maybe too soon but he’d…

He’d believed what they had was something beautiful; he’d clung maybe foolishly to the possibility of…maybe Steve someday growing into love with him.

And then he’d pulled back; then he’d spurned Eddie’s affection with his body, he didn’t even have to say it, it was sown in his skin, he…

“That’s not tru—” Steve starts, tone tight as he tries to defend but: no. No, Eddie hadn’t fucking created his own heartbreak from whole cloth, without reason.

“You turned, repeatedly,” Eddie hates that it comes out as accusatory as it does, but he…he wasn’t fucking imagining it, he hadn’t been because you can’t make up that kind of knife in your chest, you can’t.

“You tried to make it look like a coincidence. But when you keep getting your mouth on the man you lo—” and Eddie, he chokes it back as much as it wants to come out, to be spoken and known even if it’s not returned, never returned because it’s not going away, it’s never going away, but he, he—

He can’t. Not…not now.

“When you keep getting your mouth on your guy’s cheek and not his lips, damn,” Eddie’s breathing shudders; “you fuckin’ notice.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his gaze has shifted to the ground. Eddie…doesn’t know if he should take that as permission to keep going. He doesn’t even know if he wants to keep going in the first place.

His heartbeat’s still a torrent, though, and he…he doesn’t know if he could stop the words that come next if he tried.

“You stayed on your side of the bed all curled up, like you,” Eddie swallows hard, because what he’s about to say out loud fucking hurts to put into words; goddamn—because he thinks it’s true:

“You made yourself small to not be near me.”

Steve’s shoulders shift, then, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring at the floor.

“You won’t even look at me when all your plans to avoid me go wrong and we actually miraculously end up in the same place because of the kids,” Eddie keeps going because he’s opened the floodgates, he’s let the feeling in him sneak through and it was too fucking big, it tore off the dams he tried to put in place to hold it all at bay; “if you can’t get away quick enough, every time I almost catch your eyes you look like you’re in pain,” and he looks like it now, he looks like he’s just made of hurting: “you jump like you got burnt.”

Steve’s next inhale is a sharp gasp of a thing. Eddie tries very hard not to feel something like victory to get somereaction from him.

He fails miserably.

“Robin hisses at me when I see her,” Eddie keeps on, because he wasn’t lying, the gates have been obliterated, there are no guardrails left for the way his heart’s such a mess and it’s spilling onto everything, into everything; “and I’m convinced she’s basically your subconscious manifest when it comes to who she turns her venom on,” and even Eddie would have missed it if he hadn’t been fixated unwavering on Steve in all of his glory, now: those lips don’t quirk, exactly, but they move the slightest bit.

Eddie, again, didn’t really think that his heart could learn to break in any more ways, but: here he is.

“You didn’t pick up the phone—” he damn near fucking moans because it hurts, it still hurts, it might always hurt—

“You didn’t leave a message.”

Steve’s volley is clipped, a not-so-subtle indictment, gaze flicking upward when he speaks and Eddie’s caught in those sad fucking eyes so swift and complete, it feels like all that he is might be forfeit in their hold.

He’s okay with that, though. He’s been okay with that—more than.

It’s when he’s nothing to that gaze, when Steve can’t even bring himself to look, that Eddie starts to crumble.

“The machine isn’t on,” he breathes out, barely a whisper, and Steve just blinks, then looks back at the ground and Eddie…Eddie’s not this strong, y’know? Eddie’s been barely anything for weeks, in so many ways, and he…he can’t just keep holding himself together when all he sees is Steve in pain, when his own pain makes him weak on top of everythingbegs.

“Steve,” he murmurs, nothing short of a plea for fucking mercy, for this man to take pity and maybe just explain a little, help Eddie understand where it all went wrong; “talk to me.”

And Eddie isn’t expecting it when it happens, given the mostly-stoic mask Steve’s perfected to keep him at bay: but when Steve breathes in deep and the motion, the sound of it shatters around something broken like a sob?

Eddie breaks right along with it.

“Jesus,” he half-gasps; “you need to sit down, sweetheart, come on,” because Steve’s shaking, fucking shaking where he stands; “here, I—”

And Eddie reaches, hand fucking trembling as he forces himself to keep enough distance for it to have to be Steve’s choice to touch, because if Steve doesn’t want him, if Steve doesn’t want any of him, ever, then Eddie has to learn that’s what his world is, that’s what his world will always be, no matter how his heart aches with it all and—

Steve steps, leans, and Eddie doesn’t need more assent than that; feels his nerves light up when Steve gives into his touch, doesn’t shy from the way Eddie’s grip tightens on his arms as he walks them slow from the door to the living room, to the couch where he settles Steve carefully near where the throw pillows will cushion him; reins himself in from finding a blanket he knows is in the cabinet hidden by the TV and wrapping Steve up tight in it, keeps himself from sitting next to him too close, stops himself from gathering Steve in his arms, but…he can’t go too far.

He can’t.

“This okay?” Eddie asks gently as he can when he settles down the shortest distance away that he can justify, that he thinks he can get away with; Steve doesn’t stop him, doesn’t react and Eddie’ll fucking take that.

He doesn’t even wholly-consciously put his hand, palm-up, on the cushion between them; certainly doesn’t expect anything but for Steve to scoot further from it once he realizes it’s there, but then—

Then Steve’s hand is landing in Eddie’s, and Eddie…after the shock settles, he fucking folds his grip around Steve so goddamn tight.

And Steve doesn’t fucking flinch away.

“Talk to me, Stevie,” Eddie breathes out, his heart doing wild things for the way it feels to touch that skin again, even so slight, so innocent: it’s everything. “Stevie, please,” and he wasn’t above begging before; with Steve’s hand in his he’s sure as shit not above it, now.

Eddie thinks he’s holding out for nothing, then he scolds himself—he’s not holding out for nothing, he’s got Steve’s hand in his hand, he can feel Steve’s pulse at the wrist and yeah it’s too heavy, it’s too fast and all Eddie ever wanted to was to be the safe place that Steve’s tension could ease into but the proof of life, of Steve, here, with him, is enough, it’s enough and Eddie is a rich man beyond measure, he’s, he is, it’s—

“I’m,” Eddie jumps a little, clings tighter to the palm pressed against his own when that voice scratches low into the space between them, and then starts to bleed feeling deep and unbridled when Steve whispers harsh:

“It was already so fucking hard, before I loved you.”

And Eddie…look.

Eddie’s felt ice run through him before. He’s felt it when he ran terrified from what it meant to face down death. He’s felt it in another dimension as the bat bites stole the life from him. He’s felt it in his room because he’d lost the sun he’d shaped his world to orbit around, to draw life from.

But…Eddie’s not sure he’s felt it take him over quite like it does just now; like it does when he has to ask, because there’s nothing else for it, he has to know and so he has to be the one to invite the ice into all he holds dear and maybe fucking ruin them both when he says it, pushes them past this point of no return:

“What’s hard, Stevie?”

And he waits, again, and tries not to fall for being too greedy, for getting too much when he’s grown horribly accustomed to nothing, and he should just give thanks for the way he can hear Steve breathe, a fucking miracle, a gift; he doesn’t dwell on just how much the idea of Steve answering, of Steve speaking more and telling Eddie what went wrong, where Eddie maybe went wrong—

“Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” is what Steve says, plain like reciting a law of physics, a rule of the universe. “And I wasn’t even in love with you yet.”

Eddie…feels bowled over and a little light-headed. Steve…loved him? He knew he loved him like he loved the Party at large, fought for them all, would stupidly give his whole fucking life for each and every one of them but…this kinda sounds like more, and maybe Eddie’s just got rose-colored glasses over it all, maybe he’s suffocating himself under the veil of wishful thinking—

But then he sobers because: loved. Loved. Maybe it’s just what he’s saying and how he’s saying it, like, incidental.

