#he knows he's bi but the thought of just referring to himself in that way makes him want to be physically sick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

girlboybug · 10 months ago

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Haunted

“my wicked tongue, where will it be, i know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me.”

or the one where it’s halloween at saltburn and you and farleigh ditch the party downstairs to celebrate with a little weed in your bedroom.

what’s playing 🎧: haunted by beyoncé

pairing : farleigh start x fem!reader (afab bodied)

*UNEDITED*

word count : 6k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, virgin!reader, bi coded! reader, heavy petting, grinding and dry humping, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, mentions of blowjobs, little bit of tip sucking oops, handjobs, light hair pulling, boob worship, sub coded farleigh for two seconds, smidge of overstimulation

TRIGGER WARNINGS : both reader and farleigh are high when they engage in the sexual activity but it’s all consensual they’re both equally high, ummmmmmmm hints of slut shaming in the beginning by farleigh but it’s not fr fr bc his ass is mother slut let’s be honest

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM ME TO YOU :3!

a/n : comments rlly motivate me so if you enjoyed this plz lmk down in the comments <3

venetia and felix are nowhere to be found amidst the neon mess of bodies that inhabit every orifice of what was once an almost eerily quiet and empty corridor just this morning.

leaving you to be doomed to a fate of enduring a poorly put together semblance of…you think frankenstein, having a one sided conversation with you. “can i get you another drink?” he asks over the booming music and for the first time in the entire interaction you smile a genuine smile, nodding with urgency. “god yes—please,” you respond eagerly, handing him back your cup. he takes it with an undeserving great sense of pride, and you exhale with relief once he disappears from your line of vision, hoping he loses you in the crowd.

“interesting costume choice,” a familiar, annoying, voice comments behind you. without even turning around yet, you find yourself rolling your eyes. you give him a once over and scoff. his fangs protrude from his smile, and you wish it looked cartoonish and stupid, but alas, he unfortunately looks good. really good. but over your dead body would you ever admit that.

fake blood is dribbled from the corners of his mouth and two neat dots rest near his pulse on the side of his neck. a brow rises and crinkles your forehead, aiding in the faux judgment you cast upon him.

“rich coming from the guy who’s wearing the most generic costume known to man.” you retort back, subconsciously withholding a level of snideness. you like the build of veiled insults you two toss back and forth, it’s never fun if you start off too strong. you enjoy the way you both ease into it. it’s a flow you’ve both unknowingly created for each other.

his head shifts to the side when he rolls his eyes and exhales under his breath, and your heart falters just a little lower within your ribcage when you see a bright red kiss stain on his jaw.

“it’s in reference to bram stoker’s dracula, a classic piece of literature, but you?” his eyes flicker over you, a little upward curve growing in the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d be better than defaulting to a sexy version of marie antoinette.” he folds his arms over his chest, peering down at you, unbeknownst to the excitement that bubbles in the depths of his chest as he awaits whatever response you’re brewing in your head to bite back with.

heat plants itself like a seed in the pit of your stomach and extends its branches through your chest and fans over your cheeks at his observation. a hefty cloud of pride quickly replacing it when his words ring through your head again.

he thinks i look sexy?

“i’m not a sexy marie antoinette. i’m just the normal version of her.” you reply with a sense of smugness, seemingly stealing his. a panicked look of ‘oh fuck’ flashes across his face, and he tries to save face, to seem cool and collected. but you didn’t miss it for one second. and you’ll be damned if you let go of the one time farleigh let himself falter in front of you.

“i meant slutty.” he replies cooly, and you nod, a stupid grin on your face that he wishes he could wipe off. “you called me sexy.” your grin only grows and he’s already rolling

his eyes once more. “i know no one compliments you like you wish they would, so anything that remotely sounds like one is enough for you to latch onto, but i promise,” he steps forward and leans his neck downward towards you, not bothering to bend down to meet your height. “i meant slutty.”

a rush of something you don’t want to distinguish floods the shoreline of your lower stomach and trickles heat between your inner thighs at the way he speaks to you, but you hide it, barely allowing yourself to even acknowledge it. “the biggest slut i know calling someone else slutty, that’s rich,” you internally groan, knowing your reply wasn’t as witty as you’d intended.

before farleigh can verbally retaliate, your name is called out and you recognize who it belongs to; your charming frankenstein. you panic for a moment, dreading being back in conversation with him and you glance up at farleigh, hurriedly switching your bodies around, successfully shielding yourself with his stature.

he’s confused for a moment before realizing what you’re using him for. he laughs and you smack his back, hushing him. while you hide behind him you take the fleeting moments you have to outline his broad shoulders with your eyes, and how they trail into a slim little waist. his perfectly tailored suit hugs him just right, and it makes your throat get a little tight. you never took the time to notice farleigh’s physique, rather opting to semi-playfully belittle him. you find hints of regret in that.

he turns back around to face you and you snap back into the present, not the paused moment in which saltburn was empty and all that occupied it was you and farleigh and his broad back and small waist. “coast is clear.” he says, switching his weight onto one foot. “frankenstein? really?” he seems unimpressed, almost… irritated? you’re unsure.

you grumble and smooth down the invisible wrinkles in your corset. “don’t start.” but he does anyway.

“didn’t know that was your type.”

“what?”

“somewhat stupid looking, bumbling.”

“what’s it matter to you?” you ask, wondering how far he’ll go with his dissertation on why the guy he has zero knowledge on is an idiot. “it doesn’t. it’s just getting a bit sad seeing that the only people who are interested in you are so…lacking.”

you suck on your teeth and nod, shrugging before you reply. “least i’m not fucking my teachers.” he heartily laughs, sticking his tongue in the bottom corner of his lip. “and yet, they all still trump your sorry excuses of flings.”

you open your mouth to correct him but you shut yourself up before you embarrass yourself. instead you just shake your head dismissively.

you perk up when you remember a little secret pick me up you’ve been hiding. you reach into your cleavage, unaware of the way the sight stirs something inside of farleigh. you pull out the joint you tucked away for safe keeping, waving it with an offering smile. “wanna share?” you ask and he chuckles in shock at the proposition. “weed? you’re a pothead now?” you sigh annoyedly and glare up at him. “you wanna share or not? quick before i change my mind.” he smirks and nods, eyeing the joint then you. “i’ll oblige.”

he follows you to your room, holding your waist to wade through the pool of people, with you flush against him. you ignore the way his hands mold around your waist, his long fingers curled across your dress, and you especially ignore how you can feel his rings through the thin material of your dress. definitely not wondering how they’d feel on your bare skin.

no, definitely not.

—

you lean against the open window of your bedroom with the joint, not wanting to taint the air with the stench, knowing elspeth’s keen nose would immediately clock it the moment she walks into your room.

farleigh coughs a lot more than you would’ve expected him to and it makes you beam with a feeling of superiority. “you smoke like half a pack of cigarettes every day, how on earth is this making you cough so hard?” you snicker, handing him a water bottle you keep by your bed.

he glares at you, taking a hefty swig from your bottle, setting it down before extending his hand back out for the joint, determined to prove a point. “forgive me for not being used to smoking weed, unlike you, you addict,” he mutters through an exhale of smoke.

you actually guffaw at his snippy little reply, for once in shock of something he has to say. “me? an addict? weed is probably the most harmless drug like—ever, whereas you, keep a keychain of literal cocaine on you almost at all times.”

he hates that he happens to have exactly what you just said on his person in this very moment. he tucks it away into his pocket and huffs. “i just do it socially, you’re probably up here all the time smoking alone like a loser by the window,” he has an infuriating self satisfied smirk when he speaks to you and you laugh sardonically, nodding along.

“well,” you say, taking in a hit, and letting it gently fan over his face when you exhale. “no one’s forcing you to engage in something apparently so below you,” you motion towards the door with a lazy jab of your head. “doors that way if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

he remains unfaltered in your cloud of smoke, letting it envelope him. he breathes it in, leaning against the windowsill. “do you want me to leave?”

“i always do.” you don’t miss a beat, a look that tells him you don’t really mean it is thinly covered with a fake smile, eliciting a chuckle from him through pursed lips.

“i don’t believe you.” he murmurs when he inches back toward you, plucking the joint from your fingers. he takes another hit, it’s smoother, he’s more in control of it, and something flutters inside you seeing the way he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke out the window.

“you’re insufferable,” you say hushedly, gently. he chuckles quietly, handing you the joint. “and yet you keep me around anyway.”

“not by choice.”

—

as the night rages on, the joint you both share dwindles down into a dull roach. you crush the bud into your porcelain ashtray, tucking it away and beneath your nightstand.

your legs feel a little wobbly, your body has significantly loosened up and your center of gravity feels a bit off, but you feel good, and it seems farleigh feels the same. his eyes are low and hooded, they look a little red — it’s cute, kind of endearing too but you keep that to yourself like a bashful secret. his face and overall demeanor seems to be relaxed as well, a lot more loosened up than he was just an hour prior.

you smile at him, and there’s nothing hidden under the action, there’s no cover up for anything. you’re just happy to be with him in a moment like this. and he returns it to you, full sentiment and all, filling you with a sense of contentment. “feel nice?” you ask breathily, collapsing onto your bed. he joins you, plopping down beside you when he replies. “mmhm. i like it,” he says, his voice sounding a bit rougher from the smoke, like he’s on the edge of a rasp.

you shuffle around to lay on your side, your palm supporting the weight of your head, settling into a comfortable position. he copies your actions, switching around on his side to properly face you.

he looks beautiful with the way the moon creeps in through your parted window, the pale light complements the highlights in his curls and makes them look golden; he looks golden. but when your eyes fall on the taunting red kiss splayed on his jaw, everything turns back to copper.

“who gave you this?” you question him quietly, sadly. like it physically hurts you to ask him. your fingers hover just above the lipstick stain, unable to get yourself to touch it. in your induced state you’ve convinced yourself that if you were to ever touch farleigh’s face, it won’t be in the spot someone else tarnished with their own touch first.

“why?” he answers your question with another question and you huff under your breath, your filter too worn out from the weed to hide your frustration behind a poker face. “why can’t i ask?” you push a little further and he snickers lazily. “why do you wanna know?” he counters and you roll your heavy eyes, letting yourself fall onto your back once more.

he scoots closer to you, angling his neck to look downward at you, and he pouts with faux concern. “you jealous?” he asks, perking up and leaning towards you with a beaming smirk. you scoff, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turn to look away. the proximity of your faces is too much to bear, but not for him, his index and thumb guide you right back by your chin to face him. he keeps your gaze on him in place, his wide palm cupping your cheek. your skin tingles under the coldness from his rings.

now you know what it feels like, you think to yourself.

“tell me which one it is,” he says through a hushed exhale, leaning on his elbow, his eyes still angled down at you challengingly. “are you jealous of me, because — why wouldn’t you be,” he hums, his fingers ghosting over your temple.

and when he speaks again, you find that he’s moved in a lot closer now. “or of whoever left it?” his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, waiting expectantly for you to answer him.

your mouth goes even dryer than you thought it could, and you’re unsure of what to say, what to think, and between the lack of space between both of your lips and the questions he’s asking, you’re left frazzled. scrambling for something, anything to say.

you’re not sure how to reply, you’re shocked he even asked that to begin with, and now it’s your turn to visibly falter in front of him. he looks at you expectantly, and a little part of him feels as though he’s won some mini challenge in your ongoing battle to embarrass the other. but there’s a different type of smugness in his small victory, perhaps a confirmation on something he’d been wondering about for awhile.

“i’m not jealous of either of you,” your voice falls upon a faint breath and his brows push together, nodding patronizingly. “oh i’m sure.” he pushes a little harder on your buttons, waiting for when you finally do something about it.

“why would i be jealous of someone who gets with just anybody?” you add, sitting up on your elbows, unintentionally leaning in closer, engaging him in the push and pull. he follows your flow in motion, inching in closer, just a little, keeping the space between you both minimal. he laughs softly from the center of his belly, flicking a brow up. “versus what? someone who doesn’t get with anyone? sounds boring.” he adds, tilting his head, your noses brushing against each other’s. “boring is better than whatever you bring back home at night.” his chuckle falls across your lips at your response, and you find yourself parting your lips to breathe him in.

“are you admitting to having a non-existent sex life? i’d say i’m shocked but i’m not,” he replies, his voice at the tail-end of a whisper. a hazy, knowing smile begins to rise in the corner of his lips.

you take in a deep breath, smoothing out the duvet beneath your palms as you reply without a second thought to what you’re confessing to. “i’d rather get none than contract every std ever by fucking everyone who roams the halls at oxford,”

farleigh laughs initially, taking your playful jab before he pauses and looks at you a bit more seriously. a little too serious for your liking. it makes you burn up and inwardly panic. did you say something wrong? go too far?

“but you’ve had sex before…right?” he asks to clarify, sitting up a little straighter now. the burning sensation in your cheeks only heightens now. “um,” you’re once again left wondering how to reply but your pause acts as his answer alone. he sits all the way up now and you groan when you begin to hear the gears in his head shifting.

he says your name like he’s awestruck and you grab a pillow, pretending to suffocate yourself with it. he tosses it off of you and pulls you up to look at him. “you’ve really never…done it?” he asks again, unbelieving to this revelation. normally he’d find this to be a jackpot, chock full of new material to use against you. but right now he’s in too much disbelief to act on any of it.

“no,” you huff, avoiding his stare. “why not?” he asks, lowering his voice in a softer tone this time. “dunno,” you shrug. “no one really caught my eye enough to actually want to do it, and then you know college rolled around and i was just too busy for it.”

he half scoffs half laughs but it all stems from shock. “it’s impossible to be too busy for sex,” he opposes seriously, and you laugh dryly.

“yeah for you, but i actually care about my grades,” he shakes his head, shooing any topic of academics away. “yeah yeah whatever,” he waves you off, as if he’s clearing the air for his next round of questions. “you’ve at least kissed someone right—“ you’re shutting him up with a pillow thrown against his chest and he laughs, pushing it out of the way. ”of course i have farleigh, don’t be stupid,” you laugh, embarrassment still blooming in the depths of your chest.

“i had to check!” he says defensively and your embarrassment grows when you realize he really was genuinely asking, meaning it’s plausible that no one’s ever kissed you.

god.

you bury your face in the pillow that acted as your weapon just seconds ago, unable to face him.

his laughter rings pleasantly in your ears, his hands prying you away from the pillow, wanting to see you. “have you done…anything at all?” he asks, like it’s sensitive information he’s pulling from you. he’s gentler when he questions you, easing you into the topic. you nod, biting on your thumbnail as you recollect your sparse experiences.

“tell me about them,” he says, leaning back on both elbows, still turned to face you. you rest on your stomach, your forearms supporting your weight, situating yourself to share your run ins with fleeting intimacy. “well, it was freshman year back at oxford, some guy i think his name was theo—“

“theo wright?”

“uh yeah i think so—“

“well there’s your first mistake.” he says matter of factly, his words dying down towards the end when he sees your irritated expression.

“can i finish please?” you glare and he laughs, nodding. “is what you probably asked him right?” you stifle the laugh that almost slips out, opting to narrow your eyes at him annoyedly instead. “shush.” you huff.

