#he simply is unable to feel anything anymore because it all keeps happening over and over again

[dirt-str1der]

One last post because this has literally been keeping me up but it haunts me how ice cold kiryu is. The man is like a fucking robot , like yeah he is the warm and compassionate protagonist of our beloved like a yakuza series who loves to help people and adores his nine kids but he gives zero shits about consequences as long as they all fall onto his shoulders and is a huge fan of abandoning everybody who has ever loved him because he cant just Not have his cake and eat it , he also has to fake his death and run away from it

[persicipen]

to measure love ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ — · · 0.8k ノ gn reader — back scratching . dumbification . overstimulation ノ just indulging in some spice with subtly dom mr. ratio ノ well… uhm… i would not write it if not for a friend on here throwing at me the *concept* ahaha…

The first time you scratched his back during sex, Veritas grumbled with annoyance and took your wrists into his hand for the remainder of your close encounter. It was all an accident, of course! It’s not like you would do that on purpose — knowing too well he would not be pleased.

There wasn’t much you could do against the pleasure you had not expected to receive, rendering you helpless and a little stupid, to say it the easiest way. Being fucked so good was simply too overwhelming for you to control your body.

What you didn’t know yet is that Veritas was not yet familiar with this sensation, either. A bit wary. Questioning the reason (or lack thereof) behind it. The second time it happened, the curiosity took over, and he let you continue.

Whatever you two learnt back then caused you two to indulge from time to time to be just a tad rougher. Or, should you specify, him being rougher with you. It’s nothing going outside the set boundaries, none of that sort. His thrusts just staying within you for a moment longer, pressing there harder. Focusing way too much on foreplay, where you’re almost spent before he’s out of his pants, and excusing himself with the need to research your reactions until he has them memorised.

Turns out he finds it interesting to see your body contradict whatever your lips are saying.

You whimper between shallow breaths that it’s too much and that you cannot take it anymore, yet he notes how you do not stop your hips from meeting him halfway.

Veritas thinks of you quite highly, actually, given your everyday approach to problems. Otherwise you two would not end up in the same bed — too many times to count, although you believe he is keeping track of that number, too. You’re not one to lose your composure easily. So it’s endearing to him how you can’t even get a hold of your own limbs when he’s long inches deep inside of you, as if his weight on top of you and his cock snugly fitting between your legs were a switch to your behaviour.

All that attractive intelligence turned into a frown between your eyebrows when you try so hard not to come before you get to reciprocate at least a portion of the satisfaction he’s already granted you.

He presses into you with just the right amount of force and precision, pushing out sounds from your throat. Those little squeals excite him immensely, mellowing down the usual sharp edge of his demeanour. Enough for him to kiss the sweat off your temple and bury his face in the crook of your neck, hips never stopping the motion.

With blistering hot breath on your clavicle, he chants the biological academic nonsense that you would listen to otherwise if you weren't past the point of recognising nothing but the deep hue of his voice. Veritas chuckles when you don't respond — when all you do is keep raking your fingers up and down his back, sorry that you cannot uphold the conversation. His intellectual companionship is always appreciated, even if at this particular moment in time you're unable to make anything out of it.

Amongst the debauched blabbering whispered into kisses and intermittent praises how much you enjoy being with him, you’re clawing at his shoulder blades.

To keep him close, the entire mass of sinew and soft flesh pressing you to the bed, but also because you’re a mush, again, and this is the only way to let your emotions out of your spasming body.

There is a fine line between enjoying the feeling of his spine being scratched in a frenzy and disliking it too much to experience pleasure. The line is sometimes blurry, many factors at play, but that’s never an issue for him. This man revels in challenges.

It stings when you pick on his skin with your nails. Veritas is aware of that. Except that he thinks of that as a testimony to what he can do to you. With you.

Assigning him a visible ornament of the knowledge is easy, although symbolic — this is precisely why he wears the golden laurel band with exactly eight of its leaves, each for his doctorates. To measure how good he is with love, the physical one at least, with how strong you grab onto him, gives him a boost of pride.

You’re his pride, the state you’re currently in, at the brink of release and dew gathering under your lashes. Because he loves giving you what’s best. He loves you.

Some time later, after you two are done and resting, you catch him looking at his scratched back in the mirror. He’s eyeing the reddened lines with a pensive face. Perhaps thinking if he would like to have some more adorning his skin or if it’s enough.

You do not wish to know that. Not right now.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . AUTHOR’S NOTE — little win that i managed to write it all for gender netural readers despite making it very very self-indulgent, yippee! now, please excuse me, i need to scream into the void because it was NOT on my bingo card today <3

[justwinginglife]

Hi!Can I have a request of Soshiro with operations manager fem reader?Where soshiro gets jealous and possessive because some recruits tries to hit on her during subjugation exercises or breaks but reader’s oblivious to it which frustrates hoshina more cause he’s the vc and needs to act more professional.

thank you in advance and also feel free to ignore this if you’re not up to it:)) have a good day

I'm always up for it! Thanks for the message, you have the best of days!

Whoever said jealousy was a bad thing never met Soshiro Hoshina- that man makes anything look sexy, especially jealousy.

Today, he was especially attractive the way his breath was heaving in his muscled chest and his knuckles were white from the sheer effort he was putting into clenching his fists. His eyes were darting back and forth from the part of your lips as they laughed to the blush on the officer's cheeks as he heard your laugh. Hoshina thought his bottom lip might bruise from the way he was piercing it, anxiously waiting for you to wave the officer away. You never did and he drew blood.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he watched you, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. But focusing on the bitter taste was keeping his possessiveness at bay, so he pressed his tongue against his dripping lip and continued to sulk in silence. He was the Vice Captain, his time was important and he couldn't afford to waste it fighting men off of you, much as he'd like to. If it was up to him, no man would even breathe near you let alone talk to you, make you laugh like that. He should be the one making you laugh like that, he bristled.

He could tell the officer was soaking in the sound of your voice and for a moment, he couldn't really blame them. He'd fallen in love with the sound of your voice over the comms. That was how he'd met you, after all. You had taken over for Okonogi one day while she was sick and his surprise at hearing a different voice in his ear was quickly overtaken by pleasure as he heard you barking out orders. You were so much more assertive than Okonogi. You'd tell an officer when they were making a dumb move- "Your combat power is no match for that honju, fall back and reinforce the rear, you're still injured after all," and you had extensive kaiju knowledge, always reciting where you thought the core would be and directing the best method of attack. You had no fear, you were always confident that the officers would perfectly carry out your plans so you didn't waver in your instructions.

Hoshina always thought you were meant for more than operations manager, you should be at Director Shinomiya's side strategizing battle. But he was thankful you stayed in the Third Division where he could keep an eye on you. And honestly, he was grateful that you were there to keep an eye on him as well.

When he was fighting Kaiju Number 10 and he got slammed against a wall, unable to speak from the force of taking such a hit, and everyone including Okonogi thought he might be out for good, you alone stayed seated in your chair, arms crossed. You watched as everyone leapt up, worry-stricken, as they yelled for him to answer. You just leaned back even further in your chair and said simply, "He's not done yet, just watch." You knew better. You would never underestimate the Vice Captain.

The Vice Captain had taken on many tough beasts and cruel challenges in his lifetime, but the worst thing he could ever endure was now happening right in front of his eyes. The officer was now asking for your number. Your eyes widen in surprise, "Don't tell me you didn't know what he was talking to you for," Hoshina hisses under his breath. Then he can't take it anymore.

He strides over to the both of you, trying to keep his movements even and his breaths smooth. He stands up straight as he looks down at the other man, sizing him up.

"Officer. Don't you have better things to do than bother her?" He demands, the edge in his voice cutting through the air like one of his swords.

The officer shrinks in his presence and you smirk.

"Ah but we were just getting to the good part." You tease, trying to see how far you can push him.

Hoshina's nostrils flare and his eyes burn down at the man before him. He can't bring himself to look at you, knowing he's being unreasonably territorial, so he takes it out on the poor officer.

"Is that so? And here I thought you were supposed to be training. Here, let me help you with your training, give me 50 push-ups." He spits out.

You roll your eyes and set a hand on Hoshina's arm, feeling his muscles flex at your touch. "Alright that's enough, he's learned his lesson." You look down at the boy, who has started shakily doing his push-up's. "You can go now. Just don't let the Vice Captain catch you asking for my number again, okay?" He nods quickly and runs off.

"Happy now, love?" You ask him.

He pulls you into his arms. "Immensely."

You laugh but sink into his arms anyway. "You know I'm all yours, dumbass."

"Yeah- how 'bout you tell everyone else that?" He growls against your neck.

You shake your head. "Nah, I think this is significantly more fun. You're sexy when you get jealous." You pull back a little so he can see you wink at him.

He groans, rolling his eyes at you before pulling you back into his embrace.

"You're going to be the death of me."

[lxmelle]

Gojo was once described by Gege as a “man of resignation”.

It is a facet of enlightenment - in which the concept of “non-attachment” is a big part of (attachment is viewed as the root of suffering).

We can interpret “resignation” in so many ways, as it explains so much about his immense capacity for love / acceptance, but also his tendency to... simply resign himself to an outcome / fate I guess - a form of passivity that can be either considered positive or negative, perhaps depending on outcome.

Going with the flow, neither chasing nor halting anything in particular with his immense might and potential. He swayed things to gently influence an outcome. Followed a designated path trying to rebuild the sorcerer world through being a teacher... which he couldn’t fully commit too either, because he had a role as a special grade who had to keep working.

That’s not to say he didn’t achieve anything - because of course he did. But nothing revolutionary. He said so himself to Geto: he didn’t see a point in it. There were just some things he didn’t think would change - someone else would replace the higher-ups.

And thus. Despite his massive strength, he never did ever manage to go all out. Perhaps this is symbolic of an inherently gentle/accepting nature? But there was indeed a monster inside him too - the one that thrived on the thrill of killing and defeating. It was a beast he seldom let out. It was a beast with a thirst.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll paraphrase: like a sprinter limited to go at 8kmph, like a singer who is only allowed to whisper her song, a painter unable to use any paints for their desired masterpiece - how dreadfully, painfully unfulfilling.

So of course it was FUN to have this final brawl with Sukuna - to give it his very best, especially when he also didn’t feel lonely anymore with a bunch of monsters he can pass the gauntlet (his body and his will) onto in the worst case scenario.

But of course Gojo doesn’t have the ability to predict the future, so how can anyone expect that he make decisions and judgements perfectly or accurately? All he can do is consider based on his own judgement. Alone. As the only other person who help him plug those holes in his judgement, Geto, had left him.

It is up to interpretation whether Geto was left behind first, but this really isn’t a competition or about assigning blame… because where do we even start?

One cannot hold Gojo totally accountable for things that happen around him or how others interpret his actions. He was born different to everyone else. Probably treated as if he had this role to fill where people had an idea of what they wanted or needed him to be, but never gave much thought over what it would feel like for him.

Gojo, Shoko, and those left behind have had to suffer the same resignation. After all: What else are you supposed to do but resign yourself, in the face of a reality where even to things you don’t wish to happen, have to happen? All you can do is what you can... and if you can, you wield it with all your might.

Geto tried it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t Gojo, who could do it if he wanted to.

Understanding that Gojo wasn’t, and accepting that he (Geto) shouldn’t change that about him (Gojo), as he was likely more suited to be at the school - essentially following nanami’s words and “leaving it to him” as Gojo was in his element / thrived on it, but Geto couldn’t be complicit in the system that would lead them to watch their own kind die one by one — Geto left to follow his ideals.

Gojo was referred to as the only one who can take that curse into his own hands. I used to see it as “the only one to kill Geto” after he failed and almost lost his humanity for the sake of power (killing Yuta would go against his principles) but now it also has a new meaning: the only one who can take charge and pursue the ideals to actually change the world.

The curse is the sh*t that is in the world of sorcery in jjk. Gojo seemed to (imho) now feel the need to catch up and hold the reins this time.

It is the end of Resignation Man Gojo Satoru. The emergence of The Monster Gojo Satoru (who Geto assisted in helping Gojo keep at bay through being the “model of humanity” that Gojo could follow) who was then fully ready to take the stand. Like Geto on that stage.

Bye higher ups.

Before, despite his immense strength, he didn’t force his way through. Perhaps this was the outcome of having been forced to be born and live with no choice but to be the six eyes + limitless. You do not actually have freedom.

Unless, you’re willing to become a pariah. To wield these cards that were dealt to you and completely become the extraordinary.

And now, Yuta embraces the same resigned acceptance of becoming a monster. After all... only a few will be able and willing to turn into a Monster.

Out of love. A Monstrous love indeed.

Geto had monstrous motherhood in him. I guess this extends to others now too. To cast away humanity because nobody else will. Nobody else can. So they have to wield it. Become it.

Yuta represents both the old and new world... in some way, he is like Gojo and Geto combined... power / strength + sincerity / kindness. Of course, like the yin and yang, each half has a bit of the other in it - so Gojo and Geto had a combination of power and compassion, but they symbolically represent each,

Arguably, had Geto someone else by his side, things may have been different.

All of this mess… ugh.

It didn’t have to come to this, right? Nor did it have to be the extermination of humans, but it could’ve been a collaboration of the special grades (Yuki, Gojo, Geto) all trying to solve the 3 different factors to the problem: humans as the origin of curses (research), the old-fashioned higher ups + clans, and the elimination of the curses. There may be others, but you get my gist.

But alas, this is the jjk world.

Just some thoughts, I’ll end it here before it’s more word vom.

[666writingcafe]

A Reward: Solomon/Asmo

Part Three of Special Bonus Content

Asmo grabs Solomon's hand and practically drags him onto the bed, looking so excited that he might just start bouncing off the walls at any moment.

"I can't believe you did that," I tell Solomon, referring to him timing me just a few moments ago. He shrugs, trying and failing to hide his smirk.

"I was simply curious, that's all." Asmo snorts, shaking his head.

"Oh, please," he retorts. "You're not fooling anyone. You timed MC so that you could come up with a plan to make them scream quicker." Solomon leans in and whispers something in his ear. Whatever it is makes Asmo's eyes light up, and the two of them look at me devilishly.

I should be worried, given that both the Avatar of Lust and one of the most powerful sorcerers in the human world are practically fucking me with their eyes, but instead I'm somehow eager for whatever they have planned.

"Solomon has a theory," Asmo tells me. "If you don't mind, we'd like to test it and see if it's true."

"What's the theory?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Solomon replies. "All you have to do for right now is watch." The next thing I know, the two of them are passionately making out right in front of me. I've heard rumors that they've hooked up multiple times before, but to actually see it happen...

I'm not gonna lie; it's incredibly hot.

And yet I can't help but feel excluded. They're doing it on purpose, aren't they?

They want to see how long it will take for me to beg for their attention. My pride doesn't want to give them the satisfaction. My lust, on the other hand...

"Aww, you poor thing!" Asmo coos at me, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Are you feeling left out?"

"I don't know, Asmo," Solomon responds with a smirk. "They haven't said anything yet, so maybe they're content with merely watching." I bite the inside of my cheek in order to keep my composure. I don't know whether I want to yell at them for being mean or start whining for them to pay attention to me.

"They look awfully flustered, Solomon. They might be too nervous to tell us what they want."

"Then perhaps we should try harder to encourage them." With that, the two of them resume their make out session, except this time they make sure I'm able to hear every single lewd noise that comes out of their mouths.

I can't take it anymore.

"Please!" I know I sound pathetic, but I at least got their attention.

"Please what, MC?" Solomon asks. "We can't read your mind."

"Please..." Their intense gazes are making it incredibly hard for me to think straight.

"It's okay," Asmo tells me. "Take a deep breath." Once I do, I find it a bit easier to collect my thoughts.

"I'd like it if you'd touch me. Please." The words come out in a near whisper. The two men exchange brief looks before Solomon replies,

"Well, since my apprentice asked so nicely, I suppose we could oblige." The next thing I know, the two of them are all over me, touching and kissing every inch of my body. It's quite pleasant.

At first. After a while, I end up wanting more than just their hands and mouths. As if sensing this desire, Solomon and Asmo soon stop their movements and look at me expectantly.

"I..." Why are the two of them so intimidating together?

"Yes, MC?" Asmo asks. I swallow nervously. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to respond to his question.

"Do you want me and Asmo to be inside you?" Solomon whispers in my ear. I hum affirmatively, unable to do anything else.

"Use your words, then. Tell us that you want us to fuck you." Asmo's fingers ghost over my sides, making me shiver.

"Yeah, MC," he murmurs. "Use that pretty mouth of yours."

"I..." I close my eyes to center myself. "Please help me feel full."

"Good MC."

I can see why the dream realm can be dangerous, because right now, I don't think I want to wake up.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 29 - I'm so cold

Suguru does not expect the curse to explode in a flurry of ice. The curse had shown no signs of that power when they fought it, but now that it’s done for, ice shards appear all over it, right before it goes off, a wave of biting cold crashing into Suguru before he manages to hide behind one of his own curses, keeping the shards at bay.

He spares a brief thought for Satoru, but with his Infinity it’s unlikely that the shards can harm him and so Suguru concentrates on protecting himself for now.