But it also sounds…past tense. And Eddie’s heart, like; Eddie thinks somehow his heart wails for the idea that he had this singular, precious man, maybe even his singular, precious heart, all this time, but now, now he doesn’t, and—

“I can’t sleep. I’m just…” Steve shudders, and Eddie, he has to just grip harder to Steve’s hand; if he can’t hold to more of him, he has to hold hard to what he’s allowed, what he does have.

“I woke up next to you, the most random morning, nothing out of the ordinary,” Steve says it, voice a little distant, all of it sounding more like a story than anything save for how Eddie can still feel Steve’s rabbit heart under his fingertips.

“And I realized how fucking deep I was in this,” and Steve turns Eddie’s hand a little in his own, spins one of his rings like he used to and Eddie’s breath catches for it because it feels too intimate, it feels too right, like a dream that’ll fade so fast, that’ll decimate him all over again, what’s left of him, in an instant when it’s gone again.

“So fast, I know,” and Steve says it like he has to justify his heart like this, and Eddie’s struck with the stark realization of just how well he must have been able to hide what he thought he’d been broadcasting to the fucking cosmos despite his best efforts not to be too much, or too intense, or too insane.

Not to broadcast to the world the obvious truth that his heart got rewired early to beat in the rhythm that spelled Steve Harrington out in the goddamn stars—but Steve doesn’t seem to have seen it. Or maybe…didn’t believe what it was if he did catch a glimpse.

Fuck.

“And it was never about, like, what if you didn’t feel the same, or weren’t ready, that’s not, I mean,” Steve tosses his head a little, and it’s not just that the concept is already absolutely absurd—how could Eddie know Steve, truly come to know Steve, and be anything but ready to offer all that he is to him in half-a-blink?—but it’s more than that, it’s that Eddie can feel that it’s just going to get worse, that it’s going to be more devastating when Steve finishes that thought—

“I’m used to that, I wasn’t planning on saying anything, at least not yet.”

That. That is more devastating, because how can Steve be used to not being loved with everything, it never fails to break Eddie when it’s pointed out, when he’s reminded that so many people had hurt him, had failed him, and now, now…had Eddie done it too, without ever meaning—

But even more than all of that, fucking selfishly: Steve had been thinking of things in terms of not yet. Of a future, where they had love.

Eddie’s heart’s fucking sick with it, reluctant to pump at all because it just…it just feels pointless.

What had he fucking done?

“It wasn’t something I even planned on having change how I acted, really,” Steve’s continuing on, like the things he’s saying aren’t earth-shattering, soul-torching; “realizing I was like, whole-heart, soul-deep in love with you was…” and Steve just shakes his head and oh, oh but his lips kinda curve, he kinda smiles, and it’s…

It’s full of so much regret, like, a wistful thing in the worst goddamn way, and Eddie doesn’t think he can recover from this. He…doesn’t even know where to start.

“It wasn’t that new, right, it didn’t just happen, the only sudden part was putting it together, like, consciously,” Steve lays out like he’s making a map to try and explain to Eddie how his heart moves, as if Eddie hasn’t been making a study of that singular thing for months, planning to continue it for a lifetime, and apparently still failing to realize so much that he’s missed.

“So it’s not like, I mean…” Steve worries his lower lip; “I’d still treat you the same, y’know? I didn’t have to change. And you didn’t have to know.”

“But,” Eddie can’t hold himself back before his mouth moves before he thinks twice, automatic because; “you…”

The way Steve changed, the way they changed was…that’s the reason for all of it, and if Steve specifically hadn’t—

“Oh don’t worry,” Steve bites, so fucking sarcastic, so dismayed and so…goddamn resigned, unconscionably disgusted:

“I’m fucking well aware.”

And Steve folds in on his himself, and Eddie…Eddie can’t maintain the distance anymore. If Steve doesn’t want it, he’ll move back but he, he needs to be close enough that Steve could fall into him, if he wanted—

It takes less than a heartbeat, and given how Eddie’s pulse is auditioning for the role of a caged bird sobbing, it’s swift: as soon as he’s close enough to think he can feel how Steve’s body moves the air around him just for breathing, never once letting go of Steve’s hand in the process, Steve’s following the slightest pull Eddie gives on that hand, and falling into Eddie’s side.

And fuck if Eddie doesn’t wrap around him the instant he’s pressed against him; if he doesn’t tuck Steve into him and keep him under his arm; doesn’t sink into and relish the way the weight of Steve’s head goes just to the side of his chest, can undoubtedly hear the cacophony inside, and…he just presses harder, nearer.

Eddie might fucking cry.

“Nightmares,” Steve finally croaks, and the way it resonates, the way it hangs foreboding as a horror is thick in Eddie veins. “Like I’ve never had before, not after any of it,” and he shivers, ducks somehow closer into Eddie’s collarbone, like he means to hide and of course Eddie will keep him, will shield him, will protect him from the whole goddamn world. For anything and everything.

For fucking ever.

“I know what your chest feels like without a heartbeat I can find,” Steve turns his face further into Eddie’s chest, will damn well fucking feel the skip of that heartbeat that’d be a trial not to find just now, and oh, oh just: Stevie.

“What your mouth feels like without breath coming out, what your lips feel like cold,” and he sounds so tormented, so wrecked but then beyond that: disassembled and left for carrion, unforgivable—Steve should only be treasured, not taken apart and…discarded.

Eddie…Eddie didn’t discard him, he would never.

So how the fuck did they end up here, like this, where Eddie’s just trying to hold Steve close enough, steady enough that he can staunch all the invisible, undeniable bleeding in him?

“I know what your blood tastes like,” Steve breathes into the notch between his clavicles; “because it was all over when I tried to breathe for you.”

Steve’s mouth’s right there when Eddie’s breath caches, when the whine brews just under his lips where they drag sloppy against Eddie’s shirt, wet on the cotton and so alive, so alive—

“I know how my heart stopped when I thought it had all be for nothing,” Steve whispers there, and then holds where Eddie knows he can feel the pulse; “that I’d failed you, that—”

And Steve shakes his head, and Eddie makes to speak, to tell Steve he could never fail him, not ever, but Steve seems to have broken his own floodgates, now, and he spills:

“But that’s wasn’t new, right, so I wasn’t expecting any of it to shift, y’know? Like, if anything I figured, with love in the mix it’d be more, like, fear of rejection, shit from, just, with all the girls, with Nance, like all that old high school bullshit would be what reared its head,” he laughs, the most tragic sort of agony in the sound where it never should be, where there should only ever be Steve’s joy:

“But nope. Nope, my scrambled goddamn brain decided fuck that, let’s try something else.”

And Eddie can’t seem to get any words out anymore, now, much as he wants to. His mouth’s too dry, throat too tight. He just clings, clings so tight and fucking…prays that Steve can feel in his hold, in his heartbeat, in everything between them here and now, that he loves all of Steve. That all he is, is committed to making sure that Steve doesn’t hurts like this anymore, ever again.

If Steve will let him.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Steve whispers, “I never,” and he shakes his head, smashes his lips over his teeth, jaw tense enough to twitch and Eddie just wants to fix it, just wants to ease all of it and make Steve okay, and somehow make up for how he—despite never meaning to, despite never choosing to be—seems to be the reason Steve’s in such turmoil, such pain.