“anyways, i’m not sure, i think it may have been at some dumb welcoming freshman’s party and we went upstairs and we kissed in some guy’s bed and he rubbed my inner thigh for like 5 minutes, completely under the impression he was touching my clit.” you can barely make it through the description of your time with theo without farleigh doubling over and laughing, nudging your arm with his head.

“oh my god that’s good,” he exhales at the end of his laughter, pretending to wipe a tear from the corners of his eyes. “you poor thing,” he sighs, patting your cheek. “and did you say anything? like…guide him to the right direction maybe?” you shake your head dejectedly. “no. i had to pretend to cum so he would stop.” you admit, the regret from that night pinging through you.

farleigh coos at you apologetically, stifling a laugh in the process, “poor baby,” he hums, patting your cheek. his ringed pinky casts away an imaginary strand of hair, finding any excuse there is to be near you, to touch you.

you melt under his touch, fighting the urge to lean into it. “that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a hook up?” he asks, fully focused on you, making you a bit nervous from all his attention being directed at you. there’s no audience to perform your shared act for, it’s just you and him, and you think you like this change of pace.

you shake your head, laying back against the headboard, resting your legs across farleigh’s, to which he welcomes without hesitation, throwing an arm over them casually.

“i had one more. it was with noa…” you trail off, a bit shyer expressing this particular experience. farleigh however is nowhere near shy, the word is nowhere near his vocabulary, instead his interest has been piqued and it’s visible in the way his ears just about perk. “wait, girl noa or boy noah—uh keaton or deacon?”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the muffled thrum of music fill the air before you speak again. “keaton.”

he laughs, shocked but impressed, his tongue poking the hollow curve of his cheek as he nods. “noa keaton, interesting...” he repeats back, mostly to himself, somewhat in awe.

“don’t be weird about it,” you groan and he shakes his head, rubbing your calf comfortingly. “no no i’m not i just wasn’t expecting that. good for you though,” he winks at you and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah. anyways she um…she fingered me in the library,” a fluttery feeling lines your stomach at the memory and farleigh catches onto your pauses, noticing a more positive physical reaction when you mention her. “yeah? was it good?” he asks lowly, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and you nod, leaning your head against the cold wooden headboard. “it was—thankfully; she actually knew what to do, you know?” he nods, chuckling. “makes sense. did you get to finish that time?” he asks as if he’s actually concerned, and the way his hand keeps running up and down your legs makes you feel as if he just might be.

you’re not used to discussing such topics with farleigh, it’s unfamiliar and his bluntness and shamelessness in being open with how curious he is as to whether or not someone has made you cum is catching you off guard, but most concerningly, it’s making you ache. “no,” you finally answer, sighing sadly. “almost did. but we also almost got caught and then you know, she dropped out. haven’t heard from her since.”

you expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. he takes a moment of silence and it acts as yet another surprise tonight; farleigh is capable of being quiet.

“so you haven’t had any experiences worth writing home about then, huh?” he verges on a whisper, his voice cradling the sides of your face, guiding your eyes back to his. you nod and he hums in tune to something similar of patronizing. “let alone any real ones,” he adds, his thumb swirling over your knee. you shrug lightly, anxiously fiddling with the ruffles at the skirt of your dress.

“do you want one?” he asks, his eyes keeping you still in place and you gasp silently, swallowing thickly. “want what?” you manage to reply, your nerves blanketing over you. “a good experience.” he answers lowly.

you stare at him for a second, unsure if he’s really just said what he said, but in the case that he did, you nod like you’ve been entranced by a siren song. but with the way farleigh looks at you when he speaks, with such an intensity and power that never allows you to look away, you feel as though you might as well have been.

he smiles at your agreement, sliding his hand down to your ankle and tugging you towards him. you gasp, yelping with low volume as you slide down your bed. he pulls you in close, climbing further into your bed until he’s on top of you.

his hooded eyes peer down at you, drinking you all in, so beautiful and pliable beneath him. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running along it and smearing your lipstick across your chin. he dips between your lips, smirking to himself when you kiss the pad of it.

he pulls away leaning downward until his nose nudges yours. “tell me i can kiss you,” he tells you, his words fanning out against your lips, and you nearly moan from the proximity itself. “i want you to kiss me.” you whisper back and you sweat you see a smile on his lips before they’re on yours.

you moan with relief, embarrassingly desperate to have farleigh on you. you’re chest to chest, lips interlocked with his cock pressed up against your clothed crotch, grinding lightly.

he groans in your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip as if it were secreting nectar. he’s starved from the weed consumption, and all those months of this incessant back and forth you two shared is all coming back full force. you can feel it in how hard he kisses you and the hunger that lies underneath it all.

his hand travels from the back of your knee, gliding over your leg and up your thigh, squeezing your hip when his hand finds purchase there. he ruts into you in waves, breaking apart from your lips, much to your dismay, to kiss and nip at your neck, rinsing you of the disappointment from the momentary lack of closeness.

“farleigh,” you breath out, your knees locking him in on either side of his hips, pushing up to meet his grinding motions. “what baby?” he mumbles, raspy and heavy and it makes your clit throb. “feels s’good,” you sigh lazily, arching your back into his chest. he chuckles, his ego rising with every little moan you give him.

“better than what theo did?” he asks, pushing his bulge right up against your clit, and you whimper, nodding stupidly. his signet ring tickles you through your thin panty hose when he inches closer between your thighs. your breath stops in the middle of your throat as he nears your cunt. “can i touch?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. you moan under your breath, nodding. “please?” you beg, heavy eyes of yours gazing at him from beneath your eyelashes, lips pouted desperately.

he doesn’t make you ask again, he’ll save that for another endeavor he hopes you two will indulge in again. for now he’ll give you what you want without making you work for it. at least, too hard.

he rubs you through your panty hose, sucking in a sharp breath. “fuckin’ soaked through baby,” he groans, kissing you hard.

the wind in your lungs has abandoned you, the air in the room playing cat and mouse with you amid your struggle to keep up. farleigh’s touches making the feat all the more increasingly difficult. he sends you one last kiss on your lips, sponging one to your chin, then down your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

“can i take this off?” he murmurs, his chin just beneath your sternum, fingers toying with the laces of your corset. you rest on your elbows, looking down at him, the way he peers up at you alone could convince you to commit the most heinous crimes. you nod, reaching down to untie them, but he’s quick to stop you. “let me do it,” he says, grasping your wrists. you swallow thickly, glancing at how his large hand easily holds both your wrists with ease.

he takes his time unlacing your corset, wanting to savor this juncture in time. he’s slower than you thought he’d be, treating you like a ribbon wrapped present, if he’s too rough it may all fall apart and honestly you fear that you might if he doesn’t move any faster.

“farleigh,” you whine, sitting back up. “hurry up or it stays on,” you nearly growl and he laughs, tugging everything undone with one harsh tug, opening your corset and baring your breasts. you gasp, instinctively covering yourself. he shakes his head, tsking you when he pulls your arms away. “thought you wanted me to hurry up?” he bites back just a little, playfully, pulling a glare from you. he doesn’t care, he’s already lowering himself back between your thighs, holding you by your calves to spread you open.

he grips your calf, the other squeezing your thigh, using them to keep you wide open for him. his hands are warm and firm around your flesh, and his tongue is wet and hot against your clothed cunt.

the small act alone propels you into hedonism, reminding you of how good pleasure can be, how all consuming it is, and in this moment it feels as though farleigh is the only one who can provide any relief for the burning engine grinding in the pit of your stomach, aching to be satiated.

“farleigh,” you whine, throwing your head back when he mouths at your cunt, his tongue burns through your thin layers but it’s not enough, you want his tongue to brand itself right up against your clit.

your desires and needs are caught through your drawn out breaths, tugging at the air in jagged gasps. he reads through all your little sounds, and without any coherent words needed, he digs a nail into your pale pantyhose, ripping them in the crotch and pushing your panties to the side, burying his tongue right where you need it to be, searing your soaked flesh with every broad flick of the wet muscle.

you gasp almost like it hurts, but it’s quite the opposite. he laps you up and devours your cunt like he’s trying to reach your heart, grappling around your legs and gripping your hips to keep you in place, starved for something sweet. his eyes that have held you inside silent conversations amidst a gathering of people are now shut, tucked away behind his eyelids and long lashes, too focused on the way you taste and how he can’t seem to get enough of you.

he’s never been this hungry before, and maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s the simple fact he’s fantasized about this more often than he’d like to admit. on more than just a singular off handed occasion, his hand has slipped beneath his boxers, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted, almost begrudgingly to the act itself.

but he always gives in.

the fantasy is always the same, it’s prompted by whatever stupid argument you two found yourselves in, and he shuts you up with his mouth latched onto your cunt, erasing any quips or snarkiness left in you and replacing them with the sounds of you struggling to barely even moan his name. and now that it’s real, he can’t just stop now, he wants to prolong this moment for as long as he can.

his nose swipes across your clit, pulling a drawn out moan from the depths of your chest, and you shudder, trying to find something to hold onto for security, but farleigh’s a step ahead of you, eagerly offering his hands for you to take. you do so, desperately, lacing your fingers together and whimpering when he takes in a dull quick breath before pouring himself into your cunt, flicking his tongue right there, and moaning to himself at the way you just melt into him.

you roll your hips into his mouth sporadically, with no real rhythm, your body reacting with violent jerks as if his tongue were electric, and he takes it all in stride, squeezing your hands lovingly.

and when he sucks on your clit, it’s too much, you can’t take it, it pulls you into a state of thick molasses, gleaming and aureate, only to settle into the center of your stomach, pushing inward and arching you forward into pure ember, sizzling through you until it reaches your fingertips.

you can hardly hear or feel yourself breathe, everything’s buzzing and muffled, honey coats your skin and encases you in its sweetness.

you can’t help the twitching in your hips and lower stomach, whimpering in pleasured agony when you come back to earth and feel farleigh’s mouth still on you, moaning to himself and toying with your clit between his lips.

you’re untangling your fingers, and he grunts when you try to squirm away from his mouth, but he’s not having it, gently smacking your hipbone, silently chastising you.

you whine, taking in hefty gasps, it’s starting to hurt but in a way you can’t say is bad. it’s just so overwhelming, it makes you burn from the inside out and you can’t stop the thin stream of tears that escape from your heavy eyes. your bare breasts heave in the thick air, your mouth is parted with a choppy flow of pleadings with farleigh.

he slowly relents, planting one last firm kiss against your clit, peppering smaller ones across your hips and lower tummy, making his way back up to you. “hi,” he smiles as if he wasn’t just tongue deep inside your cunt. he swipes away the streaks of mascara tinted tears from your eyes, laughing breathily at the sight of your lack of coherence. “hi,” you exhale, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. his eyes shut when he leans into you, taking your lips in his. the taste of you is heavy on his tongue, heat fanning across your cheeks when you realize that bittersweet taste in his mouth is you.

your hand rests on his chest, slowly slipping lower and lower until you reach his bulge, palming him with fervor but maintaining some form of sensuality, albeit fueled with a sense of rushed desperation. you break apart from his lips and his head tilts forward, chasing after your kiss. you sponge a kiss against the corner of his lips, angling a downcast tilt towards his cock, mouth agape and eager to take him in. but he’s holding your jaw, stopping you and bringing you back to meet his gaze.

your eyebrows knit together with almost a betrayed curiosity. “why not?” you ask, almost naively, and he shakes his head, his thumb gently swiping across your bottom lip. “you don’t have to do that baby,” he promises, his voice left as a rich rasp from the smoke, and god he sounds so sexy, you want nothing more than to have his cock down your throat.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to,” you just about cross your heart and hope to die, to emphasize the genuine desire you have to suck him off.

“another time, i don’t want you to rush into something you’re not ready for,” he says softly, unintentionally sounding patronizing. it rubs you the wrong way, letting in a flood of embarrassment into your chest.

you scoff, hiding your insecurity with annoyance, folding your arms with a quiet huff. “i can handle it farleigh, if you think i’ll be bad just be honest and don’t hide behind fake reasons.”

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips betrays his act of annoyance. “you and your pride,” he mutters under his breath, a veil of adoration lacing through it.

“don’t be a brat,” he murmurs with a luster of playfulness, “i just don’t want to overwhelm you with too much too soon,”

you frown, moving away strands of hair from his face, sighing. “is this okay then? too much?” you whisper hotly in his ear, leaning up into him. you reach beneath his dress pants and boxers, wrapping your hand around the thickness of him and hiding your surprise at how big he feels in your palm, and how you can barely wrap around him with your fingers.

he falters above you, groaning in the crook of your neck with whimpers of please’s. you take this opportunity to guide him a little further on his side, lightly pushing him onto his back. you tuck yourself into his side, his arm pulling you in and holding you close.

you shove his pants down just enough to fully free his cock. arousal thrums all along your cunt once he’s freed from his pants. a twinge of gratefulness is in your gaze when you look back at farleigh’s low eyes. taking him down your throat admittedly would’ve been a difficult feat and you’re relieved he stopped you from doing so.

however you won’t admit to that, instead you wrap your hand around him, dragging your thumb around his tip, giggling when he winces with pleasure, curling into you.

you rest your chin on the top of his head, whimpering above him when he takes one of your nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around them as you jerk him off.

“fuck,” he bucks his hips into the warm curl of your palm, running his fingers across your ribs, tugging you in closer towards him. he moans your name like its a saving grace into the valley of your breasts, inhaling your sweet perfume deeply. “does that feel good?” you ask softly, genuinely, and he groans, nodding.

“j-just, squeeze me right there,” he swallows hard, wrapping his large hand around yours when you travel a little further up his cock. you nod attentively, taking note of everything he likes. “tell me what else makes you feel good,” you murmur through kisses, planting them across his cheekbone. he fucking whimpers into your dampening flesh and your clit throbs at the sound.

“i like when you touch me right here,” he admits breathlessly, guiding your thumb to his tip. you nod, taking longer strokes, tightening your slickened grip and glazing over his sensitive tip.

“just like that, fuck,” he groans, panting heavily at the rhythm you’ve developed together. “you’re so cute like this,” you giggle lightly in his ear, teeth grazing his ear teasingly. you pump your wrist a little faster, feeling cocky at the way he falls apart in your hold, completely and utterly at your mercy.

he can’t help the way he tries to fuck your hand, grinding his hips desperately, neck bared for you when he throws his head back. you slide your arm a little further underneath his neck, cradling him close to your side, using your free hand to scratch at his scalp. his hips jerk and he moans, leaning into your gentle touches.

your eyes fall onto the wretched kiss stain on his skin once again, clenching your jaw. you smear it off of him, the flare up of jealousy sanctioning something in you to start dragging your wrist up and down a little faster, squeezing him a little tighter. pride rises within you when you see how receptive he is to it, trembling in the confines of beneath your wings.

you kiss the top of his head as he defaults right back into the sanctuary of your chest. his stubble tickles your skin, and you grow fond of the sensation. your poor hole clenches around nothing when your eyes peer down to see his cock weep in your hand, precum leaking and dribbling down your knuckles, agonizing over the same desire you possess.

the wet sound eliciting from your hand and his cock makes you ache, and you wonder what the tip of his cock would feel like rubbing against your clit. skin to skin. with each drag of your hand over him, you start to feel the familiar throb of desire settle back inside you, wishing your hand was your cunt taking him in. feeling each vein you feel right now but inside you, feeling his fat tip prod and hit right where your fingers could never reach. your fantasizing shows through the way you continue to jerk him off, growing hungrier and hungrier with each stroke.