It goes on for longer than he cares for but eventually the cold dies down a bit. Suguru huddled himself together with a curse that runs hot, so he’s not too affected and none of the shards made it through his other curse, so he’s perfectly fine.

“Well, that sucked,” Suguru says as he stands up and hears Satoru laugh from his right.

“You can say that again,” he gives back and Suguru throws him a grin as he looks over to him.

Just like he expected Satoru is completely fine, the mess of ice around him testament to the fact that nothing could get through Infinity and despite everything, Suguru breathes a little bit easier when he sees it.

“Ready to head home? For once, this mess is bound to clean itself up,” Suguru says with a shrug, because the sun is high in the sky and the ice is bound to melt soon enough.

“So ready,” Satoru agrees, a little bit too eagerly and Suguru narrows his eyes at him.

It’s unusual for Satoru to not insist on getting some sweets on their way back and it’s enough to set warning bells off in Suguru’s mind.

“You okay?” he asks, not beating around the bush with Satoru but his concern is only met with a scoff.

Suguru doesn’t know why he even expected anything else, this is Satoru after all, and he’s chronically allergic to someone caring for him.

“Peachy,” Satoru immediately replies, trying for a cheerful tone but Suguru doesn’t miss how his voice shakes.

It’s worrying, to say the least, especially since Suguru knows that Satoru is not going to ask for help, no matter what, and so he just decides to keep a closer eye on him for now. If something is wrong, like Suguru thinks it might be, then eventually Satoru won’t be able to hide it anymore and Suguru will be there when that happens.

“Meet in my room for a movie?” Suguru asks as he calls upon the manta ray curse he has, because it’s their most trusted way to get home after a mission like this and Satoru hops on without hesitation.

“Sure,” Satoru mutters, keeping his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched over and Suguru fights the urge to push him off the curse.

He hates that Satoru is so unable to talk about himself when he doesn’t feel well and Suguru wishes he would just confide in him every now and then.

“Great,” he still gives back and then doesn’t prod Satoru for the rest of the way, because he needs to figure out how to approach this first.

Satoru is bound to lie right to his face should he simply ask, so Suguru has to figure out another way to find out what’s going on with him and for all that they are close, he’s not certain he can, if Satoru doesn’t want to tell him.

When they reach the school and hop off the curse, Satoru immediately walks over to Suguru’s room, leaving Suguru to scramble after him.

“Hey, don’t you think we should shower first?” he asks as they step into the room but Satoru only shrugs.

“You can go. I have Infinity, I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but the cold—” Suguru starts but then trails off when he realises that that is exactly what’s wrong with Satoru.

He reaches out to snatch one of Satoru’s hands in his and just like he feared it’s ice-cold, the skin almost blue and Suguru’s stomach drops.

“Satoru, you’re freezing!”

“The curse didn’t touch me though,” Satoru mutters, and Suguru fights the urge to slap him over the head.

He doesn’t understand why Satoru is so hell-bent on being invincible when they learned early on that Infinity doesn’t work on temperature and his current state is just proof of that.

“And I’m not that cold,” Satoru then adds which is just more worrying in Suguru’s opinion because now that he looks, he sees that Satoru’s lips are blue as well.

He thinks Satoru should probably be shivering and if he remembers correctly it’s a bad sign that he isn’t. Suguru wrecks his brain on what to do in case of hypothermia and he thinks he remembers that a slow approach is crucial, so the system doesn’t get shocked.

“Come on, let’s just lay down for a moment, okay,” Suguru tries softly, as he drags Satoru towards his bed because he’s running cold all the time, so he has a heated blanket.

It’s probably easier to get Satoru to lay down on it than it is to wrangle him into a shower.

“’m not tired,” Satoru whispers out and Suguru gives him a shaky grin.

“But I am. Will you keep me company for a while?” he asks, and he’s aware that it’s a little bit unfair, but just like Suguru runs cold, he’s also prone to nightmares and he always deals better when Satoru is close. He even has his own futon for Satoru in his room, just for those nights.

It’s not quite fair to use that fact to his own advantage right now, but Suguru can’t find it in him to mind when Satoru does climb onto Suguru’s bed and settles under the blanket when Suguru prods him to.

Suguru quickly switches the blanket on at a lower temperature, hoping that it’ll be enough to bring some warmth back to Satoru and he doesn’t hesitate to get into bed himself, settling in front of Satoru, so there’s no way he can simply run off when he finds out what Suguru is doing.

He’s not sure if it’s a good thing that Satoru’s eyes almost immediately slip shut, but he’s not about to wake Satoru back up and instead just scoots closer, remembering something about body heat as well.

It supposedly works better skin on skin, but he’s not about to strip Satoru and raise any more questions from him, so this has to be enough. While Satoru drifts off as soon as his eyes are closed, Suguru stays awake, worrying and checking Satoru’s hands every other minute.

His phone is nearby in case he’ll have to call for Shoko, but after not even fifteen minutes Satoru’s hands start to warm up and his lips regain their previous colour, so Suguru guesses Satoru is out of the woods for now.

Still, he doesn’t turn off the blanket and he doesn’t move away either, at least not until Satoru sluggishly blinks up at him.

“I’m all good,” he says, startling Suguru who was zoning out a little bit and Suguru huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, now maybe,” he mutters, pulling Satoru close and bonking his forehead against Satoru’s. “But you weren’t and you lied to me about that.”

There’s a brief silence before Satoru speaks again.

“Sorry. Didn’t wanna worry you.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, because they both know that’s not possible; it’s basically Suguru’s job to worry about Satoru and he does so all the time anyway. Satoru pretending to be fine only makes matters worse.

“I would worry less if you were honest with me,” Suguru gives back, trying to keep his voice soft, even though it is a reprimand and Satoru scoots a little bit closer.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he offers and Suguru knows that it’s the only thing Satoru can offer him.

Suguru doesn’t know why Satoru is so adamantly against admitting that maybe he’s not completely invincible, even just to Suguru, so he’ll have to take this and hope for the best.

“Are you still cold?” he asks and tucks the blanket more securely around them.

“Kind of too hot actually,” Satoru admits and Suguru immediately reaches over to turn the blanket off.

“I’m not going to let you move, yet, though,” he then says and isn’t too worried about Satoru running off on him when he snuggles further into the pillow.

“Fine by me,” Satoru agrees and then apparently dozes off again.

This time, worry isn’t keeping Suguru up, so he follows close after him.

~*~*~

“Suguru!” Satoru yells out as he barges into Suguru’s room and Suguru muffles his groan in his pillow.

It’s too soon for Satoru’s antics and he would love to tell him to get the fuck out but that would mean he has to move and even speak and Suguru is not about to do that.

Sleep is still clinging to him, despite the rude way Satoru just woke him up and he knows that if he were to engage with Satoru right now, it would slip right through his fingers.

“Suguru, I’m so cold,” Satoru whines out, coming to a stop right next to Suguru’s bed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Suguru only grunts as he barely manages to lift the blanket up a bit but it seems to be enough because not even a second later Satoru is sliding into bed with him, pushing Suguru further towards the wall and then cocooning them right in with the blanket again.

It would be annoying, if Suguru wasn’t still so sleepy, the bed still so warm, and Satoru now close enough to curl up against his side and he drifts back off with a smile on his face.

~*~*~

It keeps happening. Satoru somehow keeps ending up in Suguru’s bed, always claiming he’s cold and sometimes truly being that as well.

Suguru suspects what’s going on after about the third time it happens but he doesn’t say anything until he sees Satoru run around in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt outside even though it’s cold enough to warrant a snow warning for later that day.

It’s absolutely no surprise when Satoru barges into his room not even three minutes later, his trademark grin on his face.

“Suguru, move, I’m freezing,” Satoru exclaims, moving to get into bed before Suguru can even say anything and it’s only when Satoru is relaxed on his side, their legs tangled together that Suguru lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Suguru softly says and immediately Satoru tenses.

“Do what?” he carefully asks and Suguru sighs again even as he reaches out to pull Satoru closer.

He makes a startled noise, clearly not expecting to be pulled flush against Suguru’s body and Suguru thanks all the gods for the fact that he’s still sleepy, because otherwise his face would be bright red by now, he’s certain of it.

“Lie. Freeze yourself to death.”

“I’m not—I can go,” Satoru offers, his voice quiet and unsure and he’s still so very tense.

Suguru can’t have that, so he nuzzles against Satoru’s face.

“No, you can’t,” Suguru tells him, tightening his grip on Satoru in the process as well. “I’m just saying—you don’t have to lie if you want to get into my bed so badly. I’m not gonna kick you out. I like you here.”

“Here,” Satoru repeats and clearly takes stock of where exactly he is.

He’s pressed against Suguru head to toe, their legs tangled, Suguru’s arm around his middle, their faces so close together they might as well be sharing their breath.

“Like this?” Satoru still asks and Suguru blinks up one eye at him.

“Exactly like this,” he confirms and leans in to brush his lips over whatever skin he can reach without moving too much.

Satoru thankfully helps by tilting his head just right, so it’s not long before they meet in a kiss.

“Please stop freezing yourself,” Suguru says when they part and Satoru chuckles, clearly embarrassed.

“I was kind of obvious, huh?”

“So very,” Suguru agrees and then shushes him with another kiss when it seems as if he’s going to say something else. “Please just sleep. We can talk about how embarrassing you are later.”

“Well, you seem to like it, so that makes you embarrassing, too,” Satoru argues back but his voice is quiet and he’s soft in Suguru’s arm.

“Yeah, guess so,” Suguru easily agrees because it makes them embarrassing together and that is really all that matters to Suguru. “But we’re that together.”

There’s a brief silence before Satoru huffs out a laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” he says and snuggles even closer to Suguru, clearly knowing that Suguru doesn’t mind.

“Mh,” Suguru manages to hum out before he drifts off again, his Satoru in his arm and being comfortably warm.

That’s going to change soon, he knows, because it always gets incredibly hot with Satoru under the blanket as well and Suguru will wake up sweat-soaked and disgusting but even that is something he’s looking forward to, because it means Satoru is right there.

Right where he belongs.

[supernovafics]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k words

summary: in which you didn’t expect to see steve at this party, but of course he showed up, and suddenly you’re stuck having a conversation that you never expected to have with him. a conversation that was filled with all of the words that you had been dying to hear, but in your head it was all coming a little too late.

warnings: lots of sadness and angst (sorry)

author’s note: final part to cardigan and august! nothing much to say except enjoy<333 (full “folklore” album series masterlist here)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“the only thing i wanna do is make it up to you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were waiting for something to change. 

For you not to care anymore, for you not to feel anything toward him. 

A part of you thought that you’d just wake up one day and the switch would be flipped and you’d be completely over Steve Harrington. 

But, it wasn’t that easy.

Instead, in the days and weeks that followed the last time you spoke to him, you’d found yourself longing for him, missing him. 

It was hard, so fucking hard, to not be with him. And it was even harder mourning a “relationship” that no one could know had existed in the first place.

You would’ve killed for another late night swim in his pool, smiling as you wrapped yourselves around each other, or long goodbye kisses in his car moments before you headed in for your shift at the library, and then happy hello kisses when he picked you up hours later. 

It made you sound pathetic, how deeply you missed him, but it was painfully true. 

Anytime you’d let yourself drown in the nostalgia of it all, you’d then hate yourself for how much you wanted to see the boy that broke your heart, and how much you wanted to relive everything that happened during the summer which had only led you to the sad place you were currently in. 

It was a vicious and seemingly endless cycle—wanting him and then feeling so stupid for feeling that way. 

Therefore, you’d do almost anything to not think about him or that summer; working at the library as much as you could and then throwing yourself into school when that started. You focused solely on that and your plans to leave the small town once you graduated because you wanted nothing more but to never look back when the time came.

However, other times when the library was closed and you couldn’t bear to consume your mind with more Math problems or English homework, you’d do other things. 

Which was why you were at a party, allowing the loudness of the music and the chatter of everyone scattered throughout Rachel McKenna’s huge house to keep your mind off of him. Or, at least, that was the idea. 

“Steve Harrington is here.”

It was hard not to show how affected you were by simply the mention of his name. Your mind immediately began screaming at you to leave, get out of the house, but at that moment, you couldn’t do that.

“He and Nancy broke up like a week ago,” Natalie continued. She was your lab partner in Physics and you ran into her right when you showed up at the party almost an hour ago; you’d been grateful to see the familiar face. “You know about all of that, right?” 

You gave her a small nod, unable to speak for a second. Your eyes looked around for a brief moment to see if you could see him, but you didn’t. 

Your eyes met Natalie’s again. “I’ve heard a little bit about it, yeah.”

You didn’t want to hear anything more about it all, because you’d heard enough from the slew of rumors that quickly began circling the school, but she proceeded to tell you everything, anyway. Natalie was normally a pretty chatty person, and the few drinks she had over the past hour only aided in that. 

“Nancy was out of town for the summer and Steve cheated on her,” She said, and then got close to you, lowering her voice a bit. “Apparently, she found out because she found the girl’s underwear when they were making out in his bed.”

Your eyes widened a bit at that newfound piece of information; that was something that had not been circling the gossip mill just yet. “Oh, um, wow I hadn’t heard about that part.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty insane,” Natalie told you and then took another sip from her cup. “The girl doesn’t go to our school or anything. I think people have been saying that she’s from a completely different state.”

At first, when you heard Steve and Nancy broke up and then simultaneously heard that it was because he cheated, you had waited for it all to quickly connect back to you. But, it never did. That was probably the only thing you were grateful to Steve for; he didn’t allow you to get dragged into it all. 

“I mean, Nancy should’ve expected it at least a little bit,” Natalie continued. “He’s Steve Harrington and she was gone for the entire summer. It probably would’ve been surprising if he didn’t do something with someone else.” 

“It still kinda sucks for her,” You said, not knowing what else to say but fully knowing that you needed to get out of that conversation. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely sad,” She said with a small sigh. “I wonder if the girl knew he had a girlfriend, or if he just played them both.”

You were that girl, but you had to pretend as if you weren’t. It felt weird and wrong, and made you feel even more like a horrible person because the answer to Natalie’s nonexistent question was that you did know, but at the time you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the fact that Steve had a girlfriend. 

“I’m gonna try to find a bathroom,” You told her, pushing away the new string of guilt that began to settle in your stomach. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

She smiled at you. “Okay.” 

You walked away from her, not at all trying to find a bathroom, but instead desperately searching for an exit. The door you found led you to the backyard of the house, which was okay since there was no one outside because it was pretty cold that night. 

It didn’t happen as quickly as you’d desperately wanted it to, but the hurt you felt from it all encompassed with the regret and guilt that weighed you down because of everything that happened was slowly easing away. You knew that it’d probably be months before you no longer felt at least the tiniest bit of guilt or hated yourself for what happened, and you couldn’t allow yourself to backtrack. Which meant that you couldn’t see Steve, or talk to him. 

However, apparently, the universe liked seeing you suffer because not even a minute after you settled yourself in one of the patio chairs that overlooked the pool, you heard the sound of the door opening, and when you turned to see who it was, of course, Steve was standing there. 

For a few moments, the two of you simply looked at each other, not saying anything because there was almost too much that could’ve been said right then. And you didn’t even know what you would want to say to him first; a simple “Hi” felt too mundane and an “I hate you” felt too emotionally charged. 

So, you let the silence linger and prevail and allowed the muffled sounds of the music blasting within the house to fill the quiet space between you. 

“Wanna be my beer pong partner?” He asked, abruptly breaking the silence and quickly annoying you in the process because that was the first thing he wanted to say to you?

You rolled your eyes as you got up from the chair and started walking away, deciding not to go back into the house but head to your car instead.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was stupid,” Steve said as he followed you. “Can we talk? Please.” 

“No,” You told him, not turning back to look at him and instead continuing to walk in the direction of your car; or, at least, what you assumed was the direction of your car. You were completely sober, but there were so many cars parked on the street, that it was way too easy to get confused. 

“Please.”

“There’s absolutely nothing that I have to say to you, Steve.”

As much as there were moments when you missed him, there were also so many moments where you found yourself feeling so much anger toward him.

“There’s a lot that I want to say to you, though,” He said.  

You stopped walking once you finally found your car, and when you saw that it was sandwiched between two cars that parked way too close to you and wouldn’t allow you to leave, you inwardly screamed. 

Instead of doing anything else— continuing to walk away from him or begging him to leave you alone as you waited for at least one of the two cars to move— you leaned against the side of your car, and Steve took that as an invitation to join you, which it sort of was. Apparently, the universe wanted the two of you to talk, so you were going to give it what it wanted. 

You let out a small sigh. “Is it true that Nancy found out about us because she found my underwear in your bed?”

“No. What? Where did you hear that?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I told her the truth,” He said, and you looked at him, a look of confusion taking over your features.

“Why did you do that?” 

“Because… I love you.”

Instead of basking in the happiness that his words should’ve filled you with, which was probably what he expected to happen, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Oh my God.”

You started walking away from him again, unsure of exactly where you were going but knowing for certain that you simply needed to get away from him.