“I can see how it looked like that, like, I hear what you’re saying and I get it, but,” Steve licks his lips, brow furrowing in the way Eddie loves to smooth but he doesn’t think he can, now, doesn’t think he should and it’s twice the wound just to watch like this: to know it might not be welcome, and to know that Steve may have to hurt here, beyond Eddie’s capacity to soothe, in trying to work through what it is that’s gutting him so harsh.

“When you’d reach for me, sometimes it would jolt me out of the, like, fog of it all,” Steve finally says it, tells him without looking to make eye contact but he’s tracing Eddie’s fingers, now, and it feels…significant; “because it’s the worst when I sleep, when I see all the what-ifs, but when I wake up it always lingers, and I get lost in it all the same, it all hits just a little different from what’s actually happening and then from the dreams, how it was when I’d watched just seconds before, when you’d,” and as much the words dry up in an instant, choked on a swallowed-down sob, Eddie can hear the obvious ringing out as if it was ripped straight from that precious fucking chest, raw and bloody:

When in the dreams, you’d died.

“You in reality was just, so opposite to what everything in my head sticks on?” Steve breathes, less a question than a plea for Eddie to accept what he’s saying, to understand and believe, as if Eddie would, could do anything else; as if the way the sheer truth of it in Steve’s aching tone isn’t soaking into the layers of Eddie’s fucking heart and flaying the pieces apart in real time. “The echos, the, umm,” Steve swallows, and Eddie cannot look away from the way how he swallows stretches the skin of his throat; “the ghosts of the horror shows I get on repeat every time I close my eyes,” he screws his eyes shut, then, like it’s muscle memory, like it’s ordained and unavoidable, to recoil from the magnitude of what haunts him in the night.

“Like, how could you be touching me, when you were…”

Steve lifts their clasped hands to his mouth and Eddie nearly comes apart for how it feels, but then at the very same time he aches for the way Steve’s hand can’t wholly stop trembling, even as he pulls Eddie’s pulsepoint to the swell of his lips where he murmurs:

“How could you be warm?”

Eddie watches, refuses to blink, as Steve holds there, breathes there, nuzzles a little against Eddies wrist and drags his lips there, back and forth and Eddie might fucking die here and now, like this, because it’s perfection, but at the same time, it’s devastation incarnate.

It’s pure fucking pain.

“I didn’t want to make you feel how the,” Steve’s throat clicks for how hard he swallows; “how the things in my head felt. Especially after the first few times,” he shakes his head, and Eddie can taste his own pulse for how hard it beats at the base of his throat; “I couldn’t tell what was real, when you were against me. Because it felt more real then anything, but I’d just watched you,” and again, the unspoken is louder than words themselves could ever be:

But I’d just watched you die.

Eddie wants nothing more than to slice himself open somehow, and gather Steve inside him and hold him closer than close, so that he can know all the reassurance he needs and Eddie can know it too, at the very same time; so they can know each other’s lifeblood as close as their own, because for Eddie, Steve’s is closer, means more than his own: he just wants to gather Steve close and keep him so fucking safe. Keep the whole of him, unwavering.

“It scared the hell out of me, but then the first time I woke you up,” Steve closes his eyes, bites at his lip again.

“You were out of it, I think I scared you, too, and I couldn’t even see everything beautiful about you without seeing,” and Steve’s voice is a harrowing thing, is so fucking gutted out, and Eddie just wants to be…Eddie just needs to go back to that moment, he can’t even remember the moment where he didn’t even know he failed to make Steve feel better, safer, not fucking alone and all he wants is to go back and find that turning point and turn it on its head. Make it right.

But then Steve is gabbing his hand, and lacing their fingers so tight it fucking hurts in the best possible way, before he breathes out a whisper:

“It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, when it actually happened,” and they both know he means the bats, and the blood, and the red lightning sky; “but it’s like my brain got stuck there, like it stopped at the losing and not what came after,” and Steve brings Eddie’s hands up to his lips and less kisses, more buries his face in Eddie’s hands and just breathes before he moans a little around the words left:

“It got stuck, and it just runs from there.”

And if that’s not the simplest line of pure ruinous hurt that Eddie’s ever heard, holy fuck.

“Stevie,” and it’s Eddie who moans around the word, now, because god, his baby’s been aching with all this for…for how long?

“You hold your breath sometimes when we kiss,” Steve says, more incidental on the back of a breath, mostly air around the moving of his lips; “and when my head’s been like this, just, soaked in this, I can’t—”

And, oh.

Oh, Steve’s…Steve’s telling him why. He’s explaining why he, why he did all the…why he turned away, why he pulled back, and oh, oh god—

“Robin doesn’t know all the details,” he pushes on, and Eddie can see how he’s biting down on his tongue fucking hard behind his lips; “I’m sorry she’s been,” he huffs a little, tips his head as he circles his thumb a little against Eddie’s knuckle; “growly at you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie breathes, cupping Steve’s face because he…he needs to, he needs to show him he’s cherished, that Eddie’s heart is his, fucking beats for him and belongs to him and he, he is…

“Baby, don’t be sorry about anything, please don’t be sorry,” Eddie begs because, because fuck: “I’m the one who’s sorry,” and he is, he’s so sorry, he didn’t know but he never wants Steve to hurt and he’s only made Steve hurt harder because he thought he understood and was doing what he could to help and in truth he was doing anything but—

“I couldn’t look at you because my heart hurt,” Steve turns his face into the palm Eddie’s framed against his cheek; “and I know you stepped away because I can’t get my shit together, because I’m losing my fucking mind and,” but he didn’t, he didn’t and he wants to say it but Steve’s barreling on, convinced as fuck and that’s, that’s not okay; “and I know, of course I know that it’s better that you don’t go down with me, I know that. But fuck,” Steve laughs in that terrible, self-sacrificing way that has no idea what he’s worth, what he means:

“I don’t know what hurts more, the dreams or the waking hours when I see you and you aren’t, you don’t feel,” Steve’s words catch again, and he shakes his head into Eddie’s hold, breathes as Eddie strokes his cheek and holds him, just holds him until he can say the rest:

“Losing you like that is worse, but it’s not real,” Steve swallows hard, keeps his eyes clenched shut tight like that’s the only way he can manage to keep going; “losing you like this is better, because you’re still,” and Steve’s fingers find the pulse at his wrist again—because somewhere, it’s still beating:

“But then, it’s the truth, and,” Steve’s voice cracks and god, this man, this beautiful man…

“It just hurts,” Steve says “so goddam much and—”

“That’s not the truth.”

Eddie can’t keep waiting, just to let Steve keep circling this horrific pit of agony, for all the things they both misunderstood, for all the hurting they’ve both breathed through too long.

No more. Steve blinks up at him, and…yeah.

Eddie’s turn, now.

“I am yours,” Eddie pledges like his whole life’s behind it, and in truth: it is. It absolutely is.

“And I feel so fucking much Stevie-baby,” Eddie whispers, because there’s something profound in it, and there’s something magical and beautiful and sacred inside all Eddie feels so much of, and it needs to be revered accordingly as he traces Steve’s cheekbone, the bow of his lips with nothing less than worship. “I didn’t think people were built to love like this. I’ve never seen it. I didn’t know it was a thing to feel at all until now.”

He means it. Steve’s gaping at him a little, marveling a little even, maybe, but it’s not an unbelievable thing. Because this is Eddie Munson’s heart. For Steve Harrington.

This is the only thing.

“And I am sorry,” Eddie exhales all that he has in him to give to an apology because he is sorry, he thinks that sorrymight be seeping out his pores: whatever he did to cause this, whatever extent of a part he played, as much as he never wished or planned to.

He’s fucking sorry.

“I didn’t leave, I just,” he tries to explain, tries to prove somehow that no matter how fucked it all came out to be, he could never leave his Stevie.