“baby,” he groans into the thick air, as he lays helplessly beside you. “i wanna see you cum,” you whisper in his ear, unintentionally cushioning his face with your breasts and the act alone almost has him cumming in your hand.

he grips your lower back, burying his face in your chest, his body going rigid and firm, his cock twitching in your hold. “shit i think i’m— fuck baby tell me i can cum,” he begs, pressing needy kisses across your chest. you nod, pulling at the back of his curls forcing him to look at you. “you can cum for me farleigh,” you coo softly, lips pressed to the shell of his ear, your warm breath tickling his skin, and it’s all he needs to let go.

he can’t stop his eyes from falling shut in a tight pinch. his body locks up, his mouth parts open to pant in the air, his neck still displayed for your teeth to sink into, hips sporadically fucking into your pumping wrist.

you quickly release him, ducking down to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. you fight against the smile that wavers in your lips, feeling cocky over being the reason why he’s gasping loudly, whining your name as his cock twitches in your mouth.

you shut your eyes when he cums on your tongue, pleasantly surprised at the taste. he cums more than you would’ve expected but you take it all, eager to please him.

you gently lap at his tip, pushing your forearm on his stomach when he convulses from the sensitivity. “f-fuck, baby,” he breathes out, pulling you back up to him. he brings you down to his lips, guiding you onto your back when he kisses you.

it’s his turn to taste himself on your tongue and the thought of his cum gracing your mouth has his softening cock giving one last twitch. his hands run up and down your sides, savoring your skin and praying his hands and fingers memorize each curve and indent. “you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips. you peck him, feeling warm. “i know.” he smiles, pecking you back.

he collapses beside you, straightening out the charm from your necklace back to the center of your collarbones and despite everything that transpired between you two, the small action still makes you feel flushed.

“would it be okay if i slept with you in your bed tonight?” he asks quietly, anxiously. you nod, turning to look at him with a delicate smile that tells him you’re more than happy to have him stay with you. “i’d be upset if you didn’t.”

relief floods him, in return allowing him to abide by his instincts to scoot closer towards you. he curls into your side completely, long limbs overtaking you and intertwining you two until you feel like you’re one.

“night.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, unsure if he’s still allowed to plant a kiss there. you’re too sleepy to notice, content enough with being in his arms. “goodnight,” you repeat back softly, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

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fredwkong · 10 months ago

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Himbo Maker: Misha

Misha was an Egirl: a European Guy In Real Life. He would do his makeup, put on fake eyelashes, a wig, and a pair of pink headphones with kitty cat ears, and stream video games online. He loved to troll new viewers by spending an hour or so doing a breathy, feminine voice, and then suddenly hit them with his natural Baltic baritone. The way the chat went crazy made it worth it every time.

The whole game was helped by how petit and curvy Misha had always been. Even in his twenties, he still had a soft, almost girlish body and stood at most of other guys’ sternums. Too bad he wasn’t a trans girl, or at least a gay boy, he sometimes thought, looking at his body in the mirror. Gay guys were supposed to go for little guys who looked like him.

One evening, Misha was just starting his stream when some user started acting really weird in chat. He had a username that almost seemed familiar to Misha, but the guy he was thinking of had always been polite and given insightful comments on Misha’s gaming. This guy’s messages were full of typos, and he couldn’t seem to stop talking about his muscles.

Misha was just about to ban the guy when an alert sounded: Misha’s charming, girly laugh, which indicated a user had just donated a hefty sum. Of course, it was this annoying brodude.

“Uh,” said Misha, almost forgetting to put on his femmy voice, “He says, “Bro, this guy liek wants to chat wiht u on stream.” And there’s a link in the donation.”

Clicking the link, Misha found himself looking at a chat website he’d never seen before. “Hold on, let me share my screen,” he simpered, sharing the chat window. Somehow, his usual screen name was already in the bar. It must have populated from his stream.

Mish-kittycat: Like, heyoooo! You okay with being on stream with me? (✿◠‿◠)

Himbo_mkr: No way, bruh! I love meeting new bros. Like, hi stream!

Misha was a bit offended that this chat partner would refer to him as a “bro.” But stream chat seemed interested, so he thought it could be worth a few minutes to humour the donater. It had been a fair amount of money.

Mish-kittycat: What do you want to talk about UwU

Himbo_mkr: Bro, you know that all I ever talk about are my sick gains and going out with guys, lmao

Okay, so this was a troll. They probably wanted to get Misha banned for lewdness or something. Still, at least it was original that the troll character was a gay guy. He rolled his eyes at the stream and said, out loud in his girl voice, “Looks like someone got mad enough to pay to speak with all this.” He gestured down his slim body in tonight’s outfit, a stereotypical Japanese maid costume.

Himbo_mkr: Huhuhu, bro, you clicked on the link. Didn’t force you to do it.

Misha froze. Of course the troll was watching the stream. “Heh, I don’t let meatheaded bullies boss me around,” he chirped, trying to save face.

Himbo_mkr: You sure? You sure like it when your chat bosses you around, bro.

Now this guy was just lying. Misha scowled, even though he knew the expression would make his foundation crack unattractively. “This is a really weird way to bully someone.” He looked at the stream chat, waiting for his subscribers to back him up.

But the character of the chat seemed to have changed. No, they had always been bossy, Misha suddenly remembered. They would tell Misha how to play his games all the time while he pretended to struggle. It was a key part of the dynamic of his channel that chat bossed him around, and right now they were telling him to go back to chatting with this guy. One guy even messaged, “No more talking, kitty. You’re only allowed to write in the chat.” Misha gave the camera a plaintive look, but listened. He always listened to his chat.

Mish-kittycat: So maybe you’re right about that one thing, but coming in here being rude is totally uncool (งᓀ‸ᓂ)ง

Himbo_mkr: Bro, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was just tryna compliment you on your sick bis, dude.

Misha cocked his head, confused. He was the opposite of buff, that was why he was so good at dressing as a girl. But as he continued to think about it, he remembered all the hours he spent working on his arms. He kept a set of weights next to his bedroom door, and he did bicep curls to failure every time he went through the doorway. Yeah, his biceps were his pride and joy, and they were usually how he showed off his manliness when he revealed his deep voice and accent.

A tip came in. “Flex for us, kitty,” commanded the text-to-speech voice. With a smirk, Misha lifted up one of his arms, feeling it stretch the sleeve of his maid costume as the veins popped. Too bad the rest of his body hadn’t followed his arms and gotten bulky.

Himbo_mkr: We’re all waiting for you to drop your lifting routine, bro! You’ve been totally blowing up.

Misha blushed at the flattery. His physique wasn’t all that impressive. Sure, now that he thought about it, he had been really hitting the weights a lot and eating right. In fact, his room seemed to be full of lifting clothes and supplements as he looked around. But that was because some of his subscribers kept telling him to get to the gym and hit his macros. It had actually been really freeing to just let people pay to tell him what to do on his fitness journey. And it was paying off! Misha definitely couldn’t pass for a girl these days, which was why the channel had changed to be more about doing stuff in-game for the highest bidders.

The maid costume barely wrapped around Misha’s broad pecs, and the garters had torn when he’d tried to pull them up his thick thighs. Sure, it had been funny when the stream started and the chat had gotten Misha to show off his shoulder raises while dressed in a little maid skirt, but the polyester was really starting to chafe on his smooth muscles. It was a relief when a tip rolled in while Misha flexed and said “Kitty, wear comfy clothes.” The chat oooohed and aaaahed as Misha shucked the maid costume, showing off his bulky chest, and pulled on his favourite comfy shirt instead. Sure, it had some tears and stuff, but as a masculine guy, Misha wasn’t worried about dressing up fancy or anything.

The guy whose chat Misha was streaming had been quiet, so Misha hopped back over and sent another message.

Mish-kittyhunk: Thanks man! It’s all about trusting the process.

Himbo_mkr: I can tell that you trust people, bro! You’re like a puppy lmao.

Well, Misha thought, maybe he did like getting bossed around in chat, but it wasn’t like he trusted everyone blindly! Okay, well, maybe he did tend to stop to help people on the road and then lose his wallet a lot. They looked like they needed help! And maybe he did sometimes click on links that meant he needed to take his phone to the store for them to fix, but so did everyone else!

Looking at the chat, who were all laughing about Misha being a totally trusting puppy, Misha had to finally agree. That was why one of his subscribers had gotten him this headset with floppy dog ears on it, after all.

Mish-puphunk: Haha, you got me, dude! That’s why I clicked on this link, too XD

Himbo_mkr: It’s okay, bro. Lots of gay hunks are pretty dumb, it just adds to that himbo appeal.

This time this guy was definitely making stuff up. Misha was totally straight, he just didn’t do well with girls. Well, that and being a submissive hunk online mostly attracted a gay male fanbase. And, well, now that he thought about it, when was the last time Misha had really thought about a girl? Like, maybe if it was a domme? But no, even then, Misha would really prefer a guy to be involved at some point. This guy was probably right, Misha was gay.

It was super hard to think. There was a reason that Misha preferred to let chat do the thinking for him. Even before he realised how much he loved to listen when men told him what to do, Misha had never been much of a deep thinker. That was why most of the stuff in his room was gym gear, gaming stuff, or whatever his subscribers bought for him. Lately, they had been really loving when Misha wore even less clothes and showed off more of his growing body, and Misha was happy to oblige as long as they kept telling him what to do!

Mish-puphunk: Lol I guess you’re right! I just wanna give sirs what they want

Himbo_mkr: Bro, I totally get why you love pup play so much. You just love being obedient and dumb and empty lmao. You, like, pretty much live in your mask these days.

A pup mask…Misha was pretty sure one of his subscribers had sent him one of those once, but it had been really confusing to put on and he’d only worn it once. No, wait, that wasn’t right. Misha was such a ditz! He’d loved the experience of putting on the pup mask and letting himself be a dumb pup for his chat. And chat had loved sending in tips to give him commands like “sit,” “roll over,” and “stick a tail in your hole.”

It had been so popular that the subscribers had told Misha to make it a weekly thing, then a biweekly thing, and by now it had pretty much become what Misha did during his streams. While chatting with this guy had been fun, Misha really wanted to get on with the stream and mask up. He opened his mouth to tell the viewers that, but then remembered that he had been ordered not to talk. Too bad, chat would only hear his deep, resonant voice if they ordered him to bark after he put on his mask.

Mish-puphunk: Okay dude, I gotta go be a good dumb pup now.

Himbo_mkr: Got it, bruh! You got a bunch of hunky doms to please by being a good pup slut!

Chat cheered as Misha stopped streaming the chat window and winked at the camera. An especially hung dom who loved to tip had won the bid war last night to decide what Misha wore, so Misha fondled the straps of his leather harness as he got up to grab his mask. He wondered what his chat full of muscular, horny himbo doms would have him do today.

Misha slipped on the mask and let his mind go blank.

#male transformation #mental change #male tf #muscle tf #reality change #dumber tf #himbofication #himbo maker #pup tf #sub tf #all fwkong

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peakyswritings · 1 year ago

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Too young to love you

Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: They said she was too young to love him, that he wasn’t good for her. But they were wrong, right?

Warnings: age gap (Tommy’s in his 40s, she is in her 20s), this goes a bit dark at the end if you squint, tiny indirect reference to smut - again, if you squint, but nothing graphic.

A/N: I wrote this for @jomarch-wannabe ‘s celebration, and I chose the prompt “They say I’m too young to love you”. Congrats again, darling🤍

Dividers credit

Tommy stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as his wife finished getting ready for the soirée waiting for them. The ivory silk dress he had bought for her gracefully hugged her body like a glove, enhancing her figure without being overly revealing. He knew all eyes would be on her, and his chest swelled with pride at the thought that only he would be the one to take her home.

He walked up to her with slow steps, giving her the time to put on her earrings. Then he placed his strong hands on her naked shoulders, slowly trailing them up towards the base of her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure for her to relax under his touch. She leaned with her back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, lowering to bury his nose in the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, relishing her scent. “You look beautiful.” He whispered, feeling her quiver at the sensation of his hot breath brushing her skin. Tommy couldn’t hold back a grin at her reaction. He loved how sensitive she was, how easy it was to make her melt into his arms. But as much as he wanted to let himself get intoxicated by her perfume and her touch, it was not the right time.

“I’ve got something for you.” He murmured in her ear.

(Y/n) turned around to face her husband, her eyes shining with curiosity as a smile made its way on her face. “What?”

“Close your eyes.” He instructed, taking a few steps back. “No peeking.” He raised his eyebrows, pointing a warning finger at her. She let out a chuckle, doing as he said.

Tommy took a bracelet out of his pocket, one he had bought just a few hours prior, when he was looking for a gift to surprise her. He enjoyed spoiling his wife with jewels, lingerie and dresses probably a bit too much, but nothing compared to the feeling he got when saw them on her. The intricate design of dainty flowers made of small gems caught his eye immediately at the jewellery shop. It was delicate. It made him think of her.

He gently grabbed one of her wrists and clasped the bracelet around it, watching as she furrowed her eyebrows. He held her wrist in his hand, slowly caressing her velvet skin with his thumb. “You can look.”

(Y/n) opened her eyes, and for a few moments she was completely speechless. She shifted her gaze from the jewel to Tommy, the look of surprise not leaving her face. It was clear that it was probably more expensive than anything he had ever bought her.

“Tommy, it’s beautiful.” She mumbled, glancing at the bracelet again. “But you didn’t have to. You spoil me enough already.”

Tommy gave her a soft smile, bringing his other hand to her cheek to tenderly caress it with his knuckles. Little did she know that the fact that she never took his gifts for granted was one more reason for him to keep on coddling her. She wasn’t with him for his wealth, or his power, or his name. She loved him. The least he could do in return was to give her everything he got.

His hand found the back of her head, and he brought her forward to place a kiss on her forehead. “You deserve it, love.”

Tommy closed his eyes as she snuggled against him, the feeling of her frame against his strong body bringing him a comfort he thought he’d never be able to feel again. He held her in his embrace, one hand cradling her head, the other digging in her waist, eager to feel every inch of her body pressed against him. And her behaviour during the past few days told him that she needed that just as much as he did.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, moving away a bit so that he could look at her.

“I’m nervous.” She admitted, avoiding his gaze.

“Why?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “My family will be there.”

Tommy stayed silent, a way to encourage her to go on. She pressed her lips together, taking her time to find the words. “I’m nervous because I know what they say.” She carefully said, fidgeting with her fingers. “What everyone says.”

He placed two fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. “And what does everyone say, eh?” He squinted his eyes.

“That I’m too young to love you.” Her voice was just a little more than a whisper as she repeated what she had been told too many times. What they had been told too many times. What people whispered behind their backs. “That you’re not good for me.”

“Do you believe it?” Tommy brought his face even closer now, his lips barely brushing against hers as he breathed out those words.

“No.” She uttered, her eyelids fluttering.