“Wait.” He was only a few steps behind you.

“You’re an idiot and an asshole, Steve Harrington.”

You turned a corner and kept going, the sounds of the party faded away almost completely. It was only a matter of time before you got lost because of how unfamiliar you were with this part of town, but you didn’t really care at that moment. 

“I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened,” You heard Steve say. “I’m sorry how I ended things between us. I regret it so much.”

You stopped then and turned around to face him. 

The smallest part of you wanted to simply run into his arms and forgive him. And it could’ve been easy— pretend as if the last month never happened and pick up right where the two of you had left off before that final conversation outside the library.

But, you couldn’t. 

Not only that, but you didn’t want to forgive him. 

“It’s been weeks— Actually, scratch that, it’s been an entire month since we last talked and now you’re telling me that you love me? That’s what I wanted to hear from you then, not…” You sighed and looked away from him. “Not now. I just wanna be over you, over us. I wanna forget about this summer.”

“Don’t let go of us.” His words came out softly, pleadingly. 

“Why?” You muttered. “Why should I believe you now?”

“Being with her wasn't like being with you,” He told you. “And then that made me realize that nothing has ever felt like being with you. I love you.”

There were those three words again. And you could hear how wholeheartedly true they were, but you let your current anger take precedence over how sweet his words were.

“I don’t even know why I asked that. I can’t trust anything you say anymore,” You told him. “And maybe I never should have in the first place.”

“Come on. You know me— you’re probably the only person that’s ever really known me. And I know you.”

He was completely right, but you denied it with a quick shake of your head anyway. “No, you don’t…” You let out a small breath. “Everything that happened this summer never should’ve happened. I wish it hadn’t happened.”

Steve didn’t say anything in response to that and an unbearable silence was quick to take over. You almost regretted your words, but then you were painfully reminded of everything you’d been feeling since things abruptly ended between you two— the pain, guilt, shame, and so much more— and regret for saying what should’ve been obvious became the farthest thing you felt at that moment.

The two of you were walking side by side now, headed back in the direction of the house. You saw your car again and quickly noticed that one of the cars that had been blocking you was gone. The universe was setting you free from this conversation. 

“I’m gonna go,” You said to Steve and then met his eyes. “Please don’t talk to me anymore, okay? Don’t make this harder than it already has been.”

He didn’t want this to be the way that things truly ended between you both, but it was the look on your face that made him listen to you. Your eyes were pleading to be done with this— done with him— and behind that he could see how much he had hurt you, everything you’d been through that past month.

Ultimately, he nodded his head at your words. “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i don't know anything, but i know i miss you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(if you haven’t read “cardigan” yet that’s technically the follow up to this even though i wrote it first lol)

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 14

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: fluff, allusions to sex/sexual content, swearing, slight angst (Edward J. Munson continues to be the most dramatic person on the planet) mentions of Barb's death/violence

a.n.: this was a much longer chapter that I had to split up for the sake of my sanity - taglist continues to be broken, sorry chat! if you would like to stay updated you should probably just follow me at this point because we're seriously almost done here

It takes you much longer to make it back to the trailer than it had to leave it behind, simply because Eddie can’t stop himself from pulling you close every couple of steps to kiss you again. Long, sloven presses of lips and swiping tongues begging for passage between your mouths. It’s all teeth and ragged breath and soft touches and the honest-to-God biblical revival of unchecked teenage hormones. 

You have to get back, this he knows very well, but now that he’s got you back, he just can’t stop loving on you. Kissing you has always been too easy - as natural as breathing, and you’re such a receptive lover – always have been, from the very start. 

And it’s not like you’re doing much to stop him, giggling and pushing against his chest without any real intention of separating yourself from him. Breathless insistences of “we really need to get back” that don’t mean anything at all when you’re fisting your hands in his jacket and pulling him right back to you for another round.

Not that Eddie’s complaining. He’s too busy fighting the overwhelming urge to bend you over right here in the underbrush.

The only thing really stopping him from popping the button of your jeans and wrestling you out of them is the nagging threat of his inner voice reminding him what a patently bad idea that is, because “that’s how you get killed in a horror movie”. 

It’s the only reliable basis of logic anymore. As far as Eddie is concerned, over the course of a very short week, his life has inexplicably devolved into the plot of a bad horror movie, which, in this scenario, regrettably makes you the horny couple who gets slaughtered whilst bunnyfucking out in the woods. 

As appealing as that sounds, he’s not about to let that happen.

Because you hate a cliche and you have to get back, for reasons that are extremely hard to rationalize when you’re pressed up against him and making all those pretty little sounds.

Eddie casually catches your southbound hands before they can find their way to his belt buckle and expertly replaces them on his shoulders, tut-tutting the way you whine out your displeasure with the move.   

Bad girl, he thinks, Needy girl. 

It’s the honeymoon phase and then some, a speedrun of that long expanse of ooey—gooey fairytale bliss that sees the both of you unable to keep your hands off of each other. Only this time around it’s not the halls and alcoves of Hawkins High witnessing your very public displays of affection, but the trees and the whirling cosmos and everything beyond that Carl Sagan ever promised – it’s super fucking romantic. 

You spent the duration of the not-so-long walk back making your own, much more tangible promises.

“I love you,” You tell him for what must be the hundredth time, eager to make up for lost time.  

“I know,” Eddie assures you, cradling your face and ducking down for the next in a long line of all the kisses he owes you for every time you say it. “But we gotta go.” he says against your lips, “Harrington’s gonna be pissed.” 

You whine pathetically. It’s a muffled sound that Eddie feels more than he hears. 

Normally that would have been enough to sway him considering you’re usually the one with the functioning brain, and he’s the raging pit of electric hormones,

Still, hearing you all needy like that tends to cause the rational part of Eddie’s brain to shut off. Many occasions of you pawing at him just like that have ended with a thick and wanton utterance of “aw hell” that sees Eddie throwing caution —and very often, your panties— to the wind.

But this is neither the time nor the place (though more the former than the latter, because it would not be the first time you’d gotten your rocks off out in the woods – horny teens don’t tend to make smart decisions about location when the mood strikes them that hard). 

Still, one of you has got to retain some of your faculties, because you really do need to get back, despite the way his lizard brain doth protest. 

Get back? Where? Harrington who? What’s he so goddamn pissed about and who even cares?   

“More,” You plead, and you always get what you want with him.

“Okay,” Eddie says, lips clicking with a lewd, wet smack when he parts with you, “One more for the road.”

He didn’t need to even give you that kind of permission, because you’re already chasing him again the second he parts from you. 

“Okay,” You hum, snaking your arms up around his neck and pressing yourself bodily against him, backing him into the tree he hadn’t realized was behind him until the bark is digging painfully into his spine.

He doesn’t care, not when you’re rubbing up against him like that. 

You’re both so unbearably gross and horror movie logic be damned, Eddie just can’t help himself. 

“Maybe just one more.” He hums, hand snaking unwisely up the back of your shirt to twist at the clasp of your bra. 

“Okay,” You sigh into his mouth.

When you finally make it back to the park, stealing across the grounds hand in hand, all smiles and giggles and clothes pulled out of shape like kids stumbling home well past curfew, Steve is indeed raging.

He’s there to whip the door open and bathe you in the accusing orange glow of incandescent light that has you balking as you come clambering up the steps. His looming, perfectly coiffed figure is almost comedic, backlit in the doorway with his hands on his hips, literally tapping his foot, and he’s quick to lay into you like he thought he was your goddamn father or something – not Eddie’s father, of course, which would have been an arguably terrifying turn of events, and not even much like your father, who Eddie has still never met, and at this point is not entirely sure he ever will. 

He’s not even sure your parents really know he exists outside of general rumor – they certainly don’t know what he does with their daughter out in the woods, considering they barely acknowledge the fact that you exist. 

That’s fine by him, it just means he gets you all to himself. 

Steve grabs you by the elbow and yanks you over the threshold and back into the warm, cozy embrace of home – what good is a house when you’re all the home Eddie needs – already halfway through a lecture about how you’ve been gone “way longer than ten minutes” and demanding to know “what the hell took you so goddamn long” because, in case you haven’t noticed, the fate of the world is oh so casually resting on your collective shoulders. 

Not that any of that currently matters, Eddie isn’t listening. He’s completely blissed out, far too busy watching with wrapt attention as you pull your pretty pink, kiss-bitten lips in past your teeth in a miserable attempt at trying not to smile while Steve goes blue in the face.

It’s so unbearably You, though he thinks perhaps only as a result of him rubbing off on you in the worst way – or in the best way, who can say? – giggling in the middle of a dressing down, really playing into the hand you’ve been dealt. 

Christ, you’re adorable … and you love him. 

You love him you love him you love him – and he loves you, he should tell you - no, he needs to tell you…

It takes every bit of Eddie’s limited capacity for self-control not to seize you and drag you right back to him. He’s not finished loving on you just yet – he quietly hopes that there will never come a time when he’s ever finished. 

He’s never been the type to give a second thought to laying a big sloppy kiss on you in front of whoever the fuck happens to be watching, but he knows how public displays of affection make you uncomfortable and he’s not so love-drunk that he can’t respect your boundaries. 

He cannot, however, stop smiling. He knows he’s got to look a goddamn fool, grinning ear to ear like the fate of the world and all their lives don’t hang in the balance — his face is starting to hurt. 

He hasn’t realized how he’s missed that until now, the cramping of his facial muscles against something he’s powerless to resist. 

There’s an entire conversation going on in front of him without his knowledge – he couldn’t repeat a word anyone has said in the past five minutes if someone put a gun to his head, but he could talk endlessly about all the soft little noises you’d been making only a short while back. 

He could go on about those for days, write tomes of essays and sonnets waxing poetic about them, but the loud shouting voice of Dustin returning to the room from whatever odd corner of the trailer he’d been hiding in cuts the lecture thankfully short. 

“There you are!” He squawks, stomping out from the hall. 

He’s standing there looking suddenly very small dressed in an overlarge grey sweatshirt and the deconstructed pieces of the Gilley suit someone had thought to grab from the War Zone. It is his carefully selected uniform for bat-tle, as he’d put it back in the field – you’d booed and hissed at the audacity of such a terrible pun, much to Henderson’s patent chagrin.   

“Do you have any idea how long you two were gone? We were worried sick!” He squawks.  

“Now, where have I heard that before?” You hum, casting a sly, sidelong glance in Eddie’s direction before squeezing past Dustin to disappear down the hall toward the bathroom so you can wash the woods off of you. 

“You know your shirt’s on inside out,” Dustin calls moodily after you. “And backwards,” 

You ignore him. 

Eddie watches you go and gets a little lost in the familiar swaying of your gait. Suddenly he’s back at school, watching you skip away down the hall toward your next class, the tantalizing promise of later hanging in the air. You glance back at him and smile sweetly, and he’s instantly shot full of holes. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

“Eddie!” Dustin grouses, drawing him back to the close quarters and warm, incandescent glow of his living room — and he realizes, once again, he’s missed every word of the boy’s outraged spiel, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure am.” Eddie lies.

Dustin narrows his eyes.  

“Then what did I just say?”

He shrugs and shoves past him as he spies the carefully folded pile of items from the jaunt to the army surplus store, though more specifically one decidedly metal bandolier sitting in a burnished brass pile on the dining table. 

It sets Eddie’s magpie brain to fluttering and he’s reaching for it before he’s even realized he’s moved.  

“No idea,” Eddie says good-naturedly, clapping a hand fondly down on the top of Dustin’s head as he passes him by.

He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, turning to follow as he saunters across the room.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dustin demands.

“Not a thing, Henderson,” He assures him, electing to snatch the belt up rather than confess the undying overwhelming vice of puppy love he’s gripped in.

He turns the thing over in his hands, eyeing it with great interest - it’s just about the coolest damn thing he’s ever seen.

"You sure about that?"

"Hundred percent," Eddie says, "Everything's just fine."

After that, it’s twenty-five minutes or so of finishing touches before Eddie slinks off to his bedroom.

Everyone has armed themselves in some kind of battle garb, armor picked up from the War Zone for the impending task, but nobody had thought to grab anything for you. It hadn’t even crossed their mind because back then you didn’t need any sort of protection, not while the most you’d been expected to do was stand watch in the living room for any curious onlookers come to peek in on the murder scene at the Munson residence. 

Now, with such a daunting task ahead of you, Eddie knows you’re going to need all the help you can get. So he upends his dresser drawers, looking for something — anything that might put some kind of a barrier between you and the flurry of teeth and claws that await you.

Steve’s already returned the battle vest, decidedly worse for wear but not bad enough to be decommissioned, and Eddie fully intends to swathe you in it. It’s not much, but it’s better than the same torn jeans and old t-shirt you’ve been wearing for the last three days. It’s something, at least, 

His room is dark compared to the rest of the trailer. It hadn’t seemed like a smart thing to go flipping on any more lights, on the off chance that someone noticed and decided to come snooping. He doesn’t mind much, considering his aversion to flipping on the overhead light in the first place – Eddie much prefers the ambiance of the table lamp, and he is well-practiced in navigating the dimly lit space  

The front room is abuzz with noise and ambivalent movement. Voices filter in and out and saturate the room in the warm glow of company, the aural equivalent of the incandescent bulbs burning overhead. 

It reminds Eddie of something he has only felt very few times in his life: what it feels like to belong, to be a part of something, even if that something is nothing more than camaraderie forged in the face of impending doom. Somehow he can’t find it in him to be worried about it, not while he’s among friends. 

The mere thought of the word brings a bitter scoff rising up from the deepest part of his chest, and he has to work very hard to swallow it back down again. 

It’s what gets him more than anything, more than the danger of the Upsidedown or the armed hicks crawling the streets, hungry for his blood – it’s that after everything he’s been through over the past few days, suddenly he’s back home and (relatively) safe, because of his friends.

Not Gareth or Jeff or Adam or even Wayne, but astoundingly thanks to Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, and Dustin (less baffling but still bizarre) —his strange collection of new friends, who put their lives and reputations on the line to find him and bring him back from the precipice, despite barely knowing him.

It’s more than a little jarring, and Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. 

Whatever the feeling is, it’s largely a positive thing. He’s glad they’re all here – and it goes without saying that he’s glad you’re here. 

He’d say it anyway. 

He’s glad you’re here when you have every reason not to be, but you’d promised that you loved him even when you hated him, which actually might have hurt his feelings if he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to hear it. 

Without you, he’s not sure he would have such a strange new group of friends rallying around him, embracing him. 

And maybe that’s not a fair assumption. Maybe Dustin had more of a hand in facilitating his rescue than he’s accounting for— credit where credit is due and all that — but Eddie will be the first to admit that he’s totally and completely biased. You’re far and beyond his favorite person here, and he’s not shy about admitting that. 

The thing he really hates to admit, however, is that he’s glad you’re coming with them to the other side – which seems stupid. 

He was being smarter when he was angry that you were crazy enough to go volunteering yourself to play the bait, but hadn’t he spent the duration of the last jaunt to the Upsidedown bombarding you with psychic postcards? Wish you were here doesn’t even begin to cut it. 

He almost forgets to care about how aggressively he’d rejected the idea of you putting your life on the line only a few hours ago because when it came down to it, that’s what it took to win back your love.

Not that he ever really lost it in the first place (and not that he actually knew that) but Boy Howdy hadn’t you done your utmost to tow that line and make him work for it?  

If only Eddie had known it would be that easy – it wasn’t easy, it was the worst suffering he’s ever experienced – he wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep you from running headlong into peril.

More than that, if he had any idea of what the two of you were going to get up to on your walk back through the woods, he would have thrown you to the wolves and jumped right in after you. 

Maybe not, but the sentiment feels dramatic and appropriate for the status quo as it currently stands.

Danger, it seems, has become his new middle name. Or maybe it’s yours, considering you’re the one who keeps getting him into these situations … except that’s only true because Eddie initially dragged you into all this, so maybe the name belongs to the both of you. 

Maybe you married into the name and now you’re Mr. and Mrs. Danger. 

It’s a stupid thought, and it makes him laugh.  

Snickering to himself in the dark, Eddie upends the last of his drawers and makes a mental note to tell you that joke after all this —  if either of you survives this, that is. 

It’s a dismal thought that makes quick work of chasing away any sense of the levity he’d felt moments before. 

Once he’s satisfied with the excavation of everything he owns, Eddie lays out a series of choices across the stark bed: the first-generation Hellfire shirt, the black one with the short sleeves and white collar, a grey Hawkin’s Phys. Ed shirt with “Munson” scrawled across the nameplate in obnoxiously large print (his old gym clothes), and a super faded Misfits tee he’s had for years and years. 

None of them are particularly significant, only that they are some of the only clean articles of clothing he could find, and he wants you to have options. 

He wouldn’t presume to make the decision for you, because somehow this feels important, as silly as that seems. You deserve to choose what kind of armor you’re going to wear to herald the doom they bring to Vecna.

Eddie finds you in the kitchen with Steve, running through a series of stretches, learning tips and tricks on how to breathe so as best to oxygenate your muscles, and having the very basics of general athleticism explained to you. 