“I didn’t leave you, not at all like you’re thinking,” he kisses Steve’s temple, and then draws him close to speak into his skin, like he can press it deep enough for Steve to know without a shred of doubt as he strokes Steve’s hair, tangles his fingers and holds him dear, breathes him in.

“I thought maybe you needed space, but I should have asked,” Eddie laments with a waver in his voice, eyes watering because fuck, fuck:

“I wanted to be what you needed so bad I hurt you on the way,” and isn’t that the fucking kicker? Isn’t that the gut punch, the unbearable truth at the core.

“Then I stayed away, because all signs pointed to it being me,” Eddie murmured into the crown of Steve’s head; “but that was just because I’m scared, because loving you this much is bigger than I can hold sometimes,” and he makes himself pull back so he can meet Steve’s eyes, red-rimmed to match Eddie’s where they’re actively streaming now as he breathes out the truth of his deepest, truest fucking soul:

“You’re the best thing I could ever ask for and I,” and he bends his forehead to Steve’s, breathes there for a handful of beats:

“I didn’t want to push you, and ruin it,” he confesses as the weakness that drove him to cause so much suffering, in only hoping to help. “I didn’t want to lose you, because I’m selfish, and having you taught me a whole new level of what made breathing worthwhile,” and he brings Steve’s hands both to his chest now, presses them tight to the shaky rise and fall, the tremorous hammering underneath as he speaks clear the only truth he really knows:

“Heart and soul I love you, Steve.”

And Steve’s hand on his chest clenches, and Steve’s breathing stumbles, and Eddie loves him.

So goddamn much.

“I didn’t mean to leave you, I would never mean to,” Eddie tells him, shaky and watery with the tears that are still falling; “I thought I was doing what was right,” he huffs, because, nice fucking work on that one, Munson, definitely bet on the winning goddamn horse there, Jesus Christ.

“I never, ever wanted to hurt you, I could never want to hurt you, I’d rather cut my own arm off, my own heart out,” and he turns his head the slightest bit, so he can find skin to kiss how much he means this into:

“I am so fucking sorry.”

Steve chases his mouth and Eddie leans, keeps himself pressed up close to speak straight against him as he gathers Steve’s hands at his chest a little tighter, tries to convey everything he might do with his eyes with the rest of his body now, with the way his voice floods with the heart of him whole:

“Could you ever,” he stammers a little, because he…he doesn’t want to face what it means if the answer to what he’s about to ask is set to break him apart all over again.

But he loves this man, and now that he has what could be a chance—Steve can’t be leaning into his touch, can’t be telling him all of this started because it hurts too much to lose Eddie, with there being no possible chance—but Eddie might have a chance to have Steve back, to keep Steve for always.

Like fuck he’s gonna be a coward at risk losing this again.

“Could you, y’know, like, ever think about giving me a chance to make up for it?” Eddie’s voice is so small, but so earnest, because he will do anything. “To fix it, and prove I’ll never hurt you again if I can help it,” and he will, he will do whatever it takes to prove what his heart and soul knows through to the bottom, bright inside his bones:

“Fuck, I’d break myself in half before I hurt you again, baby,” he promises, vows deeper than anything—

“I don’t want that.”

Steve blinks at him, eyes fucking intense, and Eddie stills, his heart plummeting because…well, of course it was possible, and of course Eddie understands, he hurt Steve in a way he doesn’t know if he can wholly forgive himself for, in a way that’s maybe worse for how Eddie’d tried for anything but, such a gross misstep and he—

“I don’t want you broken,” Steve reaches, flips his palm from atop Eddie’s heavy thumping heart and grasps, brings Eddie’s hand to his lips and kisses there, pinning Eddie with his gaze through his lashes:

“Not ever, not for anything,” Steve says it heavy, emphasizes each word with intention: “never for me.”

“You’re the only thing that’s worth it,” Eddie counters, just as firm, just as committed to that truth with his whole goddamn chest: “worth anything.”

Worth everything; and Eddie thinks Steve hears that too; hears it all.

And it’s Steve who’s reaching, now, who’s framing Eddie’s face and pulling him in and Eddie sinks into it, falls into the way that Steve moves him, takes control in those subtle, automatic ways and fuck if Eddie didn’t quite realize just how much he missed this part, the way that Steve commanded the moment and tipped his chin just so to kiss deeper, to draw moans from spaces inside Eddie that he didn’t even know he possessed: electric.

In-fucking-toxicating.

“Come home?” Steve asks-but-tells him soft, earnest; “what I do want, is for you to come home.”

And fuck if Eddie wants anything else in the world; fuck if that isn’t everything.

Home. With his Stevie.

He chokes on a fucking sob and he wraps around Steve so goddamn tight.

“Thank you,” Eddie presses lips to his jaw, peppers kisses up to his temple, across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, worshipful and dazed, so viscerally relieved, like a noose he didn’t know was tightening around his neck was suddenly torn free and he can breathe, he can breathe, he’s still got the best fucking reason to breathe.

“Thank you,” he mouths at Steve’s lips as he makes his way down his chin to his neck to worship that space with this gratitude, his devotion as he swears deeper than he’s ever even considered committing to anything:

“Promise you won’t regret it.”

“I don’t regret it,” Steve shakes his head like the idea’s anathema; “maybe it was hard, some of it, and maybe it was getting harder, worse than I could keep a handle on, but without you,” and Steve’s voice breaks a little, and he shakes his head harder, more like he’s trying to get rid of a nightmare, his eyes glassy when he looks back up:

“Without you is so much worse, Eds.”

And Eddie’s heart jumps because he’s not okay with that hurting.

But also because Steve…Steve’s saying outright, after all of this, that with Eddie is a better way to be.

Fucking sue him if that hits him just so, okay?

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I could ever want a life without you in it,” Steve whispers into his temple, teasing his hairline. “Fucking unthinkable, baby.”

And Eddie shivers, because…he’d hoped this could be where they’d end up, but he…he was scared. So scared that he’d lost it, that there was no coming back.

“God, I missed you,” Eddie breathes, shaky as fuck, wet on the edges at best; “every second of the fucking day.”

“Me too,” Steve meets him, a little sniffly in his own right; “so much, Eddie. So much.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again, wobbly, because he is, he fucking is—

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Steve chides him with a peck at the bow of his lips; “I believe you, that you thought it was the right thing.”

“Because it meant making you happy, not for me,” Eddie needs to he sure Steve knows that part, knows it in his fucking bones. “I would never leave you because I wanted to,” Eddie whispers, kinda fucking horrified at just the idea; “nothing could make me want that.”

He cups Steve cheek and lets Steve lean into how it fits just so before he murmurs low, still shaky:

“Barely even survived it,” because fuck, now that it’s over, Eddie can appreciate how much it took from him, being away from Steve, and when he couldn’t even see why. “You’re the sun, Stevie.”

And fuck, if that’s not the truth. He is the center of the galaxy. He is all life in the universe.

Everything.

“Steve,” Eddie finally disturbs the sweet bubble of yes, right, this is right that they’re holding between them, and only because he…

He can’t risk this. Ever again. And he’s not foolish enough to think this thing’s fixed, that it’s one and done. But Eddie, and his devotion to Steve, and his love: that’s not ever going to be done.

Loving Steve is not something he is fucking ever going to be done doing. Done drowning in gratitude for the goddamn privilege of.

“I need you to promise me you’re never going to keep this, anything that hurts like this, locked up ever again, okay?” he runs his thumbs along the crests of Steve’s cheekbones. “I am here with you, I want to be here for everything, all of it, always,” and he kisses just between Steve’s brows, holds there for a few moments before he leans back and lifts Steve’s chin on his fingertips to look him straight in the eyes, see down to his soul entire:

“I’m never not going to want to help, to try and make the hurting go away, or at least find a way to help make it easier to bear,” and he means it, and he holds Steve’s gaze firm until he can see the conviction in his own veins start to color Steve’s irises brighter, to be taken in and believed.