“Then it doesn’t matter, alright?” His voice got hoarser as his fingers trailed down her neck, before going up again to cup her jaw. “They can go fuck themselves. What do they know, mh? It’s me and you, (Y/n).”

Her eyes shut close, and Tommy was sure that if it weren’t for his hold on her, her knees would give out.

“Look at me.” He ordered, tightening his grip on her face. “It’s me and you.” He reiterated as soon as his eyes met hers.

However, there was a voice in the back of Tommy’s mind telling him that maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of truth in those words, even though he never dared admit it to himself, or to her. She was young, and good, and pure, and she had chosen him. And he knew that it was just a matter of time before he tainted her, before the blood on his hands stained her beautiful skin, before the blackness of his soul devoured every drop of her light. Would he still love her, then?

His train of thoughts was interrupted by her soft voice, along with the feeling of her fingers tracing the scar on his cheekbone. “It’s you and me.”

A shock of desire swept through him, and he couldn’t restrain himself anymore from crushing his lips against hers, all his doubts leaving his mind. All he could think about now was her, her scent, her touch, her sounds.

It was him and her.

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic

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shutuperce · 1 year ago

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your fall 2023 byler reading list 🍂🍂

BIG BYLER FIC REC DUMP cause i haven't been writing a lot but i HAVE been reading and y'all need to read these! hope u enjoy as much as i did <3

got your spell on me, baby - @astrobei -Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 7,919

TW: none

'To be fair, Will’s costume is great, now that Mike knows what it is. And, okay, wait-

“Oh, this is so good. This is so good.” Max points at Mike, wheezing. “Because you’re dressed as-”

Will’s still looking straight up at the sky. The length of his neck is very, very flushed. Mike can feel his entire face going redder than Vader’s lightsaber. He clenches his hands into tiny little fists, and says, around a groan: “I’m not Han Solo, guys.”'

THE halloween byler fic. the party at college, bi lucas sinclair content, halloween party shenanigans.

these nerds, using star wars to flirt 🙄

background lumax & their amazing couples costume, el & will power sibling duo!!!

bowie references to heal the soul

all in all one of my favourite getting-together fics for this time of year :)

what a match: i'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet - @perexcri - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 28,150

TW: guns, blood, gore (just demodogs though no human gore)

'One month ago, if you had asked Will Byers what he’d do if Mike Wheeler threaded his fingers through his hair, looked him dead in the eyes, and started leaning in for a kiss, he wouldn’t have said this.

He wouldn’t have said he’d be staring right back into those yawning dark eyes, one hand on Mike’s waist, the other against his cheek. There wouldn’t have been any lightning in his veins or blood rushing in his ears.

He wouldn’t have said that Mike Wheeler would be tilting his head in the opposite direction, eyes widening just the slightest as if asking permission, his mouth slightly parted.

He wouldn’t have imagined it at all.'

SO SO GOOD. apocalypse post s4, background jancy and platonic stobin, interruption trope x10000 so it's SO SATISFYING at the end.

WILL WITH A GUN.

jonathan & mike solidarity <3

all in all amazingly well written mike and will being blushing messes. love them. fluff in the apocalypse.

take my hand, wreck my plans - @parkitaco - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 6,297

TW: discussion of past trauma

'"I am not taken," he says out of habit, even though he kind of is. He and Will aren't together - he blushes at the thought - but they do spend an awful lot of time together, and Mike doesn't ever find himself wishing he was anywhere else. "Will and I are-"

"Ooh, I didn't even say anything about Will!" Max crows. "Oh, this is excellent."

Mike hides his face in his hands even though she can't see him. "Oh my God. Can you put Lucas back on, please?"

Max cackles in to the receiver, the sound fading as Lucas presumably wrenches the phone out of her grip. "We gotta go, Mike," he says, laughing a little. "Max has class and I'm driving her."

"Tell her she's the worst," Mike grumbles, fiddling with the phone cord.

"Say hi to Will for me!" Lucas sings, and hangs up before Mike can protest.

Mike groans and flops back on his mattress. It's going to be a long year.'

part of a series!! byler college au, friends-to-lovers, background party friendship, AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES. OH MY GOD, THEY WERE ROOMMATES??

taylor swift title... do u really need any other persuasion

the whole series is just AMAZING. mike & will getting a break, living together at college and figuring shit out <3

i might be hoping about this - @astrobei - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 15,321

TW: none

'Will lets out a small squawk as Mike’s hand— his very cold, very freezing hand— finds its way around the blankets and under his sweater. “I’m sick, you weirdo,” he says, half-laughing into the side of Mike’s head, “I have a fever.”

“I don’t care,” Mike mumbles, “you’re warm and I’m cold. This is nice.”

“You’re going to get sick,” Will tries, for the umpteenth time, but it’s pointless. Mike Wheeler is stubborn and hardheaded and he never does anything halfway— not even this.'

established byler at college!! so yeah i have a love of college byler and this is one of my top fics for sure. 2nd astrobi fic on this list because i love their writing <3

will gets sick, mike takes care of him. need i say more?

silly goofy guys living together & doing silly goofy domestic shit

this fic makes me SOFT.

accidentally on purpose - @itsromeowrites - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 5,019

TW: none

'It starts out with a kiss. An accidental kiss. Because Mike is sleepy and Will is pretty, and who can really blame him? And then there's another one, just as accidental. But the third? Well, that may be a little more on purpose.'

literally smiling so hard at this fic. like hello. soft secret boyfriends and loads of party content, all the kids are okay <3

established byler, how the party finds out. all fluff all the time. jonathan attempts the Talk. mike has no idea what's going on. et cetera.

background lumax, lucas & dustin being lil shits together, and el using her powers to cheat at splashing games. all in all a good time!

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - anonymous - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 14,958

TW: none

'“I’ll leave you be until lunch,” Max starts negotiating, nodding at him as if that’s a good deal. Which—considering it's Max, it is, but Mike doesn’t want to give in just yet. She sighs. “I won’t laugh about the sweater anymore. Or the weak disposition that gives you stupid allergies all the time.”

Mike’s frown deepens, but she wasn’t as mean as she could have been, so he’s gonna take it. He needs to get this out anyways, or he’s going to keep running in circles as if stuck in a hamster wheeler—an accurate representation of his brain when it comes to Will, really. He presses his lips together and tries to figure out a subtle, non-funny way to say it, but he comes up blank.

Fuck, whatever: “I almost kissed Will. Again.”

Max actually has to cover her mouth with her hand, disguising a worryingly loud snort with a cough. The teacher turns their way and stares, then goes back to explaining the exercise on the board. Mike scribbles it down while Max gets herself under control.

Screw his life.'

senior year, post-vecna. the party being friends but also little shits to each other.

madwheeler bandmates!!!

will steals mike's entire closet

they are Dumb Idiots who are mutually pining from afar

and other lovable tropes. takes place in november so good fall vibes :)

#perce reads #byler #byler fanfic #fic recs #byler fic recs

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vianbarnes · 17 days ago

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my buddie going canon ideal scenario and why it could happen before eddie fully realises he’s gay

i’ve been cooking up this scenario for a while now but before going into it i wanna clarify that i don’t think eddie’s homosexuality is tied to buck and just that. i could write a full essay about eddie’s queerness without even mentioning buck. HOWEVER i do think buck could be the key to eddie’s discovery, the last puzzle piece that makes it all make sense.

narratively speaking, i think it could be interesting to see buck and eddie get to the same conclusion (that they’re in love with each other) but in the complete opposite way. while for buck it’s oh shit i’m bi > oh shit i’m in love with eddie, for eddie it would be oh shit i’m in love with buck > oh shit i’m gay. and obviously eddie is starting his own journey just now, so he might realise he’s gay and then it could click for him that all he’s been looking for was there all along, but i do think that - since this is a tv show - it would be interesting to offer a different side of the story to the audience. and yes i know that buck’s queerness and eddie’s queerness are very different already, but i’m specifically referring to their storylines leading up to buddie. (also this is just a personal side note but i think i would be lowkey crazy to have both of them realise they’re queer and still not understand their feelings for each other, like i know they’re dumb and dumber but c’mon!!!)

ok so now let’s put on the tinfoil hat

we literally know nothing about what’s gonna happen in the next episodes so i don’t have any solid theory on how we could get to this scenario. some of the interviews were teasing some potential tension (or angst even) between buck and eddie so my brain took this information and ran with it. a lot of us were also theorising a nde for buck, for eddie or for both of them at the same time and that could also be the setup for what i’m thinking.

but first let’s analyse where buck and eddie are right now (and in the upcoming episodes)

buck was just broken up with so now he’s trying to explore his sexuality and understand it more. it feels like the search for “his last” has just started and he’s excited to look at relationships and love through a new lens, but he also might feel a little discouraged that he has to do it all over again. he might be thinking “now that i have all these new possibilities, why is it still so hard to find my person?” (average bisexual experience i will tell you that much).

eddie on the other hand is slowly trying to forgive himself and love himself, accepting joy and not pushing away his desires and needs. allowing himself to feel certain feelings and just let go. he’s taking small steps to show up for himself just like he does for his loved ones every day (we still don’t know how far they’re gonna go with his story so the next episodes are definitely gonna be interesting)

so, with all that being said, here’s how buddie could go canon:

it’s late and buck shows up at eddie’s house. they’re in the kitchen drinking a beer, both leaning on the counter and not looking at each other at first. something has happened between them that they need to clear up (could be an argument, a fight or some very important words exchanged when they thought they were about to lose the other).

as much as i love a “because i love you!!” screamed during an argument, i don’t see that happening in this scenario. i imagine them having the softest, most honest and open conversation where they lay it all out - without even realising what they’re doing. at some point, buck is gonna say something that will make it finally click for eddie. if it’s an argument he could say something like “i need you in my life”/“i want you in my life forever”, or if this happens after a nde he could say “i can’t imagine my life without you”/“i don’t know how i could live without you” (i’m not a writer but you get the gist lol)

and that’s when eddie finally allows himself to feel what deep down he’s been feeling for years, and so he leans over and kisses buck. the kiss is pretty short: eddie pulls away almost immediately, as if his body was possessed by something and he just snapped out of it. buck can’t believe what just happened, but it takes him just a few seconds to realise and to grab eddie’s face and kiss him back. they start making out, they go out of frame, the screen turns black, the episode is over.

now let’s talk about the aftermath of the kiss. because if we know 911 we know that this goddamn show can’t let people just be happy so of course there’s gonna be some angst and miscommunication.

after the kiss, they don’t really talk about it. they might even get interrupted by something else (maybe eddie has to go to texas to get chris back?) so they have to postpone the what the fuck just happened conversation. and that’s when both of them start to spiral, but for different reasons. buck of course thinks that eddie’s distance means that he regretted the kiss, that they got caught up in the moment but that he doesn’t feel that way about him and he basically ruined their friendship. eddie is also freaking the fuck out: he’s panicking about how they could make their relationship work, how they could tell christopher, he’s questioning literally his whole life and past relationships like oh my god have i been gay this whole fucking time??, he’s worried about their jobs, how they’re gonna tell bobby and the others. basically questioning everything but buck.

being the idiots that they are, they’re gonna convince themselves that the other regretted everything and they’re gonna avoid each other and never have that much needed conversation. the 118 obviously notices that something is off, but no one knows what it is. until hen and eddie finally talk and he tells her everything: what happened, what made him panic and doubt everything and what’s stopping him from talking to buck. hen is shocked but not necessarily surprised. her and karen look at eachother (yes karen is there too because of eddiekaren bestfriendism that is very real to me) and then hen says something like “i don’t have the answers to all of these questions, but i’m sure of one thing: you love him and he loves you. you can figure out the rest together. go talk to him” (i think it would be nice for eddie to have this conversation with henren as a couple, since his biggest fears and concerns are about how they could make the relationship work)

eddie feels like he just woke up from a 20+ year long sleep. he runs out of hen’s place, hurrying to his car, and from now i’m picturing a full romcom montage with him just fighting for his life to get to buck’s apartment: traffic, construction work so he has to take a detour, his shirt is drenched in sweat so he has to go back home to change because surely he can’t show up at buck’s looking like that. once he gets home, he sprints to his room to find a new shirt (maybe he puts on too much cologne - the one buck likes - and he has to change again. just because it would be fun to see him in distress). he fixes his hair for the 100th time, grabs his keys, finally opens the front door and stops in disbelief. buck is on his doorstep, hand mid-air about to knock. they look at each other and in that moment they just know. they both lean in and go for the kiss aaand BUDDIE CANON !!!! (+ the buck at eddie’s door parallel finally having the romcom resolution it always meant to have)

of course i have no clue how we could get there, but i do feel like it would be true to the show if they didn’t immediately get together and if there was some angst between them. i hope that once they get together they won’t try to break them up (even just temporarily) so they might have to go through some shit at the very beginning of their relationship for that to happen.

alright tinfoil hat OFF folks. i always try to stay consistent to the show and only come up with theories that i could truly see being developed and i don’t think any of this is unrealistic. buuut i’m still a clown so who knows. quite frankly i’m fine with buddie canon either way (as long as their first kiss is initiated by eddie and it happens in his kitchen <3)

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fsfghgee · 2 months ago

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Bi-Han and Sektor's Relationship in MK1. They are a couple now? Why?

First of all, I give my honest opinion based on analysis here, regardless of what people are repeating out there. I will never say something I don't believe just to please a loud part. That said, I like the expansion, I like the story and I like the couples (more precisely, Sektor/Bi-Han and Rain/Tanya). Tanya and Rain have a certain past and I enjoyed getting a glimpse of what they would be like in a relationship. Bi-Han and Sektor were a couple that surprised me positively, I didn't expect Sektor to be so affectionate with Bi-Han and much less that Bi-Han would reciprocate like a man in love, I enjoyed seeing this softer side of Bi-Han with her…

vimeo

I admit that when I saw this scene I was like " own :3 " And then like "Liu Kang, you killjoy〴⋋⋌〵 !" haha

I thought that him watching over Sektor's body in mk11 would be the most of a soft side of Bi-Han that I would ever see in my life. And although I already knew because of the leaks that Sektor and Bi-Han would have a relationship in mk1, I never imagined that they would do it so explicitly. I was surprised, but positively. Because as I said in some previous analyses, a relationship with Sektor would give more depth to Bi-Han as a character. I knew that a relationship with Sektor would be their way of showing us a softer side of Bi-Han, showing that he has feelings and his actions are not only justified, but validated in the clan. I already expected Sektor to support him. They wouldn't make Bi-Han and Sektor so close since Sub-Zero's ending (where she was mentioned as a genius that he seeks advice from and even shares the leadership of the clan, since he refers to everything as "we", "our" and such) for nothing.

vimeo

"I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang's enslavement. We were now masters of our destiny and could take our place among Earthrealm's greatest nations. But taking and holding territory would require a vast army. I needed more fighters to make our presence felt. Then I recalled Shang Tsung's dragon warriors. An army of them would be unstoppable. But trafficking in such strong magic would surely draw Liu Kang's attention. Sektor advised that we avoid detection by building our army using science, not sorcery. We've invested much time in this endeavor, and we are beginning to see results. Once again proving the depths of Sektor's genius. When we are done, all of Earthrealm will honor our desires and heed our demands. If not, they will face the Lin Kuei's wrath."