It’s a lifetime of athletics boiled down to a five-minute lecture – Eddie only catches the tail end of it, but it’s riveting stuff.

“The worst thing you can do when you’re running hard like that for distance is start to hyperventilate – you know, gasping for air,”  Steve tells you, and Eddie half expects you to roll your eyes and make some snappy remark about being molly-coddled like that, but oddly enough all you do is nod.

For once, you’ve got nothing snide to say – remarkably, Steve has your undivided attention, and even he seems a little unsure of what to do with it as he continues.  

“If you start in with that, you won’t be able to catch your breath and you’re gonna pass out.” He says matter-of-factly, “If you pass out, you’re dead, you got that? That’s worse than a worst-case scenario, that’s a game over.”

“Yikes,” Eddie can’t help himself from saying, summarily drawing your attention. 

In the span of a microsecond, you go from serious as a heart attack and nodding like your life depends on it – which it very likely does – to dopey grinning, staring wistfully up at him with honest-to-god heart eyes. 

Eddie wonders if you and Steve can hear his heart beating against his ribcage. 

Just like that, the lesson is over, because now that Eddie is here, Steve is never going to get your attention back. 

“Sorry to butt in,” He says tentatively, curling his hands around your shoulders, “D’you mind if I borrow Barry Allen here for a second?”

Steve levels him with a blank if not highly irritable look as the reference sails clear over his head. 

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball. Has apparently never heard of The Flash. 

You, thankfully, are not so hopelessly ignorant.

“Nerd.” You scoff, shoving Eddie playfully – then you notice the thousand-yard stare gracing Steve’s features, and you’re quick to explain, “Barry Allen is–”

“I don’t care.” He says – it doesn’t feel mean so much as deeply uninterested, “Just try to remember what I told you.”

“Sure. Don’t pass out.” You say with a lopsided shrug.  

“Exactly. And no more sneaking off.” Eddie can’t help but get the sense that the second part is more for him than you, especially with the knowing look Steve gives him. 

He just can’t help but tease him a little.  

“No need,” Eddie says, curling his arms around you and jerking his head back down the hall. “Bedroom’s right back there, Big Boy — care to join us?”

“Oh, gross—”

“For the love of…”  

Steve rolls his eyes and breathes the beginnings of a long-suffering sigh – Eddie is quick to let him off the hook. 

“I’m kidding.” He assures the both of you. 

You shove your way out of his arms and Steve shakes his head, in a clear attempt at trying to mask how visibly relieved he is to hear it.

“Yeah well, who can ever tell with you two,” he says, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder before turning his attention to all the other hundreds of little preparations that still need to be made.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You call indignantly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies, “Your shirt’s on backwards, by the way.” 

After that, it takes no effort at all for Eddie to coax you down the hall. Back in the relative dark of his bedroom, you choose the Hawkins Phys. Ed shirt graffitied with his name, and he can’t help but puff up a little with the warm glow of satisfaction for the choice as he watches you shrug out of your clothes.

Out of one shirt and into another, both of them his – the forest green gym shorts are yours, though, and it’s only pure happenstance that they’d gone unnoticed when he packed you away last fall. Stuffed into the back of the drawer they remained, since who knows when – from one of the hundreds of times you’ve slept over, he’s sure. 

It feels a little bit like fate, if he believed in such a thing. Like they’d sat waiting for you, knowing you’d need them here and now, the matching pair to Eddie’s old gym shirt.

Once the shorts are tied tight and the shirt is over your head, you pull it taught by the hem to regard the chicken scratch scrawling of Munson with what he hopes is satisfaction. 

Good, he thinks. Let the name do some good for once, let it shield you from anything that means you harm. Everything means you harm down there, even the air you breathe, but he can’t think about that right now, lest he succumb to his wits and try once more in vain to talk you out of this.

At least this way he can wrap himself around you, make a shield of his things. 

“How’s that feel?” Eddie asks tentatively, watching you turn to regard yourself in what bit of the mirror you can see around Sweetheart.

You level him with a dour look.

“Like gym class.” You answer, flapping your arms at your sides matter-of-factly, “Why do you still have these?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the box spring with one leg tucked neatly beneath him. 

“‘Cause I’m full of school spirit, remember?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Right. How could I forget? You’ve got pep in your step.”

“Go Tigers.” 

Eddie holds his battle vest dutifully in place so you can fit your arms through the holes, then pulls it snugly around you like a worn, patchy, denim hug – you’re swimming in it, and normally it would be incredibly endearing, but his heart is suddenly thumping solidly in his chest, and his insides are churning.

The fear is creeping in again.

“Anyway, have a little respect, will you?” he says, poking at the scrawling of his name across your belly. “This is lucky.”

Your brows marry over your eyes, and it’s almost enough to distract from the gnawing dread settling into his bones.

“How d’you figure?”

“Munsons are resilient.” He explains, “We’re hard to kill,” 

Like some kind of unwanted household pest, skittering around Hawkins and coming back time and time again no matter what this town does to try and eradicate them. 

Like cockroaches, he thinks miserably, but of course, he won’t tell you that. 

“Good for you, I guess,” You say, “But not all of us have the good fortune of being a Munson.”

It’s ever so slightly shocking, hearing you say that. He’s never heard anyone refer to his family name as being one of good fortune, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with that endearment.

Nobody wants to be a Munson. He imagines the way his mother must have panicked when she came to realize the terrible mistake she’d made in hitching her wagon to his father, but by then it was too late because he’d already taken root in her – Eddie had always been the ball and chain that stopped his mother from escaping the name, what it did to her…  

No, nobody wants to be a Munson… but maybe it doesn’t have to be like it’s always been. 

Eddie tilts his head left to press his shoulder to his ear as he considers the notion – then raises his hand to make a slow, gentle chopping motion down against your shoulder – one, then the other – summarily knighting you. 

“I dub thee: Honorary Munson.” He teases. 

You bite your tongue against the giggling suddenly bubbling up inside you and roll your eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” You say. 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re the expert?”

“It’s just not very official, is all.”  

He stares at you a moment, letting the words sink in and feeling his heart beat heavily against his ribcage. 

Suddenly he can’t stop thinking about where you’d been this time last year, propped up against one another on the sofa in the next room.  

Eddie had been sick as a dog that whole week, certain he was always just moments from death’s eternal embrace, and yet laying there with his head in your lap, watching some forgettable movie of the week, he was happy. Happier than he would have been stuffed into the van for sixteen hours, at least. 

That’s all he ever wanted, a life of quiet intimacy, where everybody was content to mind their own damn business, leave you to your devices. 

Let all his grand plans and schemes fall through, so long as it means he gets to spend the rest of his life doing nothing with you.

Filthy rich or dirt poor, he doesn’t care so long as it's with you. 

That’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, and he’s been certain of that since way too early on in your relationship, and it was a problem. 

You weren’t even friends yet the first time he lost himself in a flight of fancy over how the rest of your lives would play out – the milestones you’d hit together. 

Eddie shrugs against the way his heart is in his throat as he makes quick work of removing the ring with the dark stone from his finger. He reaches for your hand and hopes you can’t see the way he’s trembling as he slides it easily back into place over your middle finger – it’s nothing really, you’d already asked him for that ring a year into your relationship and worn it proudly up until last summer. 

All he’s doing is righting a wrong, putting something back where it belongs, but somehow, this time it feels more important than that. This time it feels like a promise. 

“There,” He says gently, feeling unbearably vulnerable as he watches you closely for your reaction, “How’s that for official?” 

You’re beaming as you bring your hand up to look at the ring, admiring the scuffed, dingy stone like it were some kind of glittering diamond he’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on rather than the forgotten heirloom he'd found stashed in a dusty corner of his grandmother’s house a hundred years ago. 

“Cool.” You hum.

“So cool.”  

He reaches up to pull the vest tighter around you again before he’s realized he’s even moved, and then suddenly Eddie’s got his arms around you, hugging you tight against his body — his natural state of being, it seems. 

You respond in turn by burying your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against him as he presses his cheek to your temple. 

For as long a moment as he dares, he just holds you like that while the fear creeps up again. 

Don’t go don’t go please don’t go.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Your response buzzes against his flesh and sends goosebumps crawling across his body.

“Always,” 

Eddie’s hand comes down to trace the length of your arm, a gentle up and down, grazing the pads of his fingers along the soft and tender flesh he knows so well. 

His insides go tight and squirmy, and he feels a potent cocktail of nerves and nostalgic shyness bleed into his bloodstream.

He never actually asked you out the first time around. You sort of just mutually fell into the routine of scrambling to spend every spare second you had with each other, until one day he looked up and your lives were woven together.

It feels stupid to suddenly be shy about it, but he can’t let you cross that gate without putting it out there, even if you say no, even if you laugh in his face.

Eddie clears his throat to try and steady his voice. 

“When all this is over — if we make it out, I mean — can I take you to the movies or something?”

You don’t answer, not right away, but he feels you still against him in a way that makes his nerves scream. After an agonizing moment, your hands snake up to rest on his shoulders and you push against him, though not with enough force to dislodge you from Eddie’s grasp more than a few inches.

He grips you by your elbows and holds you there, reluctant to let you go until it is absolutely necessary as you lean back and stick him to the spot with a wry look — eyes narrowed, lips curled.

He knows you’re about to tease him, considering everything you’ve been through, but those nerves are quickly turning sour in his stomach and Eddie doesn’t think he can stand to hear you say something sarcastic right now, not when he’s teetering so close to the edge. 

Why does it suddenly feel like if he lets you go he’ll lose you all over again? His eyes feel puffy with the notion, and you thankfully pick up on it, like you always do, reaching up to stroke the highest point of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

The scratchy fabric of your bandage tickles him and he swallows the ragged breath threatening to burst forth from his lungs. 

Eddie clears his throat again to middling results before he continues.

“I bet that stupid Gremlins ripoff is still playing in the city…” He says thickly, then rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided shrug he hopes appears as casual as he means it to be, “I mean … unless you already saw it or whatever.” 

“Critters.” You posit. 

“Right.”

You shake your head. 

“Haven’t seen it.” 

“Right.” He says again, because it’s all he can do to stop himself from falling to his knees and begging you not to do this. 

He’d do just about anything to make you stay here where it’s safe, even if that means marching himself into town and right into the hands of the Hawkins Police. 

But that’s not gonna stop Vecna, and if they don’t stop him then there’s no point to any of this. 

They need you there on the other side, and it's tearing him to little melancholy pieces.  

Your lips quirk up into a wry if not entirely sympathetic smile.

“Are you asking me out, Munson?” You ask, gently teasing him in a dutiful attempt to try and leaven the mood.

Eddie forces out a thick, wet bark of laughter and tilts his head forward to rest against yours. 

“Nah, no way. ‘Course not.” he sniffs, “What, d’you think I like you or something?”

You hum thoughtfully and twist your head to the side so that his forehead is pressed against your temple and take a long hard look at the ring sitting snugly on your middle finger. It’s the wrong one, but the intention is still there.

Same as before, same as he’d felt way too early on in your relationship, Eddie would marry you tomorrow if you’d have him – make a real Munson out of you and do it better than any of the previous generations before him ever managed to. Break the cycle and finally do things right.  

Neither of you may be around to indulge in that whimsy tomorrow.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Yeah, you know, I kind of got that impression,”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eddie rasps, “And gross.”

“So gross.” You hum, pushing up on your toes to slant your lips against his.

It's only a chaste peck, made a little less so by a cheeky swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip – it’s all you have time for before there is a rapping of someone’s knuckles against the door frame, cutting the moment short.   

You drop back down and spin around to face whoever it is come to intrude on your moment – only Nancy, thankfully, lingering in the doorway. You stand in front of Eddie with your back against him, like you mean to shield him from prying eyes until he can collect himself again. 

If she notices the way he quickly brushes the wetness from his eyes, she doesn’t mention it, because Nancy Wheeler is nothing if not entirely classy. 

“It’s time, you guys.” She says softly, and Eddie feels his guts seize in terror. 

As if you anticipated the feeling, you reach back and squeeze his hand, nodding curtly. 

“We’ll be right out,” you promise. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sliding through the gate is probably the worst thing you have ever experienced in your entire life, made all the worse by the way you’d had to ask Eddie for a boost because you’ve always been hopeless at the rope climb and you’re not about to start down the journey of self-improvement now.  

“Cheerleader-style,” you’d explained, showing him what position to get into when he asked how best to do that.

He’d rolled his eyes and taken your foot in his hands.

“That’s not Cheerleader-style,” He snarked, which made Steve choke on a surprised bark of laughter. 

And that’s how you knew the world was well and truly coming to an end. Because Eddie made a stupid sex joke and it was enough to make Steve Harrington laugh. 

You’re so, incredibly fucked.

The reverse suction of gravity pulling you down through at the highest point of the gate and turning your world topsy turvy is the second worst thing you’ve ever experienced, and it sees you landing hard on your ass on the other side.

Your fall was mercifully broken by the bizarro version of Eddie’s mattress — somehow more disgusting than its real-world doppelgänger — which Steve had thankfully thought to pull out from the other room.

You’d only just managed to slide off of the thing before Eddie came crashing down after you, landing gracelessly on his back with a hard thump mere inches from where you’d been only moments before.

Everything moves much too quickly after that.

You follow A Team out into the murky underdark waiting just outside the tin door and have to plant roots in the ground to stop yourself from turning right back around and going for the safety of the gate.

Suddenly, faced with the dark and the debris and the perpetual bloody thunderstorm, sitting watch and babysitting the hole in the ceiling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. But it’s far too late to start thinking about changing your mind, especially when B Team comes shuffling down the front steps to see you off. 

You distract yourself by playing Mother Hen, turning around to fuss needlessly over your boys. 

Your boys, your precious boys…

You pull Dustin’s hood up and secure it in place with the headband he’d chosen to add to his armor, straighten the Gilley suit, and tweak his nose for good measure, garnering an indignant squawk from the boy before you move over to Eddie.

You’re less frantic with him, and you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the zipper of his army-grade vest tight up to the collar, the demon-faced logo of the Hellfire club winking out of existence as you do. You can’t help but smooth your hands across his chest, attempting in vain to press out the wrinkles there and banish your nerves alongside them. 

It’s not enough, you think, this isn’t gonna stop anything from hurting him.

You have to heave a sharp, steadying breath to quell the sick feeling suddenly stirring in your stomach, and you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. 

It’s certainly better than what you’ve got, which is to say nothing at all – at least he’s got layers to protect against scraping claws and gnashing teeth, he’s got a shield and one of those wicked-looking spears the Sinclairs had prepared back in the field while you’d wasted precious time goofing off. 

You wish you had a suit of armor, but you’ve got to move faster than you ever have, you can’t afford to be weighed down by any more protective layers than a pair of cotton shorts, Eddie’s vest – you’re thankful to have it, it’s the next best thing to carrying him with you (along with the faintest tinge of Steve, regrettably) but somehow you know it’s not going to be enough if something down here decides to try and make a meal out of you. 

You’re cold, at least you think you are, somehow simultaneously shivering under the heavy, dank chill of the Upsidedown and growing sticky with sweat in the cloying humidity. 

This place is a fucking nightmare — this place is where Barb died. 

Suddenly you can’t stop thinking about that night in ‘83, about the party she disappeared from. You don’t know much about it, only that it had been Tommy and Carol at Steve’s place — your old friends who had at the point only recently ejected you from their circle.

Barb was only there because they had a vacancy to fill in the form of Nancy, and she came along by default. Suddenly you can’t help but feel that if Eddie hadn’t waltzed in and turned your world upside down, you would have been at that party, and it probably would have been your face on all the missing person posters and milk cartons.

Barb would still be here, getting ready to take her SATs and live the rest of her life, and you would have been dragged screaming into the abyss, never to be seen again. 

You’re thankfully rescued from the spiral of trying to determine how your karma tallies up against the guilt you feel over it and pulled from the mire of your thoughts by the sound of your name tumbling gently from Eddie’s lips.

When you glance up at him, he’s giving you a deeply concerned look, and you wonder how much of the journey through your thoughts had been reflected across your face. 

You feel the corners of your mouth twitch in your best attempt at offering him a reassuring smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie says.

“No, yeah of course. It’s gonna be fine.” You mumble, painfully aware of how the tremble in your voice betrays that statement, so you try again, “It’s gonna be fun.” 

It’s not even convincing enough to come across as sarcastic — you’re terrified. 

Then, like he’s only just remembered something vitally important, Dustin perks up and begins patting himself down, frantically fumbling in his pockets as you watch without really seeing. He produces a clunky black Casio, the kind with a calculator built into the face, and immediately goes to work strapping it to your wrist.

“I already set it up to count you down.” He explains, “All you have to do is hit start and go, it’ll keep us in sync.”

You swallow hard as you stare at it — you remember the year he got the watch for his birthday, how excited he was about all its features.

You’d thought it was unbearably sweet that he was so thrilled about a cheap watch from Melvald’s General Store, but you desperately wish you were back there now, timing Dustin to see how fast he could run around the block (the answer was not very fast at all, and he’d been royally pissed when Mike beat his time by nearly half.) 