“You could tell me to fuck off forever,” he tucks his cheek along Steve’s, burrows a little on the crook of his neck to breathe in the scent of him, to feel his blood move under the surface; “like…leaving you alone this time was a bridge too far, go to fucking hell Munson. You could come to me in twenty fucking years and I’d still drop everything just to make you hurt less.”

And Steve cranes his neck, opens up that space for him and lets Eddie fit there closer and just breathe, breathe, breathe, tucks Eddie under his chin like the tables are turned and…maybe they are. Or else: no, not maybe. They both were hurting. And they both love too much to let any of that hurt be anything but tended to, but dressed and cleaned and soothed, now that they have each other in arm’s-reach. Now that they can press each other close and hold and be, and remember all over again what life feels like where it sings in one body held tight to another, when it’s loved this full.

Steve keeps him there, lets him get his bearings, before Eddie inhales extra deep so he’s got Steve in his lungs when he makes himself pull back; gathers Steve to him again, now, and it’s…it’s just as much a comfort. It doesn’t matter who’s in whose arms. So long as they’re here.

So long as they’re them

“This is,” and Eddie makes damn sure that his hands are on Steve and nowhere else, that he’s holding onto Steve, that his fingers are locked with Steve’s, that he’s entangled to the point where it’d hurt to get out but he’s never going to try so it’s irrelevant. He needs Steve to know, and never question that Eddie’s never going anywhere.

“All this, is heavy, Stevie,” and he’s got his lips pressed to Steve’s hair before Steve can even finish how he makes to tense up; “and it breaks my heart that you’ve been carrying it all on your own.”

And Eddie holds there, holds and keeps Steve so close, until the other man slumps a little, until he gives that little bit of tension and then some back into Eddie, and it feels…it feels like how Eddie imagines someone feels when they exchange vows at the altar, or else, how they want to, how it’s talked about. Because there’s nothing present in this moment save sheer fucking trust, and the willingness to give between two bodies, two souls.

Eddie can’t help but pull him a little closer, duck down to trail his mouth down Steve’s forehead, his cheekbones, the apples of his cheeks, just: show him how much he feels. How much he feels lucky that Steve’s leaning into him, that Steve’s giving him this; this…opportunity to hold him up, too.

The fucking gift of it. Of him.

“So strong, my sweetheart,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s lips, then; “so brave,” and it kinda fucking floors him, really it does, that this man is…all that he is. Fucking superhuman, sometimes, good fucking god.

“But I love you, and that means you never have to shoulder anything alone ever again,” Eddie moves to kiss Steve straight on, properly, and then he lets Steve deepen it as far as he wants: and shit, he wants.

And Eddie cannot put into words what it means to have this again. To have his Steve in his arms, to have him want to be there, to let go in Eddie’s embrace.

“Never alone, baby,” Eddie nips his lower lip when they break apart, gasping; “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, clear eyed and red-swollen lipped and fuck, he’s exquisite.

“I can’t take back what happened, with Vecna, the first time, or anything before or since,” Eddie needs, all of a sudden, to bare a little more of his heart, to make sure Steve knows all the little crevices of him, so he’ll never fill the gaps in with anything but the unfettered love that’s meant to be there, that lives there always and creates the shape of what Eddie holds in his chest.

“I can’t erase the fuel for your nightmares, and I hate that,” Eddie moans, and Steve’s the one who leans in for his lips this time, who kisses Eddie so fucking thoroughly he feels lighter, he thinks, for the pieces of him blissfully surrendered up on how their mouths meet.

Eddie decidedly does not hate that.

“I do want to die in your arms,” and Eddie’s a little dizzy as he says it, giddy and buoyant with how his heart flutters and maybe another time he’d think twice before being this candid, but not anymore. Not flooded with relief and joy and gratefulness like this, and faced with the real possibility of the future he aches for:

“When we’re old and grey and wrinkled and still so fucking in love that we’re rewriting what it means to feel,” Eddie rips open the whole of his lovedunk heart for Steve to see and hear and know, and maybe even embrace for all the hopeless romance Eddie’s finding real hope for holding in Steve and Steve alone; “making new rules and setting new standards for everyone who comes after us, for how deep and much and well we loved.”

Eddie’s never seen Steve’s eyes shine like they do when he looks up and locks their gazes, takes all that Eddie’s giving, showing: he’s not just witnessing it.

He’s embracing it. He’s fucking eager like Eddie is, and how could Eddie be this lucky, to be welcomed, to be forgiven, to be understood, to be given the chance to earn this for keeps, to hold Steve close and safe to his chest for fucking ever.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, for trying to do it ahead of schedule down there,” Eddie murmurs at the corner of Steve’s mouth, just…just kinda to be close, to feel his breaths as they come; “and then thinking I knew what you needed and fucking it up, here,” and he makes himself draw back, then, to hold Steve’s chin and look him square on, because he needs Steve to see, he needs to hear and know, just, like, one more time, in case it’s the one that sticks strongest, most lasting:

“I never meant to hurt you,” he doesn’t let himself drown in those eyes just now, needs to tether in them and weave himself in the thick glow of them, the way the caramel color swims; “never want to hurt you,” and he lifts his touch to run his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, no tears to wipe but he feels…he feels a need to touch there, delicate, reverent:

“Never want you to hurt.”

“I know,” and Steve wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, holds tight; “I know, babe, thank you,” and Eddie is going to make sure he doesn’t overlook any of this ever again: Steve failing to understand how deep Eddie’s feelings run, how much he means to Eddie, how Eddie’s heart couldn’t even beat right without him, for how much of it’s made up of Steve.

He’s going to make sure Steve knows that the only thanks necessary in what they share is the all-encompassing gratitude. Is just being thankful, for the fact of a love unprecedented.

“Maybe I could,” Eddie throws off the first thing that comes to mind to face how they got here head-on, and maybe he riffs out loud a little, goes with the pull at the base of his heart and leaps, tries to chart the right course to make sure he does get to die in Steve’s arms one day, where they both take their last breaths in the same second and their hearts go to whatever’s next—something other or something quiet, something next or something final—together, always together, never-not-together, ever again:

“Maybe I could hold you tight to me, like, every night, all the time, and now that I know what’s happening here,” he taps Steve’s head lovingly, rests fingertips at the side of Steve’s neck to touch at the pulse as he offers, kinda fucking clumsy, and hopes like hell the depth makes up for it; “then I can be ready to catch you.”

And Steve pulls back, just looks at him, and he feels so dismantled in the best of ways, like being unraveled when the knots holding you up were too tight anyway and then it’s just pure release, and when he sees the soft little hint of a smile on Steve’s lips, blinding in his eyes—it’s everything as Eddie promises from his goddamn cells:

“I will always catch you, Steve.”

And Steve, he just sighs, and falls into Eddie once more—again, the gift of that kind of trust, Eddie will never get over it, or take it for granted—but Steve just falls and burrows into Eddie’s chest, settles at the center and Eddie would put fucking money on the fact that his heart swells to meets that weight, that presence of Steve; that every part of him just knows who’s there to listen and feel. That his beating fucking heart wants, because of how much Eddie wants. How much Eddie knows this man means.

“Maybe we could get a really big shirt,” Eddie muses as he stokes up and down Steve’s spine, spread over Eddie’s whole chest as he is; “and stretch out the neck so we can both fit, then when you wake up and you think,” Eddie pauses, doesn’t want to put those things into words to live in the world any more than they’ve already been forced there.