And as I've been saying since the day this game was released (and I'll keep saying it even now that he's been turned into Noob Saibot) Bi-Han is not a villain, but an antagonist. He's not good, but he's not purely evil either. He's a morally gray character.

I know a lot of people want one, but I don't care about a redemption arc and I don't see why it would make sense for him to have one. To me, neutral/morally gray characters are much more interesting. I like how they play by their own rules, how they're not easily influenced, how determined they are and all that.

And after Bi-Han saved the timeline, he already redeemed himself and the only thing that really didn't make sense in his story was fixed (which was allying with outsiders just for the promise of receiving power to rule, neglecting the safety of his own clan since their base is in Earthrealm). I've already highlighted intros that prove that even though he didn't participate in the battle against Titan Shang Tsung to free Shao from prison in OutWorld. After he helped Shao in battles in OutWorld and Shao failed to fulfill his side of the agreement, he returned to defending Earthrealm (more precisely, he returned to defending his clan):

*In MK1, all endings and intros are canonicals (with the exception of guest characters like Homelander, Omni Man etc).

vimeo

"Though I had returned to the temple after Titan Havik's defeat, I remained livid. Livid with Bi-Han's foolishness, Kuai Liang's betrayal, and Cyrax's defection to his Shirai Ryu. So when Quan Chi arrived to parley, offering to eliminate the upstart clan, I listened... For his services, Quan Chi asked that I retrieve an amulet that was locked away in the Temple of the Elements. No small task, given its wards and guardians. Though one worth understanding, if it would finish the Lin Kuei's rivals. But before I could find the amulet, I found Bi-Han. There he was, imprisoned and forgotten, when Liu Kang had promised to restore him! As I rescued Bi-Han, all thought of retrieving Quan Chi's treasure was quickly forgotten. I will never forgive Liu Kang for this betrayal. That he is a god will not stop me from seeking vengeance."

I had hoped that after the expansion, because of what Liu Kang said to Bi-Han, they would come to an agreement about his desires. But they turned out to be just empty words and he refuses to even listen to Bi-Han's vision. Which I find quite ironic. Because it's so reprehensible that Bi-Han wants to rule Earthrealm while Mileena sits on the throne of OutWorld with her family ruling for generations…

Why is it only Bi-Han and his clan that have to settle for just serving as Liu Kang's lackeys? Because at the beginning of the story mode that's all they did....

Why should they settle for this fate of sacrifices without any reward forever? Because Liu Kang said it has to be so? I don't blame Sektor, Bi-Han and others for rebelling against this.

vimeo

"As I regained consciousness, I regained my memories: My transformation into a creature of chaos, my defeat of Titan Havik, and my failed confrontation of Liu Kang. Sektor was obsessed with finding the means to purge my soul of Titan Havik's corruption. She was shocked when I told her she should do no such thing. Infusing my soul with chaos did not damage me, it enriched me. By embracing randomness and chance, I have unlocked vast new powers. My kombat is less predictable, more formidable, and radically more lethal. Titan Havik gave me these gifts to use in fomenting his chaos. Instead, I will use them to fight for the Lin Kuei. Liu Kang, the Shaolin, my brother, and his clan will yield in terror when confronted by my perfection."

The only things that really disappointed me in the expansion was the lack of dialogue about Bi-Han's mother. I really wanted to know more about her and why Bi-Han reveres her. And the length, of course. There were a lot of things in a short space of time and I think that if it weren't for the amount of cuts they made, we could have had a longer expansion.

Regardless of what some people wanted or expected to happen, Mortal Kombat 1 was promoted since its release as a New Era that would present major changes made by Liu Kang in the destinies of iconic characters in the hope that everyone would find peace, but as the slogan "It's in our blood" said… It was never meant to last. In other words, although some characters ended up taking similar paths, others also took completely different paths. But the most important thing to know is that the Era of Peace is over.

And although Liu Kang has no control over the choices of those he has created the new destiny for, he has redesigned everyone's destiny and this has resulted in consequences…

Sektor and Cyrax being born female in this New Era and having a considerably different personality may have been both part of Liu Kang's plan, or just a consequence of his changes in the destinies of these two.

We never knew who Sektor's mother was and only his father was known, Oniro, the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. In the New Era, Sektor is the daughter of Madam Bo (a former Lin Kuei warrior leader) and Longwei (retired master armorer of the Lin Kuei), in addition to having siblings, while og Sektor was an only child.

Sektor is literally not the same person, but she kept the fighting style and the codename Sektor. While Cyrax was not even born in the same country and unlike the og Cyrax, she did not choose to serve the Lin Kuei, she was born into a Lin Kuei sub-clan and was trained since childhood to defend Earthrealm like all Lin Kuei.

Cyrax's change of country and the fact that she was destined to be a Lin Kuei and did not become one by choice is hard to understand. But Sektor not having the same parents or the same position is completely justified. First, because it was not og Sektor who had the idea of Cyber Initiative, it was og Sektor's father, the grandmaster. Sektor just obeyed the grandmaster by voluntarily undergoing the transformation into a cyborg. And the way Liu Kang tells them not to doubt Sektor's zeal for Bi-Han and tries to manipulate her love for him in favor of his plans to restore Bi-Han…

May indicate that Sektor was destined to be by Bi-Han's side. And knowing that nothing in the previous timelines points to Bi-Han or Sektor as homosexuals and that both were extremely individualistic men in the past who only joined forces for pragmatic reasons…

And the fact that the Lin Kuei are a real clan in this New Era (a group of close-knit and interrelated families. They literally grow the clan by having children among themselves, not by kidnapping children from the streets as in previous timelines) and an ancient clan of warriors with a long lineage whose roles in the clan are passed down from generation to generation (almost like a caste system). Sektor being born a woman makes total sense. And since she does not actually have the same parents as the og Sektor, it is entirely possible that she was born a woman who, although cold, is able to develop feelings and feel love for someone without Liu Kang's interference (especially for someone like Bi-Han, a kindred spirit). In the same way that Bi-Han developed a great attachment to his mother and began to trust in the abilities of the women in his clan because he had a warrior mother this time.

In addition to not being a random and meaningless couple (since Bi-Han and Sektor have always been Lin Kuei and the most loyal ones), they made an effort to present a background for this couple and give it a foundation. Since the end of Sub-Zero (where he praises her a lot, always referring to everything as "our" and "us". And although I was one of those people who thought that the random Lin Kuei there was Sektor, as soon as these speculations started it was confirmed that that guy was not Sektor and I should have guessed, since Sektor has always had red as his characteristic color in the games), then in the expansion it really shows that there are no secrets between them, that thing about Sektor bowing was all just part of their act to deceive Cyrax (a very funny performance in my opinion, because not even pretending to treat Sektor as just another subordinate he could keep his hands off her or stop sucking up to her lol), throughout the expansion it becomes clear that they have a very deep and strong connection as mentioned in Sektor's bio….

A relationship that goes far beyond that of a simple subordinate and boss...

I like their succinct personality differences, where Sektor, despite using fire in combat, is much colder and more rational than Bi-Han, while Bi-Han is reckless and explosive. They are a dangerous couple and likely to cause problems for the good guys. But they are not evil for the sake of being evil, they are doing everything they can to make the Lin Kuei rule. They fight for it. And the way they support each other unconditionally, share beliefs, goals and dreams. Their relationship is anything but simply pragmatic. There's love between them

Cyrax: Love for Bi-Han has made you blind. Sektor: It is you who can't see the Lin Kuei's future.

Geras: If you love Bi-Han, return him to Liu Kang. Sektor: It's because I do that I cannot.

Quan Chi: You were supposed to retrieve the amulet. Sektor: Saving Bi-Han was all that matttered.

Sektor: I won't let you near Bi-Han. Ermac: You are one. One cannot stop Us.

Liu Kang: You should have trusted me, Sektor. Sektor: Why?! You left Bi-Han to rot.

Sektor: I couldn't leave you locked away in the Temple. Noob Saibot: You were right to be impatient.

Noob Saibot: Your mother concerns me, Sektor. Sektor: She knows nothing which can hurt us.

Ashrah: Your ardor for Bi-Han is -- Sektor: I don't need a demon's advice.

Sindel: Your 'beloved' should never have crossed me. Sektor: He doesn't fear you. And neither do I.

Shang Tsung: Bi-Han will pay a steep ransom for your return. Sektor: Just how are *you* planning to abduct *me*?

Shang Tsung: This hostility is unwarranted, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: You tried to abduct Sektor!

Noob Saibot: It is time you answer for Sektor. Shang Tsung: For what, exactly? She escaped me unharmed.

Noob Saibot: You tried enlisting Sektor against me?! Quan Chi: Not against you. To help you see reason.

Noob Saibot: Leave. Before this gets ugly. Quan Chi: I am here to haggle but if we must fight, so be it.

Quan Chi: Sektor refuses to abide our agreement. Noob Saibot: I won't force her hand, sorcerer.

Liu Kang: Sektor should have trusted me to heal you. Noob Saibot: You should not have made her wait.

Noob Saibot: If Liu Kang seeks to punish Sektor -- Geras: It would be his right to do so.

Kenshi: So you and Sektor, eh? Hm. That tracks. Noob Saibot: If that is mockery, you are a dead man.

Sub-Zero: Together we will make the Lin Kuei immortal. Sektor: I am honored to fight by your side.

Sektor: You've been purged of Havik's magic?! Sub-Zero: Not exactly, Sektor.

General Shao: Sub-Zero sends his woman after me? Sektor: He sends his most skilled warrior.

Sektor: I couldn't leave you locked away in the Temple. Noob Saibot: You were right to be impatient.

Sektor: If Liu Kang continues to stand -- Noob Saibot: We will neutralize him.

Sektor: Is it best for you to remain this way? Noob Saibot: It is best for the Lin Kuei.

Kitana: I have to question your taste in men. Sektor: Please, Princess. Share your thoughts.

Reiko: Do you share Bi-Han's power? Or just his bed? Sektor: Careful, Reiko. Disrespect can be fatal.

Kenshi: You and Bi-Han deserve each other. Sektor: I couldn't agree more.

I particularly like how she imposes limits too…

Even though, everything indicates that she loves bold and dominant men…

Or more specifically a bold and dominant cryomancer who has won her heart and tested its strength several times with his foolishness and stubbornness. And despite this and the mockery of some, she and Bi-Han lead the clan together in perfect harmony and won't stop until the Lin Kuei rule Earthrealm.

I like a powerful couple. I like this couple. I like Sekhan.

tks @kermitthegod ^~

.....

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purpurussy · 1 month ago

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hi. once you mentioned your thoughts on the take that phil stayed in the closet for dan. could you share it again with the class again. sorry

⚠️ Dan and Phil DNI⚠️

dsfhjjkl I fear I'm not well-educated enough on the lore to have an accurate take. and it's really the notion that he "went back in the closet" for dan that bothers me. but I'll try to explain how I see it and people can feel free to link me to the vitally important receipts that I'm missing here which change the whole narrative lmao

the thing is I don't think it was 100% because of dan. i do think phil would have come out sooner if dan had been in a better headspace with everything, but imo it's not entirely accurate to say that phil would have been out and proud on youtube the entire time otherwise because as far as I can tell, he wasn't ever in that position 😭 would an out and proud man have made snokoplasm.

I think phil was referring to himself as bi on myspace but so was dan back in the day. and I think id'ing as bi in a setting where you don't expect that many people to see it beyond your personal network is a very different kettle of fish from being completely vulnerable and honest about your identity as a full-on celebrity. Phil has also told anecdotes that make me feel like he had 1 foot in the closet and 1 foot out in some ways (eg auditioning for big brother and then being terrified that they'd post his audition tape bc he said he was gay and then instantly regretted it, getting outed to his family by a friend when he was in college and having an awful time with that whole situation) and I certainly haven't seen anything that would lead me to believe he was ever really out as gay (and proud) on youtube at any point before 2019. Phil has also alluded to experiencing internalized homophobia/feeling like there was something wrong with him for being gay, and I feel like people gloss over that since it wasn't as severe as Dan's experiences.

so I don't think it's entirely accurate to say phil "went back in the closet" for dan firstly because I don't think he was ever fully out of the closet until 2019. he was certainly not out and proud with 0 caveats. like he never said it with his whole chest until coty.

then there's the fact that there can be real-world consequences to coming out which can be hard to predict or manage. things are a little different now but I can imagine it would have been tough trying to do a risk-benefit analysis of coming out when they were working with the BBC, trying to get things like world tours and book deals off the ground, and also I think they were probably not hugely financially secure back then (especially very early on/around the time they moved to London). like this is pure conjecture, but I can imagine it could have been tough to come out as gay, not knowing if you'd be inadvertently tanking a career opportunity because oh never mind we already have an openly gay radio presenter on this show and we don't need 2 more, or oh no don't do that because then we'll have to cancel the shows in Russia and Malaysia or whatever ykwim? (I assumed this was also part of the reason why dan had a breakdown about wanting to come out before II started but again that's based on nothing lmao)

now that I'm thinking about nick grimshaw coming out as gay in 2012 and co-hosting the radio show with them I feel like I'm connecting some dots but again this is just me yapping. I remember finding out he was gay back then and I vaguely remember people posting about feeling "betrayed" or being otherwise homophobic towards him but I can't remember whether the general reaction was positive or negative at the time. I also feel like there's something to be said for the fact that a lot of actors/people in situations like this feel like they're competing against other members of their marginalized community, because they can't both be hired for 2 different important roles because there can only be 1 token gay/poc or whatever. anyway food for thought I guess

I also think it's easy to assume Phil was just chilling the entire time since he plays his cards a lot closer to his chest than Dan. he doesn't like to talk about stuff like this as openly as dan and i think that results in us focusing a lot more on Dan's experiences (which makes sense since that's the information we have to work with, but still). he's hinted that it was rough for him to deal with the speculation about them and their relationship back in the day as well, and while I'm the last person to encourage people to start self-flagellating for the demon era, I do think it's worth considering that it can't have been easy for Phil either (I mean it was his face and words in the v-day video. I would have probably been institutionalized if that happened to me I'm just saying. the factors that led to dans no homo era can't have been easy for Phil to deal with either)

point is I think there were a lot of factors that kept them both in the closet. I do agree of course that Phil would've come out sooner if it weren't for dan needing to work through his issues before he was ready to come out (Phil has certainly said as much) but I don't think it's the only reason. I think it was certainly a show of the trust and respect he has for dan that he waited for Dan to be ready in the end, but I also think it's inaccurate when people talk as though dan singlehandedly kept Phil in no homo jail for 10 years and he would've been out and proud the entire time if Dan hadn't had a mountain of trauma and internalized homophobia to work through before he was ready to come out (which as dan himself has said, may have been a lot sooner than 2019, but there were other factors that kept him from being able to do that first)

#ask #essay #again. correct me if I'm way off base here I'm just a baby phannie at the end of the day #should i put this in the tag since i think it's interesting and i wanna get more feedback on it. hmm #in general i think Phil was out to his irl network and partially online #but like i said thats different from being 100% honest to the whole world as a public figure #and i think the whole process of them deciding to come out was probably the result of a bunch of discussions #rather than dan forbidding Phil to say anything until he was ready

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yuttikkele · 5 months ago

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i finished a new media so now it’s time for ATLA PRIDE HCs WOOOO!!!

so aang is unlabeled (and doesn’t identify as unlabeled either 💀💀) in all areas basically. he loves freely and doesn’t see gender or sex. he doesn’t see it in himself either. he mostly presents and refers to himself as a dude, but he found out he doesn’t mind being seen as a lady either. he’s crushed on katara and zuko during different points in his life, but he settled on katara. functionally, he’s pan and genderfluid.

katara is queer. she is the most unqueer queer ever though. she acts straight as a board I tell ya. she doesn’t really confine herself to labels much either, but she can tell you she was surprised at how much she enjoyed Lady Aang when that first became a thing.

sokka is bi. he probably thought men were supposed to marry women, but he quickly got over it when he got over his short lived misogyny. bi awakening wasn’t really a thing, he just sorta knew he always liked boys and girls. he’s had many crushes, but yue and suki are the ones that always stood out the most for him. obvi he dabbles in drag, that’s like sorta a canon thing. zuko’s autistic charms get to him and he ends up developing a crush on him.

toph is an aroace lesbian. she only dates the finest of women. she can tell she’ll read your heart with her feet.

zuko is gay like GAAAYYYY I don’t mean to bring accidental cheesy puns into this but he is a FLAMING homosexual, and I refuse to believe otherwise. at some point I said “I like zutara, but I just think atla is way funnier when in the back of your mind, zuko is gay.” anyways he’s gay and sex repulsed. zuko didn’t know he liked boys until he was 17, and he didn’t realize he was completely gay until a year later. he was very comphet and was always expected to produce a blood heir, and he didn’t think much of it. looking back, zuko noticed how he did find boys cute when he was younger and often avoided them because of it. he could sense that he and his sister were different, but he always thought that was because they were royalty. he only really started dating mai because they had so much in common, he thought that’s what was supposed to happen. when zuko, not long after becoming fire lord, realized he liked boys, he kept it to himself. a year later when he realized he only liked boys, he vented about it to mai, and she helped him through it. they broke up, but he still values her friendship. zuko finally gets with sokka in his 20s. yeah it took that long.