He nudges you to bring your attention back again, this time he’s holding a walkie-talkie out to you. 

You take it and sling it around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” You say again, somehow less convincing than before. 

However, neither Eddie nor Dustin gets the opportunity to say otherwise because Steve is suddenly there, sending you leaping damn near out of your skin with the simple act of resting a tentative hand on your shoulder. 

“You ready?” He asks.

No, you want to tell him, but your throat is closing up and you don’t think you could have squeaked out an answer even if you tried. 

You swallow hard against the tightness there and nod.

“Okay,” He says solemnly, turning his attention to B Team - Team Distraction, “Keep your radios on – stay in contact, stick to the plan—”

“And don’t get killed.” Eddie pipes up, winking at you. 

As you turn on your heel and trail after the others across the park, you curl your hands into fists and silently hope you can manage to do all of those things at once. 

It takes every bit of willpower you possess not to turn around and look back – if you look back you’re going to lose what tiny bit of nerve you’d been able to muster – but you didn't look back the last time you’d walked away from Eddie, left him standing there at the foot of those stairs.

The radio crackles, at your hip, and through it comes Eddie’s voice, calling your name.

“–Copy.”

You snatch the walkie-talkie up so quickly that you nearly crack yourself in the mouth, twisting around and stumbling over your feet, almost crashing into Robin as you do. 

“What’s up, Eds?” You answer.

You can barely see him out in the dark, but he’s still there, watching you go. You can’t make out his features, but somehow you know he’s grinning that stupid grin.

“You’re supposed to say over – over.” He teases, voice lilting in that same old sing-song tone.

You roll your eyes.

“What do you want, Eddie … over.”

“Just to tell you your butt looks great in those shorts –”

You’re instantly blushing as Robin makes a harsh sound of undainty laughter at your side. 

“Eddie–!” you hiss.

“Over and out.”

It’s not a long walk to the Creel House, but it’s made that much shorter by the cloud of doom hanging over your head.  

You’d always done your utmost to avoid the place, what with its reputation for being haunted. It’s eerie enough in the daytime, but here and now, with the darkness crushing in on all sides, you can’t help the chill that creeps down your spine.

When you were thirteen, you’d very nearly had a falling out with Carol Perkins, who was still your best friend at the time, over your refusal to enter the house on a dare.

With high school looming, she was at the start of a sudden and violent transition that would inevitably see her become the mean girl she is today. As such, she was subsequently worried that you were making her look bad in front of her cool new friends, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with you, but were still busy making up their minds about her.

She called you a pussy, and you happily accepted the title, staying safely outside of the house while the older girls all filed in to play with the Ouija board one of them had brought along. 

Carol stayed with you, out of some lingering sense of misplaced loyalty, you imagine, and as a result lost some of the budding clout she so desperately craved from the others — from that day on to the eventual implosion of your so-called friendship three years later, she never let you forget it.

Knowing what you know now, pressed up against Nancy sitting crouched beneath the rotting jungle gym across the street, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that you’d always had enough foresight to stay out of the house – Vecna’s home. 

Suddenly, you think you can see movement. Figures skulking around in the dark on the third floor, a ghoulish face peering out at you from the attic window. 

You tell yourself the house is empty, that Vecna isn’t up there, despite how patently untrue you know that to be. Part of you wants to take some sort of comfort in knowing that you won’t have to enter the house, but all you feel is the violent buzzing of your anxiety. 

You gasp out loud when the radio crackles, slapping your hands over your mouth and startling yourself as much as your companions. 

“B Team to A Team, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice comes rasping over the static. 

You watch as Steve brings the radio up to his mouth without ever taking his eyes off of the house, you wish you were half as calm as he looked. 

“Copy.” 

“We’re all set back here – go for Phase One?”

“Ready when you are.” 

You feel yourself break into a cold sweat. 

Phase one means you’re one deck. This is all happening very fast – too fast, if anyone were to ask you. Nobody is asking. 

Then, in the distance you hear the first crunch of chords, a rippling echo of a sound that knocks you on your ass, right back to nights and weekends at the Hideout and half a hundred other dingy dives across Roane County. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

If you close your eyes, you imagine you could picture yourself sitting parked behind a slapdash Corroded Coffin merch table set against a far wall, piled high with t-shirts, bumper stickers, and boxes upon boxes of cassettes. 

In your mind’s eye, Eddie leans into the microphone and introduces the band to middling enthusiasm. 

“This one goes out to all the ladies,” he says, like he always does before the first song because of how you’d once expressed vehement disdain for front men who would dare do something so cheesy. 

Your nerves are a swarm of bees in your bloodstream as you suck in a breath through chattering teeth and the sound continues, three descending notes that bleed into a quick, hard riff that shoots adrenaline like lightning down to the tips of your fingers.

It only takes you half a moment to realize you know this song, and the buzzing of your adrenaline surges, thought differently than before – blinding terror has suddenly bled away to be replaced by the kind of heart pounding excitment that comes from standing in the crowd at a rock concert. 

Oh my God, You think, He’s so fucking cool…

It breathes a spark of courage into you, and with a series of short, deep breaths, you fill your lungs and ready yourself to move. Without the necessary prompting you’d all agreed upon, you scramble out from beneath the jungle gym much to Steve’s hushed chagrin. 

You curl your hands into trembling fists as you pad across the grass out into the street, stopping just short of the curb and turning your gaze up at the looming Victorian. In the intermittent flashes of crimson lightning, you can see the bats crawling across its visage, like thousands of teeming maggots, squirming in the belly of a roadkill carcass. 

You suck in a breath and hold it, watching, waiting.

Eddie’s guitar has piqued their interest, just as you’d planned for, now you’ve got to make sure they follow through with that curiosity and clear a path for Nancy and the rest. 

Phase one is in effect – time to go to work.

[meanmeanstridemeanmeanpride]

I Miss You More Than Anything (Kerry V. Erich)

(a/n: whaddup, this is a two parter. was it supposed to be? no. do i have self-control? also no. my apologies for any mistakes, had to use a new software bc NOTHING WANTS TO WORK. requests still open, enjoy! :))

“They want him to stay a few more days for a few more scans. Dave’s going back tonight but I’ll stay with Kerry.” Kevin explained over the phone late at night. It had been nearly four months since you saw Kerry—minus the broadcasted matches—and you were almost there. Although he should’ve been back nearly two months ago, his father would book any match he could. Now he was in the hospital with Kevin because they were having trouble in between matches. 

That knee of his was a common issue, but that issue was only an advantage to his opponents. Not to mention the head injury he received from Ric Flair a couple weeks back, and the lacerations from a cage match. Kevin was possibly looking at a fractured hand due to landing wrong, so he wasn’t as restricted as Kerry. 

Kevin called you every night ever since Kerry was admitted. He kept you updated, assured you Kerry was going to be just fine. Every call there was something new, and every call made you worry more than before. Kerry used to call no matter what happened to him, and his voice was enough to put you at ease. 

But lately he hadn’t been able to. Kevin, and sometimes David, was your only source to reach him. Without him, it simply wasn’t enough. You wanted to hear him, hold him, be held by him. 

“Thank you, Kev,” you held in a sigh. “I know you’ll keep taking care of him.”

It was difficult sleeping that night. The first month was a dream compared to now. All you could do was close your eyes and think endlessly of Kerry. He held you tight the morning he left for the airport. You were half awake and hardly able to see, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him against you, embrace warm and kisses desperate and sweet. 

“I’m going to miss you,” he whispered as his large hand cupped your cheek. You opened your eyes then, welcoming the sight of the moonlight casted over him. 

“Don’t think of me too much.” You murmur, hand slipping out from under the covers to push come of his hair back. It was slightly damp from showering, no doubt. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

Kerry learned in to press a kiss on your temple. You felt a hint of a smile as he did so, and you tried to picture him as you closed your eyes. He was always affectionate even at the beginning of your relationship. When words got caught in his throat, he always sought out touch. 

“I wish you could come with us,” he said quietly. “I know we could make it happen, if—“

“Kerry..” You sighed, “we can’t push it. It’s a miracle I’m even allowed in the locker room when you’re here.”

Kerry could only let out a dry chuckle. He began to litter small kisses over your nose and forehead before surprising you with a deep kiss. Your eyes opened as he moved on top of you. 

Pushing back the memory, you opened your eyes to look up at the ceiling. You could almost see him as he was all those months ago. Your skin was on fire then, itching for Kerry to undress you. Yet now it was cold even if you were under covers. It was too quiet, too empty. 

You couldn’t do it anymore. 

Unable to form a sensible thought, you shoved the comforter down and got out of bed. You slipped on a pair of sneakers and sought out your keys. There was enough gas in the tank to reach Lubbock, then you could head towards out of state. It was taking nearly an entire day to reach their hotel, but you couldn’t seem to care. 

The first two hours went by quick. Music carried you through the drive and when you got sleepy, you'd turn up the volume. It didn’t hit you until 3 AM that you were mindlessly traveling out of Texas because you couldn’t sleep. By 4:30 AM you were arguing with yourself, trying to reason with your sudden decision. 

Within an hour you were getting gas, and not once did you think about turning back. It was too late, and you had thought over what another day without Kerry would be like. 

It wasn’t easy, you understood that from the beginning. Kerry was always going to travel; he was always going to be apart from you for long periods of time. And you were okay with that. You could prepare for those lonely nights and quiet days. But you couldn’t prepare for the constant delays.

“He’s doing it on purpose. I know he is.”

“Well, he can’t keep you away from home forever.”

There was a pause, “..I’m getting tired.”

By sunrise you had fries and a milkshake for breakfast, and a burger for lunch. You skipped dinner in hopes of making it to the hotel before it was completely dark out. While you were completely exhausted, you couldn’t stop. It was almost 10 PM by the time you reached the hotel parking lot, and you prayed you could get ahold of Kevin.  

As you unbuckled the seatbelt and gathered what trash you had, you caught a tall figure heading towards the entrance. All it took was the sight of blonde hair to get you scrambling out of your car. 

“Kev!” You called out, slamming the door and leaving your purse in your unlocked vehicle. “Kevin—!”

He turned around then, having to double take the sight in front of him. You, twenty hours away from where you were supposed to be, drained and relived. He could hardly form a coherent sentence as you came up to him. All he could muster your name. 

“What’re—what’re you..”

“I’m an idiot, I know, but I couldn’t sleep another night. Kev, I—you know how hard it’s been…I need to see him. I need to see with my own eyes that he’s okay. I will never do this again, I promi—“ You were cut by Kevin’s crushing hug. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him and closed your eyes. It was an instant mistake. You could hardly hold yourself up, but Kevin was there to keep you steady. 

You hadn’t even realized it, but you had begun to cry.

Kevin rubbed your back, still processing how you managed to drive from Denton to Los Angeles within a day. Although it rattled him; something could’ve happened to you, he felt a sense of joy for you and Kerry. 

“It’s okay,” he spoke softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Kevin took you into the lobby and up to his room. He and Kerry had shared a room while David had been next door, and their dad stayed on the other side. If Fritz knew you were there Kevin and Kerry wouldn’t hear the end of it. Luckily, you snuck in without getting caught. 

As soon as the door was closed, Kevin showed you where Kerry slept and where all his things were. He had begun to pack for him, but not everything was put up. You took one of Kerry’s t-shirts and a pair of sweats before heading to go shower. 

Sleep came easy that night. Maybe from the lack of, or maybe because home wasn’t so far away.

[miseryandroses]

“Sleep”

Max Mayfield x Male Reader

Max awoke with a start, the feeling of cold, dead hands on her skin still present. She breathed rapidly and shallowly as she felt the cold sweat, tears streaming down her face. It took her a few moments to calm down again and familiarize herself with her surroundings. The posters on the wall of her room, the blanket she was wrapped around in, and the feelings of your arms wrapped around her. She steadied her breathing and blinked away the tears in her eyes before sitting up, freeing herself from your cuddle and the warm blanket that enveloped her. Max looked at you and saw your face, peaceful, you laid on your side, with your gentle snore filling the room. Your rib cage rising and falling as your breathed in and out. She took one more look at you before stepping out of bed, putting on her sweater, tying up her long red hair, and heading into the kitchen while contemplating her nightmare.

Max moved to Hawkins, which felt like decades ago but in reality was 9 years ago, with her mom, asshole step-dad, and piece of shit brother, Billy. She also met her new friends but most importantly, she met you, stalking her with the rest of your friends. You were a bit taller and quieter than the rest but something drew her to you. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what she’d be getting into by talking with you and your friends. Before she knew it she was dragged into a dangerous world of monsters and alternate dimensions. Throughout it all though, you were there with her every step of the way. The two of you began dating and when the monsters came back you both relied on each other for support, but it was afterwards where she’d need you the most. Her brother was taken by the monsters and wether or not he was an asshole he was still her brother. The two of you grew distant afterwards before eventually breaking up. But then, the monsters returned, this time they came back stronger and deadlier. They targeted Max specifically using her guilt and trauma against her. You reassured her she would be fine and you wouldn’t let anything happen to her but you weren’t able to keep your promise. She was killed and you held her in your arms as she begged for you and your help. In that moment all Max could think was “Y/N, Please help me!” but you were unable to do so and she died in your arms only to be resurrected. She wound up in a coma, with her eyeballs gouged and her limbs snapped. She was asleep for the majority of time as you and your friends fought back against the monsters that began to take over your town. She was asleep as you protected her from the monsters. She was asleep when her best friend, Eleven sacraficed herself for the greater good. She woke up, however a few weeks after Vecna’s final assault on Hawkins and when she awoke she found you, sleeping on the chair next to you. Her limbs had healed and she made a full recovery. What would’ve been a hefty hospital bill was paid in full by the U.S. government. Her physical damage was treated, with a few months of physiotherapy and use of a wheelchair and crutches she’d be good as new. However the mental damage could never be repaired. Seeing visions of your deepest and darkest fears, being murdered, resurrected, placed in a coma and waking up to a different world only to find out one of your best friends died would be beyond overwhelming. She simply couldn’t just “be okay”. Other people moved on, still feeling the wounds of the battle, but you stayed with her. “Why you?” you’d both wonder. Maybe it was the fact she chose you over Dustin and Lucas, maybe it was due to the fact you stood by her during her time with the monsters, or maybe it was because you were there when she woke up. The two of you would move out of Hawkins since it wasn’t a place fit for living anymore. You still kept in contact writing each other letters. Before you knew it, senior year came around and you both got admitted into the same school. Now living together in your junior year of college, Max and you have found peace. But it isn’t always there.

Tonight, Max had the same nightmare she usually has. Billy dragging her back onto the hospital bed. As soon as he held her down she would sink into the bed and wind up in Vecna’s mindlair. There she would feel Vecna’s vines wrap around her and pull her into a pillar as they begin to choke her, before the reason of all her suffering would appear. Vecna would tell her something along the lines of “Your suffering is at an end” in his deep and booming voice. He would then plunge the claws of his left hand into her face and when he did so she could feel her bones break, her eyes collapse, and her brother’s voice. Afterwards she would fall into your hands but she could still see everything. She could see your face contort in anguish as you stared at her, just then Vecna would appear behind you. She would try to warn you but found herself unable to move as Vecna snapped your neck with his mind, your hands which wrapped around her shoulder becoming still and cold, the feeling of death enveloping her. Before she can wake she sees the look on your corpse’s face, your eyes red and bulging, face becoming blue, and blood dripping out your nose and eyes.

Max couldn’t help but think about your face. All the horrible and gruesome details were etched into her brain. She decided she couldn’t go to sleep again and began to make herself a cup of coffee. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as she leaned onto the countertop in her pj’s. When the coffee was done she grabbed it and turned on the radio. Ironically, it was playing Kate Bush’s “Keep Running Up That Hill” the same song that saved her all those years ago. The irony wasn’t lost on Max as she let out a small chuckle. She kept the volume at a moderate volume since she knew you were a heavy sleeper but she didn’t want to wake you. She stood by the window and looked down onto the street from your guys’ apartment on the 10th floor. It was quiet, it was early enough for people to jog around or walk their dogs but dark enough for the street lights to be on. Max observed people going about the early hours of their day, occasionally a car or a truck would pass through. She saw a bus pull up to a stop and an old woman walked out. The bus departed and the woman walked down the street. This was Max’s second favorite time of day, where she was alone and able to think so clearly. She didn’t plan out the rest of her day. She just stood there taking occasional sips of the hot black liquid in the mug she held, absorbing the music that filled her ears, and observing the people below her.

Max was so engrossed with this little routine of hers she didn’t notice you until you let out a yawn as you walked towards her, still half-asleep, clutching a blanket over your shoulders and around your chest.

“Morning” you said groggily as you took a seat at the dining table before resting your head on it and closing your eyes.

“Hello” Max said softly as she smiled to herself.

She took in the sight of you. Your dark circles around your eyes and your messy bed head. She walked over to you and gently put her coffee cup down in front of you before planting a kiss on your head.

“Did you get out of bed just to sleep at the dining table?” Max questioned, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“No, I just wanted to sleep with you” you responded sleepily.

“Oh?” Max smirked, as she rubbed your back.