“But then you’re pressed as close as you can be, and you can feel the truth, and I can hold you until you believe what you feel,” he doesn’t know if that makes sense at all, but Steve’s breaths are damp and warm over the barest ends of the scars that stretched a little farther toward the center of his chest and…fucking hell.

That’s just a heady fucking feeling, y’know? And all Eddie wants is to keep.

“Like, maybe we could try it?”

He’ll try, more than try, just about anything.

“What if I—” and Eddie doesn’t need Steve to finish that thought, he can read the fear, the worry, the resignation that he’ll somehow have some reaction that being held tight to Eddie will make unbearable, maybe even dangerous given just how wide those eyes go.

Eddie’s not gonna let that shit stand anymore. Not ever a-fucking-gain.

“There’s nothing you could possibly do that I’m not ready and willing to catch, and hold so close, and keep so safe. Remember?” He tips Steve’s chin up so he can look at him, drink him in entirely and hold him there until he can read that he’s heard and understood through and through when he vows with his everything:

“Always gonna catch you.”

And Steve’s hands come to Eddie, now, and he writes the moment again, takes control of the momentum in between them and grabs Eddie’s face, draws him into the kind of kiss that lights up his nerves neon bright and sparkling, shimmers through him like pure fucking magic:

“I love you,” Steve breathes in between Eddie’s lips, then goes to pressing that feeling all over, drawing the dopiest grin to Eddie’s whole fucking face:

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” then he braces his palms on Eddie hips, and honestly, Eddie had apparently floated a little bit into the here and now because he hadn’t even wholly processed Steve straddling him until he’s gazing down at him with so much fucking affection:

“Thank you,” and the serious tone he says it in is somehow made, like, twenty-dimensional and all the more significant; “for coming back.”

And Eddie…Eddie doesn’t really understand how that’s something to be thanked for when coming back feels like putting his heart back together again, but: fine.

He can meet the sentiment.

“Thank you, for letting me,” Eddie leans in, kisses Steve’s still-a-little-swollen lips; “for wanting me.”

“I want you forever,” Steve answers, solemn and sure and without hesitation. “I want you,” then he smiles, because maybe they’re a little fucked up to find joy in this sentiment but fuck if it’s anything but the best possible thing Eddie could imagine:

“’Til the day we die.”

“Swear it, sweetheart,” and Eddie isn’t even going to try and deny, or reshape the fact that he’s just gazing at Steve, now, fucking marveling because how can he not?

Why would he do anything but wonder at the goddamn miracle in front of him, perched atop top him, nestled in his chest and safe inside his heart: why the fuck would he do anything else, anything less?

“Stevie, baby,” he exhales a little shaky, leaning into just, just…kiss all of it into Steve’s soul:

“I fuckin’ swear it.”

❄️

✨ also on ao3🖤❤️

for @kultiras🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @mensch-anthropos-human @@hiei-harringtonmunson @theheadlessphilosopher @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington @tinyplanet95 @theohohmoment @samsoble @tinyloonyteacups @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @pretend-theres-a-name-here @dragoon-ze-great @warlordess @notaqueenakhaleesi @pukner @captain--low @theintrovertedintrovert @tillystealeaves @depressed-freak13 @yourmom-isgay @wordynerdygurl

divider credit here and here

[nisuna]

This is a very old request I wrote, but it has probably been deleted, so I had to write it again. This is honestly just pure angst and manipulation. Quite horrible and heart-wrenching, so:

⚠️ Heavy Trigger Warning on this one -forced s*x and other mature themes- proceed at your own risk⚠️

Sukuna x protective!big sister!reader

TW: forced s*x, mating press, name calling, manipulation, big sister!reader protecting Yuji, mature

<3masterlist<3

-------------------Strictly 18+ MDNI------------------

"Let's make a binding vow."

"What?", you must've misheard. "Why in the hell should I?", you scoffed at the curse currently using your little brother's body.

"Chill out, sweetheart, that's not a good look on you. You should smile more.", he dared to grin at you.

"Just spit it out already."

"Alright, alright, geez. You always talk about wanting to help the brat. I'm giving you an opportunity of a lifetime."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let me have some fun with you."

"What the hell? Definitely not. How would that even help my brother?!"

"Let me finish. Let me have my way with you and in exchange, I'll leave the brat alone whenever you're around."

You felt insane that you were even considering such a ridiculous offer, but you were getting desperate. This has been going on for way too long.

"Why do you even want that? And why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm dying of boredom sitting in that brat's head all day every day. And as I said, it's a binding vow, I'm just as fucked fucked as you will be if I dare break it.", he put his hands up in the air.

"Okay, let's say I trust you. What if he wakes up in the middle of it? You always watch everything that happens. I do not want him to see me like that."

"I will wipe his memory, no problem."

Shit, he always has an answer for everything.

"Just say the word and we can start, doll.", he pressed on when he saw you chewing on your bottom lip, deep in thought.

"Fuck off", you really didn't want to do this, but it was for your brother. If there was a way for you to linder his pain, no matter how humiliating, you were willing to do it. So you swallowed your pride and started to lift your shirt over your head. "Don't just stand there, let's get this over with."

"Atta girl.", he grinned and rid himself of your brother's clothes. You felt sick to your stomach.

--------

He's been pounding away at you for what felt like forever and you cursed yourself that it was starting to feel good. He had your legs swung over his broad shoulders and you were folded in half in a tight mating press. You were trying to keep it down, but all of your pent-up feelings were begging to be released.

"Best pussy I've had in centuries, curses don't compare to real humans. Goddamn if you keep squeezing me like that I will bust in no time."

"Oho, the mighty King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna-sama brought to his knees by a mortal pussy how laughable, ah-" your meager attempt at mocking him only earned you a harsh slap to your thigh.

"Shut it or I'll wake the brat up."

"You said you wouldn't! You can't!!", you tried to resist only to have your knees pressed tighter to your chest.

"I said I would wipe his memory after, if anything happened. I can wake him up right now and let him experience the whole thing if you don't shut up. Just look pretty and take it like the whore you are."

Once again, you swallowed your pride and gave him a nod. You're doing this for him. It's going to be worth it in the end. He's suffered far worse than you.

"Good girl."

-----

With the last ounce of mercy he actually had left in his body, he made you cum as well before filling you up.

As soon as he was done he got up and was decent enough to get Yuji dressed while you were trying your best to neaten up your dishevelled self. It was revolting feeling the sticky substance trickle down your legs as you pulled up your pants.

"You definitely made it worth my while. Alright, see you never, sweetheart.", he snarled the nickname before finally leaving your brother's body.

What you weren't prepared for was having to catch Yuji before he fell down face first on the floor.

"Fucking asshole", you mumbled while wiping your nose and trying to gently wake your brother up. You ever subconsciously holding your breath until you saw his eyelids flutter open. He looked so confused, but he wasn't in any pain as he looked up at your soft smile. His calm state didn't last long as soon as he saw your dishevelled hair and crooked clothes.

"Oh my god he was out wasn't he goddamn it! Are you okay?? What did he do to you? I swear I'm going to kill him, I'm going to fucking kill him if he hurt you-"

"Shh, it's alright he didn't do anything. We.. we just talked. Nee-chan talked to him and he will leave you alone from now on whenever I'm around. Isn't this great? We can always be together now. Nee-chan will never leave you alone ever again. It's going to be alright, everything will be alright now, Yuji! So please don't ask any more questions, I handled everything. Don't you worry your pretty little head, I got this.", you smiled and pulled his stiff body in a tight embrace, strategically hiding your face.