OTHER CHARACTERS THAT AREN’T GAANG THAT COME TO MIND!!

azula is a LESSSBIAAAAN that is a lesbian

I wanna say suki and ty lee are dating

smeller bee is definitely trans I don’t wanna hear it

uncle iroh doesn’t care. he loved his wife whatever happened to her, and he would also date a man.

EDIT: sorry just here to say that zukaang is endgame actually. they get together in aang’s mid to late 20s after pining for a long time. aang always had sorta an underlying unspoken crush on zuko, and zuko caught feelings when aang shot up taller than him and he realized aang got really handsome. and yknow. the fact that THEY’RE SOULMATES.

#thanks for listening to me ramble #I think they are all very queer I do think so #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar aang #katara #sokka #toph beifong #prince zuko #kataang #zukka #lgbtq #pride hcs #hcs #ack #text post

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queerofthedagger · 2 years ago

Text

reeling through the midnight streets

[Steddie | T+ | no warnings | ao3]

Written for @steddie-week day 2; bittersweet + fluff/angst (a bit of all of those)

“God, I used to have such a crush on you,” Eddie says, all casual. “Back in ’86, I mean.”

To Steve, the words feel like a car crash. They are said easily, mirthfully, but they change something fundamental about the space around them; Eddie’s cozy, clustered living room, the languid air between them. About those years—eight exactly—between now and the one that Eddie is so carelessly flinging in his general direction.

As if he doesn’t care whether it lands or not.

“What,” Steve chokes out, delayed, and it’s a wonder his voice doesn’t break.

From across the room, lying sideways in a worn armchair, Eddie raises a brow. “Oh, come on, you already know that I’m bi, you’re cool with Robin and Nancy—“

“What,” Steve repeats, and his voice lilts up at the end there, going tinny. He feels like he’d stuck his hand into a socket, and not in a hot way. “That is absolutely the last fucking thing I care about, man. In case you’ve missed the casual-but-entirely-on-purpose way I’d referred to my fucking ex-boyfriend—this isn’t even the point. What the fuck did you just say?”

Finally, through the haze of an evening full of weed and whiskey, Eddie seems to clock that his words may have not landed as casually as he had been aiming for.

Whatever the fuck he had been thinking.

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal, yeah? I was young and impressible, and you’d basically saved my life; easy for the poor queer kid to develop an unfortunate crush on the golden knight in shining armor.”

Steve laughs, a hollow sound. He leans forward on the couch and runs a hand through his hair. Looks back up at Eddie, at the faint but genuine confusion in his eyes, and knows that this isn’t a joke or an attempt to fuck with him.

Steve swallows. “You know, I always thought…”

He cannot finish the sentence. His mind isn’t clear enough for this, their spontaneous Friday night hangout turning a bit less casual when Eddie found a bottle of whiskey—coincidentally, of course, Stevie, what do you take me for—as if for old time’s sake.

He wonders if Eddie had planned this. If Steve’s the idiot, for not being able to laugh about it, too. For feeling like the words have wrapped themselves around the cage of his ribs like a fist, waiting to close.

“What,” Eddie laughs softly, not unkindly. “That I viewed you as some untouchable thing, the babysitter?”

“God you’re—“ making it worse, with each and every word. Steve clears his throat. “I always thought, you know, if you hadn’t left. I thought we could’ve been…”

Something. Anything. A fucked-up thing breaking after a year because they both didn’t know what to do with themselves, much less someone else in their life. Something good, something solid, the way their friendship had been.

Just. Something. Something more than broken promises and dwindling phone calls, than running into each other by chance in goddamn Colorado Springs, 1995, after years of no contact.

Across from him, Eddie is finally paying attention, sitting up straight in the armchair and looking at Steve the way Steve feels on the inside; raw and flayed open, like he’s coming apart.

There is a ringing at the base of his skull that sounds exactly like the one that had clung to him those first few weeks, months—too long—after Eddie had left.

“We could have been what, Steve.”

Steve laughs again, shakes his head. “Come on, don’t make me say it.”

A part of him had always thought that Eddie must have known, even as Steve had barely understood it himself. There was only so much sharing the same bed night after night, so much of fingers always reaching for skin, all casual, so many heavy silences and heavier confessions disguised as something else that could happen before—

He’d always thought that Eddie must have known. That he had looked at Steve, weighed him up against everything else, and decided it wasn’t quite worth the trouble.

“No, I think I need you to say it, actually,” Eddie says, his fingers restless on his rings.

In the dim light of three am, he looks so much like the Eddie that had haunted Steve’s sleep for years, he almost believes that this is nothing but a nightmare.

It makes him bristle, an old habit still not properly buried. “Weren’t you the one who just said it wasn’t a big deal?”

Always a bitch when things get too close for comfort, Steve; it’s something Eddie once knew, too.

“It didn’t,” Eddie allows, lifting one shoulder into a shrug. “Then you made it a thing.”

“I made it a thing? Jesus, Eddie, you’re—“ He bites down on the words, keeping them from spilling over—an eternity of longing bleeding all over Eddie’s faded rug.

It’s taken so long to get over it, the sudden leaving, the following silence. The helpless compassion in Robin’s eyes, Nancy’s pursed lips, the hours Steve had spent staring at his stupid fucking phone. The lingering phantom sensation of Eddie’s blood still on his hands, of Eddie curling around him in his sleep, of his fingers against Steve’s skin.

It’s taken so long, but Steve had managed. Had a couple of more or less successful relationships, found a job, is settled now. Hell, his current relationship has been going steady for months.

He looks up, holds Eddie’s eyes. Each and every word burns like acid on its way through his throat. “I was so in love with you, it fucked me up for a year when you left, Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, his entire body going still. Steve stops paying attention, instead getting up and grabbing his jacket. He has to get out of here, away from the dim light and Bowie playing in the background, the half-empty whiskey bottle and Eddie. Most of all from Eddie.

His life is good. It had taken a while, had taken an entire rearrangement of the pieces left in the wake of Nancy and Eddie and all the pains of being a teenager with absent parents and an alternate dimension dogging his steps, but he’d done it.

He thought it’d be fine to let Eddie Munson shove his way back into Steve’s life. It will be. He just—he needs—

“Steve—“

“It’s fine,” he says, plastic smile spreading across his face instinctively. He fixes his eyes somewhere to Eddie’s right. “Don’t worry about it, I got over it ages ago. Just, you know—I have a date with Nora tomorrow anyway, and I—“

He hasn’t lied this poorly in years. Eddie looks at him like he did in 1987, when he’d left Hawkins for good.

Steve runs a hand across his face and drops the smile for a smaller, more honest one. “Give it a couple of days, yeah? I’ll get over it; I always do.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer this time, slips out of the flat to let the cool mountain air wash over him, breathe and breathe and breathe until every muscle in his body stops feeling like a faulty live wire.

---

In the light of sober morning, Steve’s first impulse is to skip town.

His second is to grit his teeth, get up, and deal with his hangover. It doesn’t exactly lessen the hot-faced shame, but then, he has an inkling that nothing but time will do that.

He allows himself a couple of days to mull it over—he’s not sulking, Robin, thank you very much. To meet Nora for dinner and remind himself that he isn’t the same heartbroken, left-behind kid that he had been at twenty, and that Eddie may have barreled right past all of Steve’s carefully crafted defenses last night, but that it doesn’t mean that he is still a scalpel sliding into the soft parts of Steve’s heart.

It is a week until he picks up the phone. He refuses to feel guilty about it—there really were approximately thirty better ways Eddie could have gone about dropping that particular revelation.

They meet at a coffee shop close to the record store where Eddie works and make it through the slightly awkward greetings and orders, taking their drinks to go. Spring sunlight is finally crawling over the mountains in the distance, and even though the wind is still chilly, it’s like coming back alive.

“So,” Eddie says, once they’ve turned left into a small park. He glances over at Steve, a sharp crease between his brows, and then squares his shoulders. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Steve hadn’t exactly planned any of this through; it was the only way to avoid overthinking what he wanted—and didn’t want—Eddie to say. The declaration still makes him clench his teeth to keep the first and the second answer from slipping out.

Eddie stops on the narrow path, turning to look at Steve. There is something severe to him, the harsh twist of his mouth pulling at the faded scars. “What did you want me to do, Steve; the entire town still hated me, and even before it did, Hawkins never had a particularly shining future in store for me—“

“Unlike for me, you mean?” Steve scoffs, bitterness creeping into his tone.

It’s not how this is supposed to go. He isn’t supposed to still be so godforsaken hurt, is supposed to take the whiskey-hazy night and laugh it off, bury it the same way he had buried all of those sugar-spun dreams for their future, back in 1987.

Eddie shrugs, but he’s too tense for it to look casual. “Yeah, maybe; doesn’t really matter at the end of the day, does it?”

Steve lets his gaze travel through the sorry excuse of a park, sickly-looking trees blocking out the Rockies.

“Yeah,” he laughs, dropping his half-empty cup into the nearest trash. “What does it matter, at the end of the day.”

“Steve…”

“No, I know, it’s—“ He runs a hand through his hair, pulls himself together. He looks back at Eddie and he’s still frowning, the seriousness sitting wrong on his face. “Did you ever—I mean... I could have come with you. You could have asked.”

There is a beat of silence during which Eddie’s face goes blank, and then it crumbles with something so wildly hurt that Steve wants to take it back, shove the words back down his throat and let them rot there.

“Fuck, Steve, don’t you think I wanted to?”

And because Steve can never leave well enough alone, he asks, “Why didn’t you?”

Eddie smiles, a distorted, sad thing that makes Steve regret every step that has brought them here.

“Well, I wish that I could whip out the big selfless story, but truth be told—I don’t know. I think… I mean, do you think we would have made it? That we were ready for… That we wouldn’t have fucked off to Chicago or New York or wherever with Robin, that we wouldn’t have torn each other and ourselves apart with how…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. After all, they are standing hundreds of miles away, hundreds of days later, and are still choking on the same aching enormity of it.

Steve closes his eyes. Breathes in, out, and keeps his hands very, very still to stop them from reaching out.

“Yeah,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, we would have fucked it up.”

This time, the silence drags on, a moment of impenetrable mourning for everything that never was, never will be.

Eventually, Eddie visibly shakes himself, his eyes careful on Steve’s face. “At least this way, we still get to be friends, right? Took a while and a few detours, but much better than ending up hating each other’s guts and having to split custody of the kids.”

“Friends, yeah,” Steve agrees, forcing a smile. He doesn’t ask, isn’t this what we have been doing? Avoiding each other for years, splitting time, making excuses and now, finally, pretending that we can be fine, a clean slate? All the pain of breakup, just with a story about missed opportunity, rather than doomed romance. All broken heart and no ready explanation for it.

It’s not pretense, though, he reminds himself. They’re fine. It’s good; he wants Eddie back in his life, and it’s not—

They’re not in love anymore. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t manage to be friends, this time around.

“Come on,” he says, nudging their shoulders together and swallowing down the relief washing across Eddie’s face like pain relief. “Let’s get a drink, yeah? To old friends, and all that rot.”

Eddie laughs, nudges him back, and it’s fine. It’ll be fine.

---

Eventually, inevitably, things go back to normal. Time passes, and while that particular night, that particular revelation, settles into the marrow of Steve’s bones as if to stay there for the rest of his days, they fall back into their usual rhythm easily.

Time passes, and he and Nora break up because sooner or later, that’s how all of his relationships end. Eddie gets drunk with him about it, both of them lying sprawled across his living room floor, fingers brushing, and Steve thinks about kissing him but doesn’t, so it’s all fine. It’s all utterly, perfectly fine.

---

Except that it’s not.

They aren’t teenagers anymore, so they no longer share a bed on flimsy excuses or live in each other’s pockets the same way, but their lives merge and tangle more and more as late summer washes everything golden and languid.

They meet after work and Eddie listens as Steve rants about his coworkers, and they drive up to Denver where Eddie plays the occasional gig. Steve teaches Eddie how to cook something more elaborate than pasta, and Eddie shows Steve how to fix his car himself.

They talk; about the time in between, about why Eddie left and why Steve didn’t, for so long. The kids visit and Dustin is over the moon as if he’s still fifteen and desperate for them to get along.

They’re not teenagers anymore, but as autumn tapers out, the nights already chilling up here, Steve knows that he’s falling in love again. That he should do something about it, because he has gotten his heart broken once already, and how he doesn’t.

---

Except.

They make the drive to San Francisco for New Year because one of those bands Eddie is ridiculously into is playing a show, and Nancy and Robin are in London for their anniversary. Steve just knows that if he didn’t have proper plans, Robin would have felt bad at least half the time instead of enjoying herself.

Not that he minds; many of those big, official holidays have lost some of their appeal throughout their teenage years—4th of July, Halloween, Christmas in the final showdown—and he likes San Francisco well enough.

He likes Eddie a little too much, but at least it’s good to see him happy; Steve already knows that he and his heart are a lost cause.

Except. When the clock is about to strike midnight, Eddie is standing close, the crowd around them a living, breathing thing. The lights go kaleidoscope around them, the bass thrumming through the floor, up Steve’s legs, and Eddie is still the only thing in the whole room he wants to look at—messy hair, glitter on his face, and cherry-pink lips from some abomination of a drink and all.