“Not like that” you yawned out in response, opening one eye.

Max chuckled to herself at your response. She then crouched slightly, rested her forehead against your head, and placed the palm of her hand under your chin.

She smiled to herself as she leaned on you. You sluggishly moved to wrap your arms and blanket around her. Max sighed in content, the music being the only sound besides your guy’s breathing, the first golden rays of sunlight peaking through the blinds and hitting your bodies.

This was her favorite time of day.

“Why were you up?” you questioned.

“Just had that same stupid nightmare” Max responded as she closed her eyes.

“Mmm” you, hummed out.

You didn’t want to say anything because you knew Max had her own way of dealing with it. You’re just glad that she was telling you the truth. For awhile she wouldn’t open up about her nightmares, getting mad and yelling at you when you pressed for answers. It took a while but the two of you got past that rough patch and became stronger for it.

The two of you held each other for the next few minutes. The song was almost over and the sun was almost up. The city was beginning to come to life. Max stood up and looked at you once more, the song was over and all that could be heard in the room was your snores. Max rose up and silently laughed to herself.

“He fell asleep again” Max thought to herself.

[catastrofriend]

Title: in over our heads Fandom: fallen hero Characters: Leigh Bennett (sidestep), Ricardo Ortega Words: 833 Notes: for years now, I’ve had this headcanon that is probably not rooted in canon at all but it is all but rooted into my brain that Ortega has panic attacks. They probably have had them on and off for years, in my head, since after heartbreak. Maybe they got better over time but now with everything with sidestep being back but the threat of losing them again and then them getting hurt, has just made it all so much worse again. Anyway, that shit means a lot to me. And it comes back in a lot of my writing. Like this one. AO3: here

-------

Recovery makes for long days. Boring days. You’ve been stuck in your own head too long and you’re painfully aware how you hate being there even in the best of times. It makes you wonder even more about his.

Ortega’s mind is the only one you can never see a glimpse of. You used to think he was an open book, he’d tell you everything, he was so forward and genuine you couldn’t imagine him keeping secrets. You were so stupid. Even a few months ago, he was fucking playing you. You thought you had him, but you really had no idea.

But at least back then he’d tell you something. Even if it was the smallest kernel, obfuscated by lies and misdirection and all the things you should have noticed, at least he was sharing something. These days he barely even talks to you anymore. Not about things that matter. You’ve tried arguing with him about it, asked him, confronted him directly about the lack of trust, even though he has no reason—that he knows of (probably)—to mistrust you. He keeps saying it won’t help you getting better to get all worked up. To take the time to rest, sort your head out a bit. He says you need it. He’s still an idiot like that.

It itches at you, not knowing what’s going on with him, the Rangers, the city. Hollow Ground. You keep up with the news but fuck knows that’s all bullshit, and most media barely glance over the things that really matter. And you know things are happening. They have to be. Life was put on hold for you, but not for everyone else. You know Ortega wasn’t cleared to go back to work when he did, and he’s trying to hide it, but you know better now, he’s exhausted. He’s pushing his limits and he’s not talking to you about it. Probably not talking to anyone. Very likely not even allowing himself to think about it.

See, you have figured some things out about him since you’ve been stuck here. You’ve wondered several times if his head is a worse place than yours to be in right now. It might be. He’s been unable to hide the sour moods, the tension, the anger he usually obfuscates by deflection and distraction. You’ve started pretending to fall for it again because asking him about it just made it worse. The first time he snapped at you about how fine he was left you shaking and with your back pressed against the wall for safety. He apologized later. And distracted you, put his tongue to good use. What you really wanted was an explanation, though, and he never did give that. But you’ve decided to let it slide, like so many other things. Like the pills he keeps behind lock and key (scared you’ll use them for other ends? Or does he simply not want you to know?). Like the nights he disappears to go for a drive or whatever he does, or the ones where he doesn’t come home at all. Like the panic attacks he tries to hide.

Okay, the last one is pure conjecture on your part, you still don’t have anything solidly pointing towards it, but it feels likely. You picked the lock on the cabinet he keeps his meds in (and every other lock in the apartment, besides), and you know what those are for. Sometimes he goes into the bathroom and turns on the shower but doesn’t use it (again, you’ve checked. No new laundry, no used towels) and you used to think maybe he wanted a private phone call but then you saw he didn’t take his phone. Maybe he wanted some privacy to crank one out but he’s been very open (and inviting) about that. (You’ve accepted the invitation to help once or twice). You’ve considered trying to catch him at it, but decided it would be inconsiderate and very unhelpful for either of you. You do know from experience that sometimes you need to break and you need to do it without anyone bothering you and trying to be helpful. So you let it slide and you think (hope) that he will talk to you when he’s ready and not after it’s gone too far. Despite his track record. And your own track record.

And now you’re here. Feeling more than watching him sleep, and thinking about the state of his head. He’s all gentle slopes and soft pressure against you now, and you like to think at least tonight you’ve helped him and not made it worse. It didn’t take much. Order takeout so he didn’t feel he had to cook after being home early for once. Let him close. Don’t talk too much, don’t ask questions. Claim you’re tired and insist he join you when you go to bed (lie awake restless and bored). Feel that little bit of your life, and your heart, slot into place.

[lonepantheress]

why'd we make the simplest things so hard?

genre: complete and total angst. not even a hint of anything else.

based on this song <3

pairing: best friend! hwang hyunjin x reader

wc: 1.2k

a/n: THANK GOD SCHOOL IS ALMOST OVER! i have so many ideas but i barely post as much as i want to. between working, and exams, i barely even have time for a social life. thank you all for your continuous support. it means the world.

You had come too close too many times. A certain stress filled the air that the two of you breathed because you knew that if you had to cut the tension, there would be something there. And it would often present itself in the way that Hyunjin would brush your hair behind your ear or wipe food from your face, but he would let his hand linger and stare for a second. Or the way you would happen to text him every day at the exact time he woke up by coincidence every time. Small things. Trivial things that you could simply attribute to growing an incredibly close friendship.

You couldn’t do that this time. Because you both knew that what had happened was too close to ignore. It was a normal occurrence for you to go over to his house and spend the night. Sometimes you guys binge-watched movies and shows and ordered takeout. Other nights you’d have deep conversations that often ended with one of you telling the other, “I’ve never said that out loud before.” And sometimes you would sit in complete, comfortable, silence. You found yourself in his room, with that same familiar space of shared intimacy.

It happened to be one of those nights where you really didn’t do anything but sit around and bask in each others’ presence. But this time, something had shifted, and neither of you could ignore it. The line between friendship and something more had blurred, its boundaries eroded by moments that lingered, teasing your hearts with their significance. Each glance and touch conveyed a depth of connection that couldn't be brushed aside as mere coincidence anymore. You sat side by side, thinking for a while. Stealing glances and opening your mouths to talk, but deciding not to say anything.

A perfect moment at a perfect time, you glanced at each other. This time, neither of you looked away. You tried to keep eye contact but Hyunjin broke it a few times by glancing down at your lips then back at your eyes. Like magnets, you leaned into one another, feeling the tension getting ready to be cut. But just as the moment would have hit its peak, the sound of a distant car engine broke the spell. The moment shattered, and reality rushed back in. What were you doing?

You both pulled away, startled by the interruption and the sudden return to reality. There was a pit in your stomach, you felt a million realizations hit at once. The weight of unspoken words hung heavily between you, and it was clear that something had irrevocably changed. You quickly stood up, without even looking at Hyunjin.

“I have to leave,” you sounded confused and disappointed. The sense of urgency to leave was stronger than anything else at that moment. The room was spinning. You heard Hyunjin trying to talk to you and you could make out him wanting you to wait, but it wasn’t enough to truly make you wait.

You nearly ran to the door, each step feeling heavier than the next. You felt like you were leaving more than just a room- should you stay and face the truth? Should you let the conversation unfold, regardless of the potential consequences? But fear clenched your heart, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn back.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You stepped out into the night, leaving Hyunjin and the remnants of an unspoken connection behind. The sound of the closing door echoed in your ears, mirroring the finality of the moment.

Once the door closed behind you, a surge of emotions propelled you towards your car. Overwhelmed, you found yourself unable to simply start the engine and drive away. Instead, you sank into the driver's seat, allowing the tears to flow freely and welcoming the onslaught of painful thoughts. The weight of what you had - or hadn’t - done felt irreversible, causing your chest to swell and a throbbing headache to assail you. In the midst of your despair, you reached for your phone, searching for any distraction from the turmoil within. And just as you hoped for a momentary respite, a familiar notification chimed. 

Hyune: We need to talk, y/n.

That’s how you found yourself sitting across from him in a small restaurant the morning after. To talk. The sun was shining, it was a really beautiful day. Your waitress was kind, and the food was incredible. But the tension between the two of you was so heavy that you couldn’t even find yourself making small talk. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you felt his eyes staring at you.

Instead, you looked at his hands. They nervously fidgeted with his coffee mug and you watched his rings hit the ceramic and clink. The same rings he had adorned the night before.

Hyunjin took a deep breath, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability, “I think it’d be best if we just forget what happened yesterday.”

Oh? “Oh.” Your gaze finally lifted from his hands, meeting his eyes. The pain and longing reflected in them mirrored your own. The weight of unspoken emotions lingered heavily between you, and you couldn't simply erase what had transpired. 

You were irritated with him and with yourself, it wasn’t a mystery that the force of pride was holding you both back from what could be. You took a moment to consider Hyunjin's plea, feeling torn between the desire to preserve your friendship and the lingering ache in your heart. The weight of the unspoken hung heavy in the air, tempting you to dive into the depths of what could have been. But ultimately, you couldn't bear the thought of losing Hyunjin entirely. Why couldn’t he just want what you did? Why couldn’t he be the one to say it?

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly nodded, unable to meet his gaze directly, “You’re right. I was thinking the same.” It was a decision made out of self-preservation, an attempt to salvage what remained of the comfortable bond you had built over time. Your heart screamed “No! Stop!” but your brain told you what you were doing was right. 

Hyunjin's eyes searched your face, his expression a mixture of relief and disappointment. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. "Thank you," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow.

But as you sipped your coffee and exchanged polite conversation, the atmosphere remained strained. The unspoken tension continued to cast its shadow, weaving its way through every word and gesture. You both pretended that nothing had changed, but the lingering glances and the unspoken yearning betrayed the façade you had created.

As you both left the restaurant, the unspoken truth remained like a phantom, trailing behind you, an unshakeable presence. It was clear that while you tried to bury it beneath the surface, the unspoken connection between you and Hyunjin would continue to simmer, waiting for the right moment to resurface and demand to be acknowledged. It was for that reason that you knew what you had would likely disappear, and those moments you spent together would become less and less.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 14 - The Power of Fear

Description: Cut off from the one person you needed to get through what had happened at the prison, you were now slowly being ripped apart from the inside.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 5887 (3355 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   You watched your first ever sunrise the next morning, wrapped in blankets sitting in a hammock in Anitas garden. You’d been out there all night, alternating between trying to sleep, and being jolted awake by awful images conjured by your subconscious, and the memories of seemingly endless pain echoing through your body.    But the numbness was still there as well, oddly enough. You couldn’t feel much of anything while you were awake, it was only when you tried to rest that your brain seemed to get overwhelmed, as though you were actively forcing yourself not to feel. Which did make a bit of sense.

   You wished that you’d been able to see the exquisite beauty around you, but while there was nothing wrong with your eyes, you couldn’t seem to connect the images they were seeing to the correct emotion those images should provoke.    The flowers were all blooming, waking up and turning their petals to the pink and golden morning light, and even the grass was nicer than any grass you’d ever seen before.    And to top it all off, everything was coated in tiny droplets of morning dew, glistening as the light hit it, turning the garden into what could’ve been a fairy landscape.

   But it was all just there around you, unable to touch your heart.

   The warmth of the sun sent you drifting off to sleep again, but this time, a dark figure appeared next to you in your dreams, hovering over you with sickening interest, like he was trying to devour your soul.    You woke up with a powerful jerk which had your arm flinging out towards the non-existing shadow beside you, while your heart pounded frantically in your chest, making it hard to breathe for a minute.    But this was probably the tenth time that night you’d had the sensation, so it no longer made you panic. At this point, every jarring awakening just made you more tired.

   Giving up on sleep, you sat up and turned in the hammock to let your feet down into the grass, unwinding yourself from the blankets which suddenly felt much too warm. You leaned forwards with your elbows resting heavily on your knees, and your head felt like it weighed more than your whole body.    Still, the damp and cool grass seemed to help your mind settle a bit, just as Anita came walking out of the backdoor holding a mug of something steaming hot in each hand.

   She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. But when she handed you one of the mugs, filled with freshly brewed chai-tea based on the smell, you took it, holding it between both hands while she sat down next to you.    You couldn’t tell how long you sat like that, staring into your cup without taking a single sip, as she gently rocked the hammock with her feet. But she stayed with you the whole time, just looking at her flowers, drinking her coffee and occasionally humming something.

   “Thank you,” you whispered eventually.

   Not because you were trying to be quiet, but simply because you hadn’t spoken at all since leaving the prison, and your throat was dry and stale.    You still didn’t want to talk about anything, really. But you did want her to know how grateful you were that she’d taken you in and let you stay. And unsurprisingly, she knew you weren’t referring to the tea.

   “Of course. You’re always welcome here, niña,” she answered just as quietly, perhaps unsure if your low volume was due to oversensitivity, keeping hers down so she wouldn’t deter you from continuing.

   “I didn’t know where else to go. My house… just isn’t home to me anymore. And he-…” you had to stop and just breathe against the sudden pressure in your chest at the mere thought of Marcus, the only subject still capable of reaching through your apathy.

   She gave you a minute to calm yourself, and then for the first time in however many hours you’d already been there, she asked you a question.

   “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

   Her voice was soft and inviting, but you shook your head and closed your eyes.    You hadn’t even been able to think about it yet. Hell, even your own subconscious had thus far been unable to get you anywhere near those thoughts.

   “Okay. Well, I’ve called you in sick for the rest of the week,” she calmly replied, making you realize you hadn’t even thought about work. “So, you just rest and try to get some nutrition into that little body. There is plenty of food in the fridge.”

   With that, she got up and took the now cold mug with its untouched brew from your hands to carry it back inside.

   “You’re leaving?” you asked, inferring as much from her phrasing and feeling surprisingly unsettled by the notion.

   “Yes. But I’ll be back in a few hours,” she declared, and something in your stomach seemed to turn heavier.

   You weren’t sure why you didn’t want her to leave, until she was already gone, and the numbness immediately increased. As though her presence alone was so impactful it had made you try to confront your fears even though you hadn’t been aware of it.    The garden was somehow smaller without her, as if the flowers actually blossomed a little less in her absence.

<><><><><> 

   Marcus knew before she even stepped inside that his mother knew something about what was going on, and that she wasn’t happy about it.    She’d accepted you into her son’s life without much question, and she’d made it clear she was invested in making sure you’d be happy together, so of course she’d be upset that the one woman she’d found to be good enough for him, was now pushed away.    But he could never have imagined just how furious she’d be.

   She stormed inside, slamming the door shut behind her with such force it made the walls rumble. Then, ignoring Missy’s startled gasp where she’d just sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast, she continued into the kitchen, while virtually spewing Spanish expletives at her father, too enraged to even formulate sentences at first.

   “Mom, please stop. You’re not helping,” he tiredly sighed, turning his back at her to refill his coffee-cup for the fourth time already that morning since he’d been up all night.

   But the way his mother fell silent instantly made him worried, because it wasn’t the open-aired silence of someone who was ready to listen.    Rather, it was the kind of silence which hung like a thundercloud in the air, created by either anger, confoundment, or both, and he wasn’t particularly keen on discovering which mood the woman was preparing to unleash right then.

   “Do you really think I’m here to help you?” she all but growled, narrowing her eyes at him when he turned around to lean against the counter. “Your girlfriend is sitting in my garden right now, unable to sleep, unable to eat, barely even able to talk, and you think I’m here to help you?”

   He felt himself turn strangely cold then, and his arm froze halfway to bringing the cup to his mouth, because this was about the last thing he’d ever expected to hear.

   “She… came to you?” he asked, truly shocked.

   “Where did you think she would go? Church?” she scoffed with sarcasm, knowing you weren’t religious and would likely find no comfort in any of the places of worship around the city.

   “I thought she went home,” he countered, having pictured you collapsing in your bed and crying alone all night, which he’d also spent the entire night feeling guilty about.

   “Ay, el tonto…” Anita grumbled, closing her eyes as if cursing him inside her head, before opening them to reveal the lightning bolts she was about to fire at him. “THIS is her home. Yet, for some reason, she does not feel welcome here anymore!    Now, she has not been able to explain anything to me, but I know she did nothing to deserve this. Such a thing is not possible for a soul like hers.    Which means you did this to her, mi chico, and now you are going to tell me why.”

   But as shocking as this was, Marcus couldn’t accept her words, for the simple reason that he’d done everything he could to prevent this very outcome, and no one had listened to him.