"Okay, I trust you, Nee-chan. You would never lie to me, right?", he finally relaxed in your hold and hugged you back just as tightly.

"Right. Never.", you felt your heart sink in your chest as you choked up the words and your eyes stung with tears that were threatening to spill. So you just hugged him tighter and prayed he wouldn't notice anything else.

You are a good older sister and you love your younger brother Yuji more than anything. And that is exactly why you will be taking this secret to the grave.

-----

I apologise 🥲

[lila-went-missing]

I saw you wanted req's for Clarisse !! and I had a cute (well I thought it was cute) Hear me out !! You're Percy's older sister but you've been at camp for a few years so you and Clarisse have had more time to talk and get closer, sooo coincidentally once Percy came and after he and Clarisse had their fall out she finalized the relationship (not to be petty but just to get under his skin a little bit.. but also she didn't wanna do something to Percy and have you upset with her and ruin the progress y'all made.) But !! Percy only found out when you guys were eating at your table and Clarisse came by and didn't say anything to him, she kissed you but as she was walking away she muttered a half-assed apology to Percy. Bro's dumbfounded but you break the news to him, and as the loving brother he is and the fact you and Clarisse have known each other it's only fair he happy for you !! (You keep him safe from her.) SORRYYY this is so long but Clarisse makes me giggle, I hope you're having an amazing day !

I've been so excited to write this but I'm also such a procrastinator so sorry if this took a long time to come out. You're literally so sweet I hope you have an amazing day.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and wounds, it gets slightly suggestive once but nothing happens, cursing i think, I'm not going to lie to you this sucks especially the ending.

This took forever because I'm the medically expensive one in the family and I've been in and out of doctors offices for over a month now. This isn't proofread, I trust grammarly and move on. I love you all so much, enjoy my lovelies.

When the Waves Come In

Being a forbidden kid was anything but easy. Monsters could smell you more than others. The gods hated you. Trouble and tragedy seemed to track you down wherever you went, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. The only perks? Having a cabin to yourself and being slightly more powerful than other demigods. If you were being honest, that wasn't really a fair trade.

Not to mention, the other demigods at Camp Half-Blood either hated or praised you. There was no in between. You were claimed only seven months after arriving at camp, this made a lot of unclaimed kids unhappy with you. Like it was your fault that Poseidon was kind of proud of you once? It's not like he's bothered to reach out since then.

Over the last three years of living at camp, you've made some decent friends. You got along pretty well with most of the Hephaestus kids, Beckendorf immediately taking a liking to you for your stubbornness. The Apollo kids liked you, they even let you help lead archery classes. But there was one person that you were closer with than anyone else. Clarisse. Your Clarisse.

You weren't friends. You were so much more than that. But at the same time, you weren't quite together either. It was very complicated. However, there was one thing you were both certain of, you like being near each other, and hated being separated. Oftentimes, she would sit at your table during meals, Chiron choosing to turn a blind eye. You would sneak her dessert every time she lost her privileges. You were her girl, that much, everyone knew.

When a new kid by the name Percy Jackson showed up at camp, you didn't think much of it. New kids arrived all the time, 90% of them never being claimed and getting left to rot by their godly parents in the Hermes cabin. It was sad, but it was the truth. You learned to live with it.

You assumed the same would happen to him, until you saw it. The horn that once belonged to the Minotaur. Grover claimed he had killed it with its own horn. Everyone believed it except Clarisse. You wanted to not believe it, but how else would he have the horn?

Of course, Clarisse being Clarisse, she had to prove that he was a fraud. The first time she did this, she was blasted by water into a wall, effectively shattering a mirror with the impact. She came to you, of course, a bruise forming over her stomach and chest. You were honestly surprised that she didn’t some internal bleeding deal going on.

“I just want him to own up to being a liar!” She ranted. “Is that too much to ask? I mean, he’s 12, he’s like 4’11, he has no muscle what so ever! How am I expected to believe that he, of all people, killed the Minotaur?” She paced back and forth over the floor of your cabin for what felt like an eternity.

“I mean, this kid shows up out of literally no where, and is getting all the glory in the world. Is everyone here really that blind? There’s no way he managed to actually kill it, yet he’s getting all the praise? How does that add up?”

You stood from your place on your bed, walking towards her and placing your hands on her shoulders. Your hands squeeze gently, trying to ground her.

“Breathe,” you whisper, “I know it sounds highly unlikely. I know you’re pissed, you have every right to be.” Honestly, if the only way you could ever get your father’s attention was through glory and winning fights, even then, seldom getting any acknowledgement whatsoever. You have to admit, you’d be pretty pissed in this situation too. I mean the only thing you could do to get anything, even an admittance that you exist, is immediately taken over by this random kid no one’s heard of? Yeah, she’s rightfully pissed.

“But I need you to breathe before you have a nervous breakdown, honey.” Your hands rub up and down her arms, feeling her muscles slowly relax.

“I wouldn’t have had a nervous breakdown.” She mutters.

“I know, but I might’ve.” Knowing her, the way she is behind closed doors, she most definitely would have. But you let her believe that she would be okay.

“It’s just not fair you know? He hasn’t done anything. Even if he did kill the Minotaur, there’s no way he wasn’t running purely on adrenaline and rage. He wouldn’t be able to do that again if he tried. He’s getting all of this praise, and for what? Existing? Being, not even a man, a boy?” Her voice is much much quieter this time, barely making it to a whisper. If it wasn’t for your proximity you probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I know, I know, love.” You can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around her. “Just think, in a week or two, people will probably forget all about it. He’ll go back to being a regular 12 year old, nothing special.” Realistically, you know that sounds kind of bad, but what else are you supposed to say to her.

There was a part of you, no matter how small that part may be, that knew that wasn’t going to happen. Most demigods aren’t able to do something like that and live through it. But you knew he wasn’t like most demigods.

You knew he would get claimed, soon, most likely. From the moment you laid eyes on him it’s like you could feel it. What happened in the bathrooms only confirmed your suspicions. While you didn’t say anything to the girl in front of you, you knew who he was.

He was another forbidden kid. Not just a forbidden kid though, your brother. A son of Poseidon.

***

Capture the flag was the next day. From the moment you woke up you could feel the energy surging through the air. This was one of the most anticipated events of the summer. The only thing you really won was a party and bragging rights. I guess to camp full of the competitive people you’d ever meet, that was all you needed.

It was definitely all Clarisse needed. She loved to win and hated to lose, a trait she inherited from her father. And she’d be dammed if she was going lose another game of Capture the Flag.

That’s why you’re so confused when she tells you that she’s changing the plan. She never changes the plan, finding solace in a good strategy.

You understood more when she explained what she was doing. Revenge on the new kid for blasting her with toilet water. When you put it like that, it sounds logical. But knowing Clarisse, and knowing what you know, you can’t just go along with it.

“Clar, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” You both paced around each other in your cabin, similar to last night.

“Are you seriously telling me that what he did was okay?” Her voice raises with every word.

“No! I just- I have a bad feeling! I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“I won’t! I can handle myself, you know this!”

“I know! But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you!” Your heart beats out of your chest with every step you take towards each other.

“I can’t believe this! You really don’t think I can do this!” Before you can even formulate a response, she’s grabbing her stuff and walking out the door.

You follow her of course, yelling her name, but it’s no use. She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t even pause in her steps. You watch her disappear behind the door of cabin five.

The door to cabin three shuts as you slide down it. Your head hits the wood as you lean back, sure to give you a headache later. You can’t find it in yourself to care though. A tear slips down your cheek. Then another. Then another.