Eddie takes a step closer as the front man yells the ten of the countdown.

“Hey.”

Steve’s throat is dry. His head is swimming from too many shots and Eddie’s proximity both, from the electric current setting his blood alight.

“Hey,” he says, and it comes out hoarse, unsteady. Eddie’s fingers tangle in the front of Steve’s shirt, and Steve—

Steve knows what’s about to happen next. The crowd shouts the five, and Eddie is smiling, eyes wide and warm and lovely. Steve loves him so much that he won’t survive the second time that Eddie Munson breaks his heart.

Three. Eddie’s hand curls around Steve’s hip. Steve thinks of the tail-end of 1987. Of 1988.

Two. Steve remembers the bathroom floor, Robin’s arms around him, the glaring headaches from too much alcohol.

One. It might be different this time. Eddie leans in.

But what if it’s not.

At point midnight, Steve turns his head away. Eddie’s attempt at a kiss land on his cheek and he steps back. Perhaps it’s not his heart, but something within him breaks at the look on Eddie’s face.

He forces a smile, forces himself to lean back in so he can speak over the noise around them. Forces words past his throat that taste like ashen betrayal, pretending that he isn’t choking on the burn of it.

“I’m so glad we’re friends, dude! To another year, right?”

He doesn’t hear Eddie’s answer if there is one. For the first time in a long time, Steve Harrington runs.

---

The drive back to Colorado Springs is one of the most uncomfortable experiences in Steve’s memory, and he’d once been friends with his ex-girlfriend and the guy she’d replaced him with.

Neither he nor Eddie acknowledge what had happened, how Steve couldn’t bring himself to return to their hotel until early morning, and how, when he finally did, Eddie had clearly faked being asleep.

They should be better than this by now, older and wiser and more mature, but Steve keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the road, and Eddie keeps his anywhere that isn’t Steve. They only talk when absolutely necessary, and if it wasn’t for years of carting the loudest bunch of annoying little dipshits around, Steve’s pretty certain that the utter distraction of it all would have made him crash the car.

By the time he finally pulls up in front of Eddie’s apartment complex, every part of him feels like he did.

“Steve—“

“I’ll call,” he cuts in. “I just—I need to catch up on sleep, yeah?”

He can feel Eddie looking at him, and he knows that he’s being unreasonable and stupid and, most importantly, a massive fucking asshole. He still cannot bring himself to look back.

The door closing softly is a gunshot, bullet to the heart.

---

Steve doesn’t call. He stares at his goddamn phone for three days, and every time he thinks that he’ll be able to use it, he sees Eddie’s face again, bright and glittering and hopeful, leaning in. Tired and haggard, telling Steve that he’s leaving, that he needs to make it on his own. Every time, hope sparks in the pit inside his chest, and every time, he still feels the phantom pain, the cold bathroom tiles beneath his cheeks, the brutal loneliness high in his throat.

Robin comes back, and it takes him two days to tell her, but when he finally does, she simply hugs him, saying, “It’s fair enough if you don’t want to get hurt again.”

Steve’s not sure if it is about it being worth it, really. Eddie’s worth the world, is worth the risk and the hurt and all those years that Steve has been walking around with a hole inside his chest that has only started to close recently.

He still can’t pick up the phone, the mere idea of Eddie’s voice a warning twist of the scalpel, each and every time.

---

They don’t talk to each other for three months. Steve would love to say that it becomes easier after that first week; it proves the point of his serrated fear, at least, that it doesn’t, so he wins either way.

Except, all of it feels like losing. All of it feels like 1987 all over, except that this time, Steve can’t even blame it all on Eddie, can’t even rant and rant and rant to Robin about how Eddie’s an asshole and have her agree while she holds his hair as he’s throwing up his heart at 5 am.

Steve’s caught between past and future, and meanwhile, the present is slipping him by. He goes to work, does his chores, goes through the motions. He goes running, long, grueling runs up and down Colorado Spring’s hills until his legs shake because it’s the only thing bar drugs that shuts up his brain for a couple of moments.

He avoids all the places that he knows Eddie frequents, as well as the ones that Eddie knows he usually searches out. It feels like 1987 but flipped on its head. Steve hasn’t been this miserable since— well.

1987.

Winter melts into Spring again. He remembers, ‘God, you know, I used to have such a crush on you, back in ‘86.’ He remembers nights spent on the floor of Eddie’s living room, the way Eddie still talks with his hands when animated but how it is missing the anxious edge, these days. How he’s still passionate about music and DnD and the frankly ludicrous number of books littering his apartment, but how he listens now, too, when Steve talks, instead of drifting off into his own head, helpless.

He thinks of the past and of changing, of the embers of anger he has carried for almost a decade. Thinks that he hasn’t been a coward for longer than that, and that they deserve—

Well, either they deserve one last chance, or he finally deserves closure.

More or less exactly one year after he fled Eddie’s flat for the first time, he rings the doorbell, bottle of whiskey in hand and heart in his throat. As he waits, he prays and prays and prays that they haven’t finally fucked it up for good.

---

Eddie looks surprised for all of three seconds before his expression gentles into something softer. “Steve. Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

There is a fraction of hesitation, Eddie’s eyes flickering from Steve’s face to the bottle of whiskey; it’s just long enough for a spike of doubt, but then Eddie nods and steps aside.

The silence as they walk into the kitchen is awkward, but less stifling than Steve would have expected. He waits until Eddie nods at one of the chairs, a wordless question, and they both settle at the table. It takes a lot of effort to keep from proposing a few rounds of shots first, from throwing over all his carefully laid-out speeches and ask questions instead—like, why did you let me in, why aren’t you angry, why haven’t you called if you aren’t?

Apologies have never been Steve’s strongest suit, but he still does none of those things. He straightens his spine instead and looks straight at Eddie when he says, “I’m sorry, I’ve been an asshole on—and since—New Year.”

Eddie’s lips twitch as if any of this is funny. “Yeah, you were. You needed time, though; I get it.”

That… is not how this script is supposed to go. Steve frowns and traces the lines in the wood of the table. “Is that what you think, is that what I needed? I was just…”

If he’d hoped that Eddie would fill in the blanks for him, he’d be sorely disappointed. Eddie simply keeps watching him, calm for once in his life. Like he knows, but wants Steve to say it, anyway.

Which, honestly, is a very Eddie thing to do, in its own kind of way. Then again, jumping head-first is Steve’s, and to hell with all the carefully crafted speeches and measured revelations. They had more than enough time, and Steve wants—Steve wants. All or nothing.

So he jumps.

“I’m still—I’m still as stupidly in love with you as I was at twenty fucking years old. Or maybe not still but rather again; it’s honestly a little hard to tell, sometimes. But I can’t—I can’t do this again, not. Not watching you leave. Not losing you again. And frankly, I’m not…” He exhales; swallows the fear and the hunger and the burning ache, and says, “I’m terrified we’ll fuck it up. That I’ll fuck it up—hell, I almost did, and we haven’t even had a chance—“

He jumps when Eddie touches the back of his hand, the light brush of fingertips like a burning match to spilled kerosene.

“Only you would be afraid to be the one to fuck it up after I was the one who ran away the first time.”

“That was nine years ago, though, this is—“

“Steve.” It’s the full-stop kind of way he says it, brown eyes dark with something that locks the protest behind Steve’s teeth.

He watches as Eddie gets up, walking around the table to kneel on the floor in front of Steve. Under different circumstances, the image might have sent his mind straight to the gutter; right now, with the way Eddie looks at him, all he can think of is kneeling on the church pew as a child, Sunday mass still an occasion his parents insisted on. Of staring up at the mahogany cross above the altar, and how small he’d felt, in the face of something so massive. How he’d hoped regardless, each Sunday, hands folded, that the one thing he kept asking for may be granted.

Love, love, love; Steve Harrington’s biggest, worst-kept secret has always been that insatiable greed for feeling, just once, like he could be worthy of it, too.

And now here Eddie is, kneeling at his feet.

He touches two fingers to the curve of Eddie’s jaw, where the scars still curl; a mirror of the earlier touch, and he wonders if Eddie feels it too, the firestorm beneath his skin. “You agreed that I’ve been an asshole.”

Eddie shrugs. “I waited, though, didn’t I? I needed time back then too, and I regretted leaving as I did within half a year. I just didn’t have the courage to come back.”

If Eddie’s first confession had felt like a car crash, this feels like the aftermath; like getting scraped off the tarmac, band-aids in every color stuck to savage wounds.

When Steve speaks next, his voice is rough. “What if I didn’t have the courage?”

“I knew you would.”

“That’s confident of you.”

“Or perhaps, I just know that you’re the bravest—as well as the most stubborn—idiot I’ve ever met,” Eddie says, and there is so much godforsaken affection ringing through his vowels that Steve almost chokes on how it floods the cavity inside his chest.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not an asshole, sometimes,” he says, because it feels dangerous, all that trust and certainty.

Eddie grins, almost pleased, and tugs at him until Steve huffs as if to prove the point and slides from the chair, kneeling on Eddie’s kitchen floor.

“Look at me,” Eddie says, as if Steve does anything else whenever he’s around.

Eddie slides his hands around Steve’s jaw, though, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Holds Steve’s gaze, and says, “I’m not going to leave again, alright? I’ve waited three months for you, but if you need me to, I’ll wait again. I’d wait each and every day for eight years, too, if that is the amount of time you’ll need. Granted, I’ll complain about it the entire time, and either you or Robin might murder me a year in, which would be a shame, but I’d wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve’s throat burns, and he knows that if he uncurled his hands from where they found Eddie’s wrists, he’d find them shaking.

Steve believes him, though, is the thing; thinks of the sheer unlikeliness of them ever running into each other again after 1987, and about Eddie’s confession. About how they’ve been hurling towards this for so much longer than either of them could have known, and how, although he has long since stopped believing in Gods and fate and meant-to-be, the things Eddie makes him feel are the closest Steve has come to devotion in years.

So on a random Tuesday night in March, Steve kisses Eddie on the hardwood kitchen floor, for the first time since he thought of it, back then with a broken bottle pressed to his jugular.

It’s not as seismic as that particular night. It’s more like something softly clicking into place, like there is familiarity to the warmth of Eddie’s breath against his skin, to sliding his fingers into Eddie’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

He licks into Eddie’s mouth and swallows the noise he makes in response, something to tug away beneath his breastbone—a new collection of things with Eddie’s name scrawled all over them. One less like a museum, and more like an exhibition in progress.

It’s like lighting a candle at the altar every Sunday, make a wish, believe it will come true; or maybe it’s the aftermath, the one Steve waited this long for. No candles, no tolling bells, but a wish coming true when Eddie laughs against his mouth, breathless and unsteady and so fucking happy that he glows.

“You know, I might have lied a little,” Eddie says, trailing his mouth over Steve’s jaw, across his cheekbone, until he can rest their temples together. “I didn’t actually have a crush on you in ’86. At least not only in ‘86.”

Steve’s brain isn’t working well enough for this. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie sighs, all over-dramatic theatrics, and tugs at a strand of Steve’s hair. “If you must know—“

“You’re the one who started talking—“

“If you must know. I had a crush on you long before ‘86. It’s just the year where it became so unbearable, not even I could ignore it any longer.”

Steve pulls back to look at him. “Now I know you’re full of shit, there’s no way—“

Eddie scoffs, but it mixes with laughter. “Christ, you really have no idea. Steve Harrington, you were a menace to every poor soul who was unfortunate enough to be attracted to men and living in godforsaken Hawkins in the ‘80s. And you better not let that get to your head, or I swear—“

Steve kisses him again, can’t help it, really, his chest threatening to crack open with the ridiculous amount of love that’s beating inside of it.

“And now I’m all yours,” he says, a vow against Eddie’s soft mouth. “Not on your goddamn kitchen floor, though.”

Eddie’s grin is bright enough to light up the entire room. “Still royalty at heart, I see.”

His knees crack when he stands up, though; Steve considers it his first big proclamation of love that he’s not making the obvious joke, here.

If the look Eddie levels at him is anything to go by, he knows it too, and what else is Steve supposed to do but pull him close, wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist to kiss him, again and again. To say, “At least not for the first time; I’m sure we’ll get around the flat eventually,” and swallow Eddie’s delight like honey.

After all, they have all the time in the world; Steve’s not going to let go again.

#st #stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #mona's writing #this occupied my brain till i wrote it instead of. yk. focusing on my bang or something. sigh #steddieweek2023

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aladygrieve · 8 months ago

Text

So we all know Buck hasn't officially come out yet, right? He told two of the most important people in his life that he is dating a man (and it was wonderful), but he never used the word "bisexual." And as much as this seems to have disappointed some people, it was very much the right narrative choice.

Buck has only just started coming to terms with kissing and dating and being attracted to men as something he DOES. He may have told Maddie and Eddie that he went on a date with a man, but he's still in the process of coming out to himself and wrapping his head around a fundamental shift in what he's always thought of as his identity.

That's why Buck, a Certified Mankisser who was CURRENTLY ON A DATE WITH A DUDE, kept referring to himself as an ally. He told Maddie he feels like a fraud. On the surface that's in reference to his lying to Eddie, but what's really going on is that Buck has impostor syndrome about his own queerness - which, by the way, comes with the Bi ExperienceTM starter pack.

Of course Buck hasn't internalized "bisexual" as something he IS yet. He has always struggled with issues of belonging, something he wants desperately but has never really felt like he deserved. Finding his place with the 118 was the first step on the road to associating the broader queer community with "me" instead of just "people I care about." He feels all the warmth and compassion in the world for his queer friends, and for queer people in general, but he won't be able to claim bisexuality as his own identity until he comes to grips with the fact that he deserves that same warmth and compassion for himself.

He's getting there though. We see great progress even in this one episode, where Buck goes from looking over his shoulder afraid that someone is watching his and Tommy's date to initiating a public handhold with him. He goes from letting Tommy walk away and blaming their brief break-up on his own mistakes and insecurities, to identifying a relationship with Tommy as something he wants and then actively pursuing it.

I'm so excited to see where this arc goes. Because it's not resolved. It's barely begun.

#evan buckley #911 #9-1-1 #7x05 you don't know me #bi!buck #maddie buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard

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twopoppies · 1 year ago

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[…] We’ve read so much about it, heard so much about it, yet somehow people like Billy Porter pop out of the woodwork every 6 months to accuse Harry Styles of exploiting queer people. Aside from being so utterly boring, these bad faith criticisms have lately taken on a malicious edge.

[…] Clearly, attempting to fit his sexuality into a precise box and be defined by it did not serve Bowie well. He later called his coming out “the biggest mistake I ever made” and that by being reduced to his sexuality, “it stood in the way of so much I wanted to do.” To me, it’s clear that Harry Styles, who is often discussed in the same breath as Bowie, is simply treading more carefully. He says he doesn’t label himself, he loves who he loves at his own discretion, and his fashion is extraneous to this. For some people Styles’ firm refuting of labels isn’t enough, which takes this discourse onto the slipperiest of slopes.