   “I did this to her?!” he questioned, pushing off the counter and raising his voice way too much considering his daughter was in the room, but he was too upset to care about that in the moment. “I tried to stop all this, you were the one who wanted her to go and meet that asshole!”

   “Yes, because I knew that he could never break her. The only person in the world who has that much power over her is you, because you are the one she loves,” she argued, pointing sharply at him to emphasize his significance. “You are the one who holds her heart in your hands, which means only you have the power to crush it.    And you have, my son. Believe me, you have crushed it.”

   He shrunk hearing her words, realizing the truth in them, the truth he’d been trying to avoid while he’d worked on settling the rage inside him.    When he’d left you there in the control room, he’d done it truly convinced it was the only right thing to do, because he’d only just been able to keep his powers under control until he’d gotten to the parking lot.

   At the time, removing himself from the equation had seemed like a kindness. He had never wanted to hurt you, never meant for any harm to come to you by his actions.    But now it appeared that in his desperation to keep you safe, he had instead forgotten to take your heart into consideration and ended up hurting you so much worse.    Still, the way you’d looked at him had left him dead certain you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him for a while.

   “I was trying to protect her… from me,” he admitted, feeling himself tense up, but his mother failed to detect how his body-language shifted when the memories of Prince’s voice once again flooded his mind.

   “And since when has that girl ever had anything to fear from y-…?”

   “He had her for three weeks, mom,” he growled through his teeth, cutting her off and leaving her stunned into silence. “You need to understand the purity of hatred I feel when I think about that man…”

   He fell silent as the whole house started to rumble with his rising anger, leaving Anita slightly nervously twisting on the spot as she’d never seen him do something like that before, and assumed it was an earthquake at first.    Marcus did his best to calm himself, putting his open palms against the cold stone surface of the kitchen island countertop, hoping the coolness would help combat the heat of his anger. But he only just managed to stop the pipes from bursting through the walls.

   When the worst of the trembling had stopped, his mother turned back to him.

   “Hijo… Was that you?”

   “Actually, that was a small one,” Missy chipped in, still sitting at the table, quietly eating her breakfast in the middle of all this drama. “Did you see what he did at the prison? It’s been on repeat on the news all night.”

   “No. I was busy making sure my niña did not die of a broken heart,” Anita replied, giving her son a stern glare, but although it stabbed at his chest to hear it, he still believed he’d done the right thing.

   “He was proud, mom. Absolutely elated to see her. His creation…    You need to understand, I can’t be around her right now, because I saw that fucking instrument of a chair. I saw the blood drenched into the leather, the fingernails torn from the roots and embedded in the cushioned armrests, the smell of every bodily fluid imaginable lingering on it, despite the chlorine he’d used to clean the surface of it.”

   “Hush, boy! Your daughter does not near to hear this,” she admonished, but he wasn’t going to stop until she understood.

   “She’s training to do this job, she should know exactly how dangerous those types of people are. Or have you forgotten how many kids her age he butchered?” he spat, perhaps taking it a bit too far, but the anger and lack of sleep had made him raw, and he carried on without giving anyone a chance to cut in. “I will never forget the shit I saw in that laboratory, or how it made me feel to have to dig out the skeletons of infants from those mass graves, so don’t you tell me to shut up about it!    Everyone needs to know what he did, and everyone should be just as angry as me about it, otherwise it’ll happen again!”

   “I’m not disputing that,” his mother countered. “But please, explain to me what this has to do with you staying away from the woman you love?”

   He sighed heavily and dropped his head forwards, before stepping out from behind the island, knowing that if he moved closer to her, he’d be less inclined to break anything.

   “You never saw her in the beginning. I was with her every day, struggling from moment to moment with whether I wished for her to live… or to get to rest.    One minute I’d look at her and think she was so strong and so beautiful and that if she would just wake up everything would be alright. And the next minute, I’d remember what had been done to her over those two days, and I’d beg for her to not have to live with that.    And then I hear this monster sit there and gloat about how she was at his mercy for weeks…”

   His voice died out, unable to finish the sentence, and his mother stilled then, perhaps in acknowledgement of how difficult this truly was for him.    But she only gave him a moment before she took a deep breath, and the number of times he’d heard that inhale as a child, told him that he was about to be set straight.

   “She learned all of this at the same time as you, chico. She carries this burden in her very skin, and she was counting on you to help her bear it.    But you chose to abandon her instead, leaving her alone to carry this weight, because in case you hadn’t noticed, you are all she has. The poor thing came to me looking for solace, for goodness’ sake,” she shook her head, and she looked terribly worried.

   His mother had her shortcomings, but she never coddled people. She never pitied anyone who had the strength to fight for themselves.    And yet, the way she spoke about you now, she seemed genuinely afraid for you, and that sent shivers of a most unpleasant nature down his spine.

   “Now, you know I may be difficult, but I’m never heartless. She can stay with me for as long as she needs,” she continued after a beat, as if she’d read his mind. “But Marcus, my beloved boy… If you make me watch this strong, beautiful, passionate and warm woman, turn into a walking corpse, for no reason beyond your own damned fears, I will never speak to you again.    Make this right, or I will never forgive you.”

   She stood and glared at him to make sure he knew her threat was serious, then she turned around and more or less stormed out, leaving the door wide open behind her, which he took to be a challenge for him to follow her.    Anita had always been something of a mystery to her son, and while he’d always known her to be loving and stern in equal measure, you seemed to be the exception to every rule she’d ever lived by.

   “Uhm… dad?” Missy tentatively asked after he’d been staring at the open door for a little too long. “You do know she’s right, don’t you? This is essentially hiding, what you’re doing.”

   He sighed with sadness, letting her voice break through the tangled-up web his thoughts had become and bring him back to the moment, where his daughter had now finished her cereal and pushed the bowl away.    She’d been amazingly calm and supportive during all this, helping him stay calm when the anger had threatened to boil over. But now she looked painfully worried, which pinched his heart with bruising strength, because he had no good answers.

   “I don’t know what else to do, kiddo. If I ever hurt my hermosa… I couldn’t live with that,” he whispered, half strangled by the sheer force of fear which coursed through him at the mere thought.

   “But you still love her, right?”

   “Of course I do.”

   “Then you already know what you have to do,” she pressed, and he was about to argue when she cut him off. “I get that it’s scary when you’re so used to being the one who can always control yourself, even when the rest of the team aren’t cooperating and nothing works the way it’s supposed to, or when grandma gets on your nerves.    And now there’s this giant evil thing you can’t escape, or fight, and it makes you so scared you lose all that control.”

   Fucking hell… Was she really only ten years old?    He couldn’t help but see her mother in her eyes when she got all wise like this. Sarah would’ve been so proud hearing it, quipping about how she must’ve raised the perfect kid for her to have the confidence and understanding of people, to even say these things.    It brought tears to his eyes, and he didn’t wipe them away.

   “If you truly love her, you won’t even be able to hurt her, and I think you know that. I think what you’re really scared of is that you won’t know how to help her. But dad… you didn’t know how to help her out of her coma either and you still did.    So, you’re gonna go to her and you’re gonna do what she needs you to do, alright? And I’m coming with you to make sure you don’t destroy every streetlamp and sewage pipe from here to Abuela’s house.”

<><><><><> 

   You had laid down in the soft grass as the sun had climbed higher, hoping to feel something other than pain. Hoping for some distraction, even if it was just a blade of grass tickling your neck.    But it hadn’t worked. As though your skin had forgotten that there were other sensations to be had, you’d remained numb to the world around you.

   Turning on your side and curling into a ball, you’d wondered why the sun didn’t warm you. Wondered if you could recall the feeling of being warmed into your very bones anymore. Even asked yourself if it would make any difference if you just burned alive right there. Surely, it couldn’t hurt any worse than what this relentless emptiness did.    Would Marcus even miss you?    Would anyone?

   Laying there while the dew slowly evaporated, you closed your eyes against the light, but also in a feeble attempt to keep those thoughts away.    You knew they came from a dark and lonely place, where truth didn’t exist, and the only reality was the one you made up to justify your wish for these awful things to just stop. Even if it meant your eyes would never open again.

   Anita had been right, that evening when you’d driven across town together. You had been fighting your entire life, in every way a person could, and you were so fucking tired of it.    Somehow, people had always wanted to hurt you, for one reason or another. But as far as you could remember, none of it had been earned.    You had never wilfully harmed anyone in your life, so why did you have to suffer so much?

   Warm, wet drops hitting your hand broke through your mental walls, bringing you back to the present and the real world, but it took you a few moments to understand why.    Your mind struggled to understand how rain could be so warm, and how it could only be landing on that one spot.    But once you realized it was because there was no rain, you sluggishly dragged your heavy eyelids open, revealing a devastated Missy kneeling beside you.

   She was such a wonderful girl. But what was she doing there? And why was she crying on your hand?

   “Hey. Come on, open your eyes, hermosa,” she begged with a shaky voice, making you wonder why she was hurting and who had done that to her. “I’m right here. You’re not alone, we’re here with you. We’re all here with you.”

   It took longer than it should have for you to grasp that she was in pain because of how you must look to her right then, lethargic and unresponsive on the ground, and it somehow doubled the weight which sat on top of your heart, threatening to crush it.

   “Dad, please…” she begged after another few seconds, turning her head away from you.

   But her father wasn’t there, and he wouldn’t come. You couldn’t see where she was looking, but you knew he wouldn’t be there. He’d turned away from you even though you’d begged, so there was no reason to think he would have changed his mind and decided to help you now.    It was just a dream. Another cruel prank by your subconscious.

   “You should go…” you croaked at her, not even recognizing your own voice, closing your eyes against the brightness of the day, hoping for the dark to swallow you. “Let me rest…”

   Strong hands grabbed you, and suddenly you were being carried into the house and carefully placed on a bed, before someone covered you with several blankets.    Then those hands grabbed yours and familiar currents flooded your system with their tell-tale tingling, waking your body as they went.    But this was a nice feeling, you wouldn’t have dreamt such a thing in your current state.

   Was it really him, right there beside you?

   “M-Marcus…?” you asked, not trusting your own senses.

   Not ready to believe anything good or nice would ever happen to you again.

   “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

   He sounded awful. But his crackling voice was still a balm to your tortured soul.    The numbness somehow hadn’t extended to include relieving you of your pain, it had only made you feel disconnected from both your body and the world around you. So, now that his current was returning everything to normal, the hurt inside your chest was joined by how cold you were. How your limbs ached from inactivity and twitched with the stress in your overstimulated nerves.

   And then your brain caught up, and you remembered the feeling of watching him turn his back on you.    You remembered feeling sick to your stomach by Prince’s admissions, and then the flare of hope which seeing him had given you, only to then be crushed by the realization that he wasn’t there for you.    He hadn’t just broken your trust, he had stolen your hope for the future. The hope you’d cultivated so very carefully specifically because you’d feared you wouldn’t get to keep him.

   “You left me,” you whispered through clattering teeth and a trembling bottom lip, as the weight of those words, the reality behind them, made it feel even more unbearable.

   “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to,” he hoarsely replied, but even though you waited, he didn’t deliberate, and it wasn’t enough.

   “I begged you,” you said, with a voice even more frail than before as the emotions overpowered you until you were crying. “I stood on my knees… and begged you not to go.”

   You couldn’t look at him, because you knew that if you saw his sorrow, you’d want to comfort him, despite what he’d done to you, but you felt his head drop onto your joined hands.    His body was trembling, and strong jolts bothered him every now and then, as pain ripped through him, but his current had already faltered and died out.

   “You are so much stronger than I’ll ever be, hermosa. To even consider facing that monster, much less actually sit down across from him…” he faded out, before you felt him draw in a new breath, perhaps seeking the strength to try and make this right. “I don’t know how you did that. I don’t understand how anyone could.”

   He still sounded so broken, and the more you listened to him, the more you felt that urge to ease his pain. But you weren’t going to.    All your life you’d had to fight. Not by choice, but for your very survival. But you weren’t going to fight for this man to want or chose you, because that battle wasn’t yours.    He either cared for you enough that he could ignore his fears or pains, like you did, or he didn’t. In which case, there was no future for the two of you.

   “I know I’ve failed you, and everyone around me, but I was terrified, and I didn’t know what to do,” he continued when you didn’t answer him. “I’ve never felt rage like that before and it scared the life out me.    Because I really wanted to kill him. Right then and there. If your safety hadn’t been a bigger priority to me, I would’ve walked in there and strangled him with his own fucking chains. And you know that’s not who I am.”

   His voice had regained some of its strength by then, and you could hear the echo of his rage within the depths of it.    And you did understand, to some degree, how that level of anger could’ve robbed him of his senses, because Marcus Moreno was not a violent man. He wasn’t someone who had ever truly wished for anyone to die at his hands, not even bad people.

   “I thought I was doing the right thing by staying as far away from you as possible at that point. You looked so fragile sitting on that floor, pale and trembling. And I just knew in my heart that if you saw me lose control and kill someone… you’d forever be scared of me,” he quietly admitted, barely getting through the last of it before he broke down into sobs for a minute.

   He seemed determined to set things right, though, all but forcing his pain into the periphery, so he could continue.

   “I see now that I should’ve stayed and trusted our love to see us through it, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t see that at the time.    But I haven’t left you. My heart belongs to you, it always will.    Please, sweetheart… Please tell me you’re still mine. Tell me I can make it right, somehow.”

   Everything he’d said had made sense. You understood all of it, to the extent you were able. The problem was that no amount of sympathy was gonna heal the tear in your soul from one moment to the next.    You couldn’t trust him to be there for you anymore, and that kind of betrayal wasn’t going to be mended by apologies or explanations.    Finally opening your eyes, you found him sitting beside you, looking worse than anything you could’ve imagined.

   “I don’t know… right now,” you said with honesty, and watched him crumble even more.

   “Can I hold you?” he asked through the pain, with pure desperation marring every syllable. “Please, let me hold you and warm you and remind you that I’m still the same. I’m still the man who loves you beyond all measure, I just made a terrible, horrible mistake.    I did leave you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it… But that’s also why I can promise you it will never happen again, if you just give me one more chance.”

   A chance.    Not too long ago, that was all you’d wanted as well, and even though he hadn’t known it at the time, he’d given you one.    He was worth another chance, and another hundred after that. But it wasn’t this moment which would reveal if he would honour his promise and deserve your trust again. Only time could offer such a thing.

   “I love you, Marcus. Always,” you assured him, and while it was probably nice to hear, you knew he’d also heard your lack of a direct response to his request.

   He laid down beside you and took you in his arms, but there was no relief within his frame. And there wouldn’t be, until you either gave it to him, or this relationship ended.    Those were the only options available to you, and you both knew it. But in that moment, you tried not to think about it, hoping your love would weather the storm and come out stronger. Anything else was too horrifying to consider.

<><><><><> 

   He had walked out into that garden, somehow thinking his mother had exaggerated, even though he knew damned well she rarely ever did. And never when it concerned something as serious as the health of a relationship.    No, the simple and awful truth was that he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. He couldn’t reconcile with the thought that he could’ve hurt someone he loved so badly. It was unbearable.

   Missy had spotted you first, lying on your side on the ground, curled up, pale and unmoving. And you’d looked so heavy, as though your body had been made of lead and was trying to sink through the soil.    She’d sprinted the last few yards to get to you, grabbing your hands and flinching at how cold and unresponsive you’d been. Even resorting to using one of his nicknames for you, to try and get a reaction.

   She had never seen you in your coma, and even when you’d been unwell in front of her, you’d still been strong on the inside. Finding ways to save yourself, to cling to the good things and not let them go.    To his daughter you were a role model, and someone she admired beyond measure, so seeing you in such a state was heart-breaking to her.    But to Marcus, it was a slow and agonizing death.

   He’d frozen on the spot, the moment he’d seen you, utterly convinced you’d slipped back into that darkness. The one you’d already had to fight so hard to leave behind and be free of. Convinced he’d never see that loving smile of yours again.    You’d always looked impossibly strong to his eyes, but seeing you seemingly returned to that half-dead state, he’d understood what his mother had meant by having to watch you turn into a walking corpse.

   Your immense strength had finally failed you, and not because of Prince or what you’d learned in that room… but because of the man you loved.    The one person in your life you were supposed to be able to rely on, no matter what.    He had broken you, just as his mother had said. And as that realization had hit home, so many things had broken inside of him at once, he hadn’t even been able to hear Missy’s desperate plea for help.

   But then, you’d spoken. And he’d been so relieved that all trace of anger had dissipated, and nothing had mattered except that you weren’t locked away. You were still there.    He’d picked you up and carried you to Anita’s spare bedroom, and tried his best to comfort you, to coax you back to life. Abruptly unbothered by any fears of hurting you, all he’d been able to think about had been keeping you alive.    Even if you were furious with him, or so heartbroken you’d never be able to forgive him, he’d take it. So long as he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear.

   When you’d said his name, there had been such disbelief in your frail voice, as though you’d been unable to fathom why he would’ve ever come back to you. And hearing that had broken him to pieces.    That moment in the control room, you’d begged him not to leave you, but he hadn’t heard you. The adrenaline of his fears had drowned out the absolute despair in your voice, the bitterness of betrayal in your eyes.