You know it’s a bad idea. She will go after revenge. And she will get hurt. But you also know that there’s literally nothing you can say to her. You want to, but it’ll only make things worse. That's the thing about Clarisse, when she gets her mind set on something, there's no changing her mind. All you can do is patch her up afterwards.

The red team has kept the flag near the water ever since you were claimed. They made sure that you were never far from it, blasting anyone in the face if they got too close for comfort. You weren't going to lie, it was potentially one of your favorite things to do.

So, as per usual, you were patrolling the edge of the water. No one had really gotten close enough, which was very disappointing. Until the new kid ran out of the woods and immediately tripped and fell on his face. Your whole body straightens immediately, muscles tensing. You pull out your sword and move towards him. He probably doesn't want a fight but it's better safe than sorry.

He had a few cuts littering his arms and cheeks. His clothes were dirty and he was now covered in wet pebbles. You could tell that he was disoriented and panicked. You were about to approach him when one of your sort of girlfriend's brothers ran out of the woods after him. Miles. One of her sisters followed suit, Trinity, you think her name was. Dear Hades they're actually going through with it.

Clarisse comes barreling out of the woods after them. Before you can even think about jumping in the sound of metal on metal fills your ears. Swords and shields clash. A spear jabbed at his chest. Her spear. You wanted to get between them, help him, protect him. Even if he didn't know it yet, he was.

But you couldn't. Everything moved so fast you didn't have time to react before they were all rolling over the ground. The water fed off of your emotions, grabbing her siblings and ripping them away from the fight. But it was too late. You saw the spark come from in between them. You heard the wood snap. Half of the spear was in her hands, the other half in his as his body rolled with the momentum.

It felt like time froze for those few seconds. The water was still. The wind stopped blowing, birds stopped chirping. The air around you seemed to disappear. You couldn't breathe. All noises cut out as her guttural scream ripped through the air, lasting for what felt like an eternity.

She ran forward, grabbing the front of his armor and jerking him forward. The conch blew, the blue team ran across the river carrying the flag. She ran off into the woods, it didn't take long for you to follow behind her, grabbing the pieces of the spear as you went.

Before you fully made it away, you saw the trident above his head. That's the moment you realized that you should've placed bets. You would've made bank, but that's not really your concern right now.

You find her in her cabin, facing away from the door, sitting on the edge of her bed. If you look close enough you can see the way her shoulders shake. You place the pieces of her spear on a table near her bed before kneeling behind her. Your arms wrap around her front, pulling her in.

Her back rests against your front, her head tucking back into your neck. You feel the way her shoulders tremble and shake in your gentle hold. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. A few tears slip down your cheeks that you don't mention. You don't push her. It's very rare she lets anything like this happen. She feels like showing these kinds of emotions would make her weak. It didn't matter how many times you assured her otherwise. Sometimes you can't change a person's thoughts when they're the only thing that person has ever known.

After what feels like forever, she speaks. Her voice comes out shaky. It's the kind of soft you only hear late in the night after sneaking into her cabin.

"That spear- it was the only-." A sob escapes her throat and you can feel the way it moves through her whole body, consuming her completely.

"I know honey.." You whisper in her ear. Your arms subconsciously tighten around her muscular frame.

"It was the only proof that he could ever love me." You swear you can feel your heart shatter. You've never liked her dad, but even so, you knew how much that spear meant to her. Her fathers traits were very prominent in her from the moment she was born. Her anger issues kept her in trouble, never getting help. Never being accepted. Her father was the only hope she would ever have until she met you. But even then she was so terrified of losing you...

"It'll be okay.. I promise." Your words a hidden promise of protection.

You're not sure what happens that night but you know something changes. Her arms wrapped around you a little tighter. Her breaths came a little deeper, more relaxed. Your finger over more of her scars, tracing them with the delicacy that was only ever seen in the hands of the greatest artists. When you thought about it though, she was the only work of her art that would ever be worthy of such care.

When you wake the light hits the two of you in a new way. As if Apollo made Helios shine it on the two of you alone so he could write the greatest love hymns that would ever be seen by mankind.

Her siblings don't question your presence. They never do. Why would they when it's so rare the children of Ares are able to find such peace. So rare they can find such a level of acceptance within another person.

For a while you sit there and watch the golden light dance across her bronze skin. The way it shines around her face, the face you've kissed so many times. The face you long to kiss right now. You don't sneak out this morning, instead staying curled into her side. The beating of her heart threatening to lull you back into a peaceful slumber.

Then the conch blows for breakfast, causing her to stir. Her eyes flutter open, turning into pools of golden honey as the light swims in the sweet waters. A small smile creeps onto her lips as her eyes meet yours.

"Hi." You whisper. Your hand strokes over her cheek.

"Hi, baby." Her voice is as soft as the way she looks at you. Before you know it she's leaning forward and placing her lips on yours. It's the first time but it doesn't feel like that. It just feels... right. Something about it is so perfect. The way your lips fit together like long lost pieces of a puzzle.

"What was that for?" Your lips remain parted when you pull away. "I just, wanted to kiss you." She mutters in reply. A blush covers the expanse of her cheeks. You never thought you'd see her so flustered. "Can you do it again? Kiss me again?" She smiles and nods at your words before leaning in and pressing her lips back against yours.

They're soft and warm as they slide against yours. It feels like coming home after a long day of training. Your favorite person right in front of you with open arms.

When she pulls away, she's smiling wider than you've ever seen her. "I really should have done that a lot sooner." You can't help but laugh at her words. "I've only been waiting for four years!"

"Why don't we make up for that?" She leans forward, resting her hand on her waist and pulling your body against hers. A chuckle leaves your throat.

"Maybe later, right now, I really want breakfast." You peck her lips once more before rolling out of bed. "Come on!"

It's not long before you're both dressed and making your way to the dining pavilion. As much as you would like to sit with her, she's already on thin ice with Chiron. You take your time getting your food and burning it, not wanting to be separated until absolutely necessary. Eventually though, you have to part ways and join your newly-claimed brother at the Poseidon table.

"I'm surprised you're not more banged up if I'm being honest." You say as you take your seat. There's not a single scratch on him.

"Annabeth kind of shoved me into the water, next thing I know everything is healed." He answers, you can tell he's nervous knowing your connection with Clarisse.

"Perks of being Poseidon's kid, that and our cabin is a lot less crowded." He laughs lightly at your words.

"You're telling me! It's nice not sleeping on the floor." The both of you go quiet for a while, eating in comfortable silence. The breeze is cool against your skin, a nice reminder of the weather barrier. When you look up, Percy is looking behind you with pure fear in his eyes. You expect to be greeted by a monster when you turn, instead you're greeted by your girlfriend.

You can't help but chuckle at the look on Percy's face. You really can't help but laugh at his face when she leans down and presses a kiss against your cheek. "I'll see in training later, right babe?"

"Wouldn't miss it." You kiss her jaw before she turns and jogs off towards the arena.

"She- you-" He looks utterly dumbfounded as what he just witnessed. "What just happened?"

"She's my girlfriend, Percy."

His mouth drops open with the most surprised look you've ever seen. "Oh."

"Is that an issue?" You don't really care if it is, but you ask anyway. "No, no I just, didn't take her as the type to really date anyone." He answers.

"Most people don't, I'll do my best to keep her from pulverizing you." A laugh escapes you before you take your leave.

Life didn't seem too bad.You had a new brother, you were dating the girl you'd been in love with for years. You might even be able to convince her to leave him alone. You'll get her spear fixed as a surprise birthday gift.

You can feel everyone's surprised eyes on you as you walk out. There's no doubt the entire camp knows by now, and there's no doubt that a billion rumors will be floating around by dinner time. But there's a part of that just, can't find it in you to care. How can you when you have everything you've wanted right there in front of you.