Putting pressure on a celebrity to address their sexuality in terms more suited to their fan base and the industry is depressingly familiar. Kit Connor of Heartstopper fame came out last Halloween, tweeting, “back for a minute. i’m bi. congrats for forcing an 18-year-old to out himself. i think some of you missed the point of the show. bye.” It was a full-throated indictment of the toxic side of the Heartstopper fandom, who interpreted the show’s warm message of inclusivity as the green light to go on a merry witch hunt for any potentially straight cast members. The entire affair hurt Connor, as would any induced coming out, and it’s an example of what happens when the Internet insists upon knowing who’s shagging who.

Porter’s recent comments are not the first time he’s criticised Styles and they espouse exclusivity in the name of inclusivity. He refers to Styles “using my community”, as if queerness or gender nonconformity is a members’ club Styles is gatecrashing. His point about Styles’ whiteness and beauty playing a prime part in his position as the first man to cover American Vogue is obviously correct, but it is not for Porter to proclaim who is in the ‘community’. There is no hierarchy within queerness or gender nonconformity and Porter is wrong to claim there are “leaders of this de-gendering of fashion movement” because the de-gendering of fashion is something that has existed since fashion began. It has no leaders because it’s literally just clothes.

This article is about far more than just Billy Porter (as the video above addresses very well). But this part stood out to me and I thought was worth highlighting.

Full article here

#Harry’s sexuality #billy porter #queerbaiting #kit connor #david bowie #celebrity coming out

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3-2-whump · 22 days ago

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Purpose Lost, Then Re-gained

Hey everyone,

If you need a timely distraction from spiraling into despair (like me), here is a backstory I've been holding onto for ages. Thanks @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta-reading this!

PS, there is a reference to a previous chapter that you'd might want to brush up on, if you're unfamiliar with it

TW/CW: blood, aftermath of murder, whump aftermath (I guess?), aftermath of (sports) injury, emotional whump (depression), feelings realization (bi panic)

Out, damned spot; out, I say. One, two, —why, then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Nico scrubbed his hands once, twice, until they were pinkish-red from the effort of cleansing rather than from the blood. Yet he could still feel his boss’ warm blood sticking his palms to the dead man’s body and staining him to his bones. Outside the thin doors of the dock’s restrooms, he could hear Julio instructing Juicio Divino on where to hang up Tom’s body.

Thomas Costa’s body.

Nico thought he was going to be sick.

The door swung open and Julio leisurely sauntered up beside him, taking the sink next to him to wash the blood off his hands. They stood there in silence with nothing but the water running between them and a tension that could be cut with a knife.

Julio glanced over at Nico’s scrubbed-raw hands, frowning a little as he turned off the water to his sink. “You good there, vato?” he asked quietly.

“You know, it’s just kinda fucked, isn’t it?” Nico began, the words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain could make sense of them. “I literally just helped you murder a rapist, an enslaver, and an abuser, among other things. Yet, all I can think about is how that same rapist, enslaver, and abuser cured my depression and gave me a purpose to life again, and we literally just took his-”

Julio cut off his nervous babbling by placing a damp, clean hand on Nico’s. The other hand reached to turn off the sink, and then to turn Nico towards him. Forest green eyes looked down into hazel. Julio frowned, reaching gently to touch one of Nico’s many scrapes he got on his face. The guard flinched under the assassin’s tender touch. Julio withdrew his hand right away, and Nico surprised himself when he found he missed its absence already.

“We need to clean those too so they don’t get infected,” Julio murmured. He gently led Nico into a bathroom stall and prompted him to sit down on the toilet. He then exited for a bit, only to come back with a paper towel he was blotting with alcohol from his jacket flask.

“Um, actually, I don’t think booze is the best thing to sterilize wounds,” Nico tried to say.

Julio hushed him as he began gently dabbing Nico’s split brow with the paper towel. Nico gritted his teeth; that stuff stung. He inhaled a comforting scent on the next painful hiss. Julio smelled…nice… a bit like marijuana and gunpowder and musk, but nice all the same.

Julio worked his way down to the cut below Nico’s left eye, staring intensely at his face in the meantime. Nico bristled under the man’s scrutiny. He wasn’t used to being touched so tenderly, not since-

2014

He was told that the torn ligament would need surgery. That he would need to go to rehab for weeks, if not months, after the fact. That he would miss the rest of the football season.

But that couldn’t be it. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Nico Clemenza was supposed to lead St. Drogo’s to victory this season, attract the attention of university recruiters, and be offered a full-ride to Syracuse or something like that. But here he was, at the hospital, sitting between his parents, as the doctor told him his whole future had gone up in smoke.

His father had hugged him. His mother had gently wiped his tears away. That was the first (and last) time they had touched him so tenderly in a while.

2015

It was the second semester of his senior year, and Nico was already so sick of people asking him what his future plans were. Even his therapist asked –well, she didn’t ask, but he could sense her concern when he couldn’t come up with an answer. Half the time he just wanted to scream that he had no plan, no future, nothing, and that everything he had pinned his hopes on since he was ten years old was gone. But the most he did was noncommittally shrug and murmur a despondent “I don’t know.”

After graduation, life became a bit of a dull gray monotony. Wake up, sulk, play video games and sulk, eat when his mother insisted he come downstairs for lunch, go to therapy, come home, sulk some more until dinnertime, and then take an hour-long shower before staying up late to sulk until he fell asleep.

Nico stared vacantly at his ceiling, letting the rotation of the fan’s blade lull him into a kind of trance. On the shelves of his bedroom were pictures of his old football team, awards from the debate club, trophies from past athletic competitions–all of them remnants of a boy he used to be. He really thought he should pack them all into a box and stuff them into his closet already, but he hadn’t even had the energy for something as simple as that.

A long-haired brunette leaned over his field of vision, waving her manicured fingernails in his face to get his attention. Her eyes, which looked much like his own, stared down at him in concern. She kept waving her hand in his face. Nico finally acknowledged his sister with a grunt. She stopped waving her hand. “Jeez, you are depressed,” she said with a frown.

“Leave me alone, Jessica,” he moaned.

He was about to turn onto his side, back facing her, when a pair of firm hands with manicured nails pinned him down onto the mattress. “It’s been a whole year now,” she stressed. Nico rolled his eyes; as if he weren’t painfully aware. “Mom and dad are worried about you,” she told him. Then, a little quieter, she admitted, “I’m worried about you.”

He pushed himself up from the Nico-sized divot he made in his bed, getting into a sitting position as he stared up at his older sister. “Yeah, well, maybe once you’ve missed your shot to do the only thing you were ever good for, then you’d be depressed too,” he sniped, though his words had no heat behind them.

Jessica sat on the bed next to her brother, bringing their gazes to the same level. “Come on, you don’t mean that, do you?” she asked. When Nico didn’t answer, she continued. “I mean, you were so much more than just football captain of St. Drogo’s, Nic-Nac! Did ‘president of the debate club’ and ‘honor roll student’ mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah, you don’t really get full-ride scholarships for being the smartest smart-ass in the room, do you?” he mumbled.

“But, you do get degrees,” Jessica argued.

And Nico knew she was right, and that with his grades, he could’ve applied to any university he’d like without a hitch. But, without any true sense of what he wanted to do with his life now, let alone what he’d want to study for four years, he figured it would’ve been a waste of everyone’s time and money for him to go to college without a plan. Surely his sister would’ve remember this; she tried to get him to apply to her college several months ago.

Speaking of which… “What are you even doing home this weekend?” he asked her, changing the subject. “It’s not a holiday, is it?” He was only vaguely aware that it was even October, thanks to the Halloween decorations at his therapist’s office.

Jessica shook her head. “Uncle Mike and the new boss are visiting, so Dad wanted me to come home to sell the whole ‘happy family’ image,” she explained.

“’Happy family’ image?” Nico echoed, cocking his head in confusion. As far as he was aware, their family was perfectly normal, and the only unhappy one was him.

“And you, Mr. Nic-Nac, are the unhappiest of us all and are dragging us down!” she jokingly scolded him, as if she could read his mind. She pulled him by the arm off the bed and out of his room. “Take a shower, shave your face, fix your hair, and please change into something nice,” she instructed him. She shoved him into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. “They’ll be here in half an hour!”

The new boss, Mr. Thomas J. Costa, was nothing like Nico had expected. He was young, like, mid-thirties, with a polite demeanor that slipped into something more personal and friendly when his Uncle Mike was around. He was crass, talking frankly about every minor inconvenience of his day while sprinkling in enough expletives to fill the Clemenza swear jar thrice over. He was relatable; he and Nico shared the same music tastes, and Nico’s jaw dropped in awe as the Boss relayed a tale of meeting Kurt Cobain in person.

And, most of all, he gave Nico’s life direction again.

It was a couple hours after dinner, as his mom and Jessica cleaned up in the kitchen and the men smoked in the back yard. Nico had been allowed to join the men outside, but all he did was stand awkwardly around the periphery as Don Costa regaled his dad and his uncle with the antics of a new puppy he was training (if he overheard that right).

“Yeah, he’s a dense little fucker, but he’ll get it, eventually,” Thomas sighed.

“Not like my Nico over here,” his dad had boasted proudly. Nico fought against the instinct to shrink in on himself as his father waved towards his direction and all three pairs of eyes fell onto him. “Honor roll student, president of the debate club, and former captain of the St. Drogo’s Direwolves.”

Former. He’d hoped that a year later, the word wouldn’t hurt so much. Too bad, it still did.

“That so?” The Boss took a puff of his cigarette, then redirected his attention to Nico. “Hey, kid, what are you doing? You in school, studying anything?”

“Oh, n-no, um, no, I’m not. I’m not, sir,” Nico stuttered, throwing in the honorific at the last minute as he subconsciously straightened his posture.

“Well, do you want to be studying?” Thomas bore down on him, steely gray eyes sharp with ambition and gleaming with promises. “What would you study, if you were in school right now?”

Nico’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as he struggled his way through an answer, eventually landing on a painfully-exhaled “eh…”

Thankfully, the new Boss didn’t laugh, or even sigh disappointedly like his uncle just now. Instead, he looked the young man over carefully, silently appraising him for a worth that Nico could hardly find in himself. “Our company could do with a legal consultant,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Frank himself said he wants to retire by the time he’s sixty-five, which would give you about seven years or so to get a law degree and complete an internship at Costa Insurance, if that’s something you’d want to do.”

Uncle Mike glanced at Don Costa. “Tom, isn’t he a little young to bring into the-”

“No younger than you were when Grandpa Tony brought you into the fold,” Thomas answered. He stuck his palm out to Nico, inviting him to shake on it. “Well, Nico?” he asked.

“And after a year of not having any sense of direction or purpose, to finally be thrown that line, to be shown a future I could attain…” Nico continued rambling on, “…I just went for it!”

Julio hummed to let him know he was listening as he applied the Band-Aids to his face.

“I put my whole ass into law school, and the gym, and guard duty, and for what?” Nico asked, hopping from his seat and marching out the bathroom stall as soon as Julio stopped leaning over him. “To find out it was a lie,” he grumbled, “that the man who got me out of my depression was a hopeless, selfish, sexually and physically abusive, manipulative piece of-”

“I get it, I get it,” Julio answered, opening the door of the restroom onto the snowy night. He sighed, closing his eyes as he collected his thoughts before looking up at Nico through his lashes, which were quickly collecting snow. “I looked up to someone who later came to disappoint me, too,” he whispered. “But look, Nico –Nico!”

Nico blinked back the furious stinging in his eyes. Julio was standing close to him, squinting up at him through snow-flake jeweled eyelashes as he enunciated his next words clearly. “He didn’t get you out of your depression. You put in the work, you studied those long hours, you saw your future and you ran at it with everything you had to get it. You did all that, not him. He was just the spark, if you will, but the rest?” His tattooed hand thumped his sternum with every word he uttered next. “That. Was. All. You.”

And, for the first time since he found out the truth about Khaled, Nico felt something warm and fulfilling –pride? –swell in his chest. Julio smiled up at him. “You don’t owe anybody anything, and you should take pride in what you’ve accomplished on your own,” he told him.

Julio’s smile was wide, comforting, even. Nico’s heart pounded. It was unlike any smile he’d received from Khaled. No shy smiles that barely reached his eyes on this one; Julio’s smile was all teeth, fierce, feral, and free in its unabashed expressions. The closest Khaled ever came to smiling that sincerely around Nico was when his favorite team scored a goal, and even then, never this brightly.

Why was he only now realizing how different they were? Khaled and Julio were like the sun and the moon! Where one would quietly slink into a room and blend in with the wall, the other would kick the door open and saunter in with the calm confidence of an alley cat to take the seat at the head of the table, assuming it was not already occupied. Where one would omit information, and divert the subject to avoid talking about the things that mattered, the other would not shut up, especially about the things that mattered (justice, judgment, obligations, etc.). Where one would have to be continuously pressured into giving a half-truth after boldly lying to his face for years, the other was nothing but honest with him from the beginning. He told Nico he’d kill Thomas Costa for what he did to Khaled, and by god, he meant every word. Nico found himself falling in love with him that honesty.

But it’s not like Khaled was in any position to tell me the truth, Nico remembered, not without endangering himself or me. Still, though, it was refreshing to have someone like Julio be their true, authentic selves around him. Dare he say, Julio’s sincerity was even attractive.

But Nico liked women, okay? (Right?) At least, he thought he did. Being raised in a conservative, Italian-American, nominally Catholic organized crime family taught him that liking women was the only acceptable answer. His entire sexual history constituted women. However, Nico knew what he felt in the public restroom of that bar. Temptation. Nobody who exclusively liked women would feel temptation as Khaled stood on his tiptoes and attempted to kiss him. Yet it took everything in his power not to kiss him that night. And he found himself fantasizing about the ‘what-ifs’ ever since.

Nico first fell for Khaled, how he looked up at him with deep, dark brown eyes that a man could easily get lost in. But now, he was losing himself in Julio’s light hazel eyes, glittering a dim golden glow in the darkness of the night. His eyes panned down to Julio’s cheekbones, red from the cold (surely) and dusted lightly with stubbly facial hair. His eyes settled onto Julio’s full, smiling lips. They looked soft. Nico had no idea why he wanted to test that theory.

Is there just something about a murder that brings people together? Nico wondered. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks the longer he stared at Julio’s lips, imagining what those lips would feel like.

“You good, Nico?” Julio waved a hand over Nico’s fixed gaze, jiggling the padlock chain necklace he wore and making the links clink softly against each other. Nico unfroze, remembering why kissing Julio would be a bad idea, among all the other questionable ideas they had that night.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lied. “I just zoned out for a minute.”

Julio –Khaled’s boyfriend –opened his mouth halfway, as if he were about to call Nico out on his lie, but whatever thought flashed between those hazel eyes compelled him to shut it again. He trudged away from the restroom and towards Nico’s Jeep.

Nico exhaled a frosty sigh. Of all the times to have a bi awakening, why did it have to be with a compulsive liar and a gun-for-hire? Why couldn’t he have this realization in high school, when the options were much lower stakes? He shook his head and followed.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

#a backstory and a bi awakening all in one?#whump writing #oc backstory #tw blood #tw aftermath of murer #whump aftermath #tw sports injury #tw emotional whump #depression tw #plus a healthy sprinkling of #feelings realization

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