   He’d blinded himself to your situation so that he might’ve had a hope of controlling himself. But as he’d sat there on the bed with you, seeing you refuse to look at him while he’d tried to comfort you, he had realized his mistake without even trying.    Because it wasn’t that he’d left, or failed to recognize your pain. The real mistake had come much sooner than that. His true failure had been in not supporting your decision from the beginning.

   He’d begged you not to go, not to put yourself in such a terrible position, and he’d been right to do so, to make sure you’d thought it through. But once you’d made up your mind, he should’ve let it go and just been there for you.    You had only done what had felt right to you. For yourself, and the other victims, and even for Marcus. Because you’d gone there in search of closure, looking for an ending in the hopes of moving forward. With him.

   But in truth, he had gone there looking for a fight. So desperate to sever you from the past, and so scared it would come back to haunt you for the rest of your life, that he’d gone there only to try and prevent Prince from having any more power over you. Even though you’d told him to stay away, and even though he’d promised you he would.    He’d failed to realize you had long since broken free of the mad doctor’s claws, and that the man you loved was the very reason why you’d had the strength to do that.

   You’d ducked away from answering his pleas for a second chance, and he understood why. But you’d also given him the gift of hope, in letting him know your feelings hadn’t changed, even if the trust had been badly broken.    Hearing it had made his entire body sing with relief, making his current flow freely through the room, bringing a hint of colour to your cheeks.

   And as he’d climbed into bed with you and cradled you to his chest and kissed every part of your head he could reach, he’d known that he would keep this promise. To never abandon you again, to never try and take your decisions from you, and to never let his own pain render him blind and deaf to yours.    No matter what, nothing could ever make him willing to risk seeing you like this again.

   “I love you, querida. I love you so much it makes me stupid,” he cried as he held you, but it was only a few of the many thousands of tears shed between you that night.

[dvar-trek]

Romance Roundup: Part 1

this summer, after succumbing to my knitting injuries, i fell into a romance novel rabbit-hole. they are like candy for me. they're low-effort, fun, a quick source of joy, and keep me from endlessly scrolling jpost for israel news. also i can usually finish one in a day or two. so all in all, i ended up reading a total of 90 romance/kissing books.

the stats:

84 queer

13 novella-length

4 that i really feel i gave a fair shot but didn't finish

the top 7 (in no particular order):

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland- a fantasy book wherein the prince and his sworn bodyguard fall in love. some light (as in dangerous but not overly complex) political intrigue. plenty of world-building, but the author doesn't ever bore you with explanations you don't want. the writing is a little clumsy at times, but in spite of myself i found this book and the characters so utterly charming.

Enlightenment Trilogy (Provoked, Beguiled, and Enlightened) by Joanna Chambers- takes place in regency-late georgian scotland. two men who are dedicated to their respectable (but very different) lives. in order to keep what's important to them, they each plan to go through life just having anonymous, one-off encounters with other men, and needless to say, they upend that for one another. features radical politics, arguments about what matters in life, george iv's visit to scotland, and confronting your past. i thought about this extensively, but i simply do not think i can describe the plot in a way that will be helpful. you are just going to have to trust me. a linked short story and bonus-epilogue-novella are also availble on the author's website.

10 Things That Never Happened by Alexis Hall- man sort of accidentally fakes amnesia to keep his asshole boss from firing everyone. only they end up sort of falling for each other for real. modern setting, funny and sad, and the kind of slow-burn romance that makes your chest hurt. it does take place over christmas, but not in a fluffy, christmassy way. like, even i, America's Number One Christmas Hater, who would never have touched it had i known about the christmas element going in, found it to be completely tolerable amount of christmas, and a thoroughly enjoyable book. i read everything on my top 7 list multiple times, but this is one that really rewards your second read-through.

Captive Prince Trilogy (Captive Prince, Prince's Gambit, and Kings Rising) by C.S. Pacat- fantasy setting wherein a prince is kidnapped and enslaved in an enemy realm, and eventually has to ally with his cruel captor in order to save his own kingdom. plenty of political maneuvering, military skirmishes, court intrigue, and secret night mission shenanigans (with disguises). another chest-aching slow burn that rewards multiple read-throughs. there's also a linked short story collection, The Summer Palace, which includes a bonus epilogue.

A Rulebook for Restless Rogues (book 2 in Lucky Lovers of London) by Jess Everlee- victorian-era romance, featuring drag, lifelong best friends, and some of the best (hottest) sex scenes on this list. the proprietor of an underground gentlemen's club for queer men fights to keep his club open and his people safe, both from the law and from the volatile aristocrat who owns the place. he also definitely doesn't have feelings for his best friend. anymore. probably.

England World (Think of England, and prequel Proper English) by KJ Charles- two excellent books; one a houseparty/treason investigation and one a houseparty turned murder mystery. as everyone knows, it's extremely dangerous to attend a houseparty while single, because you will fall hopelessly in love, but you will also be in mortal peril. i am. too fucking feral about these characters to say anything useful. i am completely aware that this does nothing to help my case, but i cannot help it. i am unable to be normal about them, even in the effort to convince people to read these books. also please note that even though the covers are. quite bad. the writing is excellent and well-researched. also also, there's a bonus epilogue on the author's website, featuring additional sex, good jokes, and bad poetry.

An Unnatural Vice (book 2 in Sins of the City) by KJ Charles- the whole trilogy is worth reading (in order!) but this is definitely the strongest of the 3, and i found it to be the most compelling of the romances. a victorian-era mystery/suspense series, featuring an inheritance plot, murders in the fog, and fake séances. a "spiritualist" who defrauds the wealthy and the investigative jouranlist determined to expose his tricks find themselves hate-fucking, running from murderers, arguing about class politics, and both saving and upending each others' lives.

honorable mention:

Sailor's Delight by Rose Lerner- #1 brain-rewiring book of the year. 1813 sailing master in the british royal navy and his naval agent fall in love. the book takes place over 1 week of shore leave (which coincides with the high holy days), although they have known each other (and known that they can never be together) for almost a decade. uh. listen. this book is both fun and well-researched, but it is not, like, Good™. there is a shirtless man on the cover and there's not even any fucking in the book. the main characters are named Elie and Augie which is completely unsexy. BUT. they changed my brain chemistry and i've plotted out their entire lives in my head from the moment they met and i'm fucking feral about them.

romance roundup part 2

[midnight197]

How often do you want to redraw this Picture?

Me: Yes

But what is this? Alphys this time instead of Serif? Well yes, because I decided to rewrite LOVETale a little bit. How dedicated I'll stick to it, is another question, but it's at least planed!

To keep it short, Serif gets written out of the Story, being "replaced" by Alphys. Since him being there makes no sense. If you want a more in-depth explanation, you can keep reading after the Read-More!

I'll copy-paste the Text, I have written in Discord, since it's easier for me lmao

Serif was the first of my AU to be created. Simply because...he was a Sans. Ofc he has to be the first Character to be created. Sans was the Main-Thing of every UT-AU to come.

The Rest of the AU started to develop around the time, a Guy on dA took UT-related Requests. He would also take Sans-Requests but not from Lone-Sans-AUs. So I slowly came up with the rest of the Cast and like that LOVETale would be created.

For a quick reminder what LOVETale was about: It plays after a Genocide-Run. Frisk killed Sans, Asgore and Flowey and was then killed by Chara. Her Spirit retreated into the Heartlocket and would later be reawakend by Alphys doing Determination-Experiments with Sans' Dust. She and Sans would fuse their Souls thus creating Serif. In the meantime, Frisks LV would gain a Life of it's own, thanks to the high amount of Determination Frisk posessed. It has no real Mind or Soul but instead would grow stronger by taking, devouring and controlling the Souls of other Monsters. It's only desire is self-preservation and survival as well as growing stronger.

So it would continue, what Frisk started. Killing more and more Monsters to gain more and more LV. Alphys herself would feel guilty and useless once the killing starts anew and to be able to help Serif fight this problem, she would infuse herself with the Determination of all the Human Souls. Using the help of a cyber-armor to stabilize her Body, which in return tho was very painful and made the metallic parts unable to feel anything.

This was basically the jist of it. There was no real plot tho except fighting LV-/Evil Versions of known Characters for the sake of Drama and Feelz xD

But again, about the rewrite thing...Serif being there makes no sense at all. He got created, when Alpyhs took his Dust after she checked on the Situation a few days later. She would try to bring him back, by putting Determination into his Dust. But ofc that wouldn't work that way. Alpyhs throws some stuff over out of frustrating, which made Charas Heartlocket fall into the Dust. Due to the Determination that Alphys used on it, Chara would be reawaken and appear in some sort of Dreamworld of Sans where she would make a Deal with him. That causes their Souls to Fuse, creating Serif in the Process. The thing tho is that Alphys has no reason, to take Sans' Dust with her. There was Monster Dust all over the Underground.

She could have taken Asgores Dust with her or any other Dust. Ofc she ans Sans seems to know each other from back then, but why not trying to take Mettatons Dust then? It would have been on the Way anyways. Or Undynes? She knew, that Undyne has Determination on her own, so maybe this kind of Experiments could have worked better on her. Why Sans??? So...I'm writing that part out. Imma copy paste the text, I have send Loum before, because it's easier than to rewrite everything xD Alphys would still check on things. She would still find Frisk etc.

She also would still take the Necklace from them, because she felt like they won't need it anymore. Same with the Knife. She also takes Papyrus' Scarf with her. Doesn't feels very good to collect dust yet tho, since there's so much Dust around anyways. It actually won't be since at least a few days before something major happens. Alpyhs focuses on getting some organization back in the Underground. Very similar to the Queen Alphys Neutral Ending just without Sans this time and that she still has all 7 Human Souls however she doesn't feels like using them to break the Barrier. It would feel wrong.

The Underground is weakend, so many Monsters were hurt and scared. Like this they can't face the Overworld. Or even any more humans and the thought of absorbing the Souls herself might have crossed her mind, but it scares her to much to even try. She wouldn't know, what would happen to her. And the Underground needed her now more than ever. She was the last Person that could help it's People First everything seems to calm down in the Underground. At some point Alphys would send out some Monsters to start collecting the Dust. Or at least what can still be found. She wanted to give the Monsters some sort of peace, by doing a huge Funeral.

However she gets reports of strange sights. Monsters that where thought to have died, were spottet. But that couldn't be the Amalgamates, since the Monsters know about them by now and Alphys knows where they would roughly be. And the reports would get more and more as times moves on. And then other Monsters would start to go missing Alphys ofc starts to panic and would check the Cameras to see if a new Human fell into the Underground. But she wouldn't find one. Instead she would see familiar faces. Familiar Faces of Monsters that start to attack other Monsters.

She doesn't know what's happening or why this presumably dead Monsters would attack other Monsters. She wants to face them herself and ask them this question. But she can't. She's to scared. She's not strong enough. Not a Fighter. She's not Undyne. She's not determined enough. So she decided to put everything in one final idea. Giving herself Determination. But since she knows her Body wouldn't be able to handle it, she tries to find a way to make her Body more physical. She basically has the Mindset "If that doesn't work, then the Underground is screwed regardless". But she can't just sit behind her Screen again and let others Fight and die for her. so she builds her Machine and uses it on herself. And like in the OG-AU she would pass out by the sheer amount of pain.

However instead of being found by Serif, she would have Serifs Experience with Chara. Frisks/Charas Necklace was nearby in the Lab and the huge amount of Determination used on Alphys woke her up. Charas Spirit would help Alphys stabilize her Body and Soul to be able to Handle the Determination.

[a-colorless-fighter]

IMPORTANT UPDATE (PLEASE READ)

Hello readers, I know you were hoping this update would be a third chapter, and are wondering why I last updated in a LOOONG time, so I'm here to explain that.

PLEASE READ ALL THE WAY, I KNOW IT'S LONG BUT IT'S A VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE!!!

TW: Discussion of real, life-threatening injuries and death

Over two months ago, I woke up to my dad frantically trying to call me and my mom with a text saying "CODE RED! EVERYONE PICK UP YOUR PHONES NOW! AND ANSWER MY PHONE CALL!"

My mom's phone was dead and my younger brother's phone wasn't working, so we called my dad back on my phone, put him on speaker, and braced ourselves for terrible news.

We were informed that my older brother, whom I will call James (Not his real name), had a 6-minute seizure and is currently in an ambulance being sent to the hospital.

6 minutes is classified as a severe seizure.

It happened out of nowhere, he was just playing soccer with his buddies when suddenly he got the worst headache ever to the point of crying. He walked over to my dad and then suddenly started seizing.

We found out he had a knot of veins in the center of his brain that bursted.

He had a brain bleed, they had a tube in the top of his head to drain some of the blood, and they had to take out part of his skull to allow the swelling to not cause any more brain damage from pressure.

I don't want to get into too much detail about the two months he was in the hospital, but it was the scariest thing I've gone through.

I was constantly worried he was going to die.

And even if he would be alive in the end, there is a high chance he wouldn't be the same.

The reason this connects to why I was unable to work on this fanfic is because my fanfic is about that topic, it's about a character (Leo) having a brain injury, and not being the same person anymore.

Even simply thinking about this project put me in a depressive state.

The good news is that James is alive, He is ok. And you guys do not need to worry about him at all.

We had a lot of miracles happen and I am more than happy to say that he is still the brother I knew before this happened. He has recovered remarkably fast and well since he is young and healthy.

He is EXTREMELY lucky to ONLY have a few vision problems and just be a little weaker on his left side, he is taking PT (Physical therapy) and luckily the doctors said he won't get any worse, whether or not he will fully heal, we don't know.

But I don't care I don't care that he has vision problems and is weaker on his left side,

HE IS FUCKING ALIVE!!!

and that's all I care about.

If this happened to him literally ANY other time, he would have been dead. if he was in his room alone, he would have been dead, if it was nighttime, he would have been dead. But luckily he was in an area where a lot of people were watching him, and there were people there to help carry him to a safe place to wait for an ambulance.

I've had a LOT of time to hang out with him and mentally recover from what happened.

And I've decided... I still want to continue this Fanfiction.

It doesn't pain me to work on this at all anymore because I know my brother is ok. If anything, this work can be used as a way to vent my emotions from the incident. I can't change the fact this happened, but I can try to look on the bright side of it. I mean- Having this experience will probably make my writing better, at least for Leo's brother's side of the story. I understand how they feel on such a deep level and want to keep writing this because it's a healthy way to vent emotions.

I do want to take a moment and thank you for all of your guys' support. I read EVERY SINGLE COMMENT and it makes me SO happy to read about what you think of my work. I cannot express how much it boosts my motivation and mood when I read a new comment. I have a LOT planned for this series and I want to continue it and make it better than before!

Also, IDK if anyone noticed, but NAME CHANGE! I'm going by "UnknownStripes" now on AO3, (which is actually a reference to future events in this series *wink *wink...)

ALSO! EXCITING NEWS! I have been re-writing the previous two chapters! I noticed a LOT of mistakes and parts that frustrated me, so I will be re-writing them. The same stuff will play out, it's just going to be written better with some dialogue changes, plot-hole fixes, AND CHANGE THE FUCKING WEAPONS THE EPF USE TO TRY TO CAPTURE THE TURTLES LIKE WTF WAS I THINKING?!!!!???? WHY THE HELL ARE THEY USING ACTUAL FUCKING BULLETS TO TRY TO CAPTURE DONNIE AND LEO WHEN THEY WANT THEM ALIVE?!! HOW THE FUCK DO DONNIE AND LEO JUST GET FUCKING SHOT AND THEN BRUSH IT OFF LIKE ITS NOTHING LIKE- BRO- AHHHHHVBSDBVOSNONCOIWBVONKSZNV!!!!! So yeah, I'll be fixing that. But having them use tranquilizer darts would affect how I wanted the scene to play out so I've been stuck on that, but I FINALLY FOUND A PLOT-HOLE FILLER!! WHOOOOOO!!! So you'll just have to wait and see!!! I'm actually almost done re-writing the first two chapters! I worked on it a LOT BEFORE the incident with James went down. I just have a few more things to edit and then they will be ready to post! As for the third chapter... I am about 1/3 done. Idk when I'll be able to post it but I will be working on it a lot in my free time! You guys deserve it for having to wait so long, but I also want it to be good, so I ain't gonna rush it.

ALSO! I am an artist, You may have noticed the cover art I made and added to the first chapter. I'm happy to announce that I will be adding MORE ARTWORK to the chapters to help with visualization, and to give my lovely readers something pleasant to look at. I will also be posting the artwork much earlier on the Official ACF Tumblr, along with extra sketches that aren't going to be used in the actual chapters. I also want to give more frequent updates there too, plus I am open to asking questions and doing polls! So if you want to see any of that, GO FOLLOW THE TUMBLR PAGE! (AKA THIS TUMPLE PAGE IF YOU ARE READING THE TUMBLR VERSION OF THIS UPDATE)

I'll make an announcement like this when I post the re-written first two chapters,

Love you all SM! <3

-UnknownStripes

A Colorless Fighter - Chapter 4 - UnknownStripes - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]