#i keep imagining the articles that would come out being like. what the FUCK just happened at this years sekai tekai...

[warriorprincesstramp]

trying to sleep but I'm giggling n kicking my legs in the air thinking about the sekai tekai riot

[prael]

Day 1: Scandal

Aespa Karina x male reader smut

words: 4,260 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They're calling it the scandal of the century. A downright disaster. People scrambled in the aftermath, but the damage had been done, the proverbial milk spilt. And oh, did the milk spill alright. It sounds like everyone had tuned in right around the country. Hell, right around the world.

If they didn't catch it live, then they certainly caught the post-game replays.

There are a lot of those going around.

No amount of damage control could have prevented it from exploding all over the Internet and into every gossip rag imaginable. But damn it if her PR team hadn't tried to stop it anyway. They had gone on the offence—attacking everyone and anyone who had even so much as hinted at the incident. Filing every legal document they could just get it removed.

It doesn't matter. The damage is done. The ties are cut and you're both hung out to dry.

Well before it happened, there had been warnings. Karina was still fresh off the back of her first Dispatch leak. The two of them weren't even really dating. Two young, rich and hot adults were just fooling around, so once it hit the press and the online articles came in, she took the axe to that relationship right away. She could always find another dick to ride on.

That she did; your dick, and damn did she ride it.

It was a friend of a friend thing. You know one of those 'I showed this girl your picture and she wants to get to know you' things. To be honest, you thought it was a joke. Of course, you did. How often does some K-pop starlet want to have dinner with you?

Anyway, three months down the line and you're two and half months deep into, well, being deep into her.

Her apartment is nice. Her bed is nicer, or at least it is with her in it.

You spent night after night together doing every nasty, carnal thing she wanted. She loves it. You would come to realise she's a bit of a nymphomaniac—and you fucking love it. But, even still, you kept it casual. Kept it quiet.

Didn't work too well.

There was a close call, once.

You put it down to getting a little too comfortable. The guard slipped for just the briefest moment of weakness. Though, if anything, you would at least put part of the blame on the whole system. See, Karina can't catch a flight without the entire thing being documented. She arrives at the airport and they're all there waiting with cameras in hand to get the latest snap of her airport fashion as she comes out of the van. They know what flight she's on and the exact departure time, and then when she lands there's another group of fans waiting.

So it goes without saying, you two can't just waltz in there hand-in-hand. So you book the same flight, seated far enough away from her that no one would question a thing. You shouldn't speak, not until you're safely at the other end and in the privacy of the hotel room, but Karina is Karina.

So she texted you, this one time in the departure lounge. A twenty-minute window and directions to the toilets of the private lounge. There, in the small cubicle, you slipped down her jeans, turned her around, bent her over and made her feel good.

It was quick and messy. Nothing like how the sex would be in her hotel later that night. You had her cheek pressed against the door of the cubicle, your hand covering her mouth to stifle the noise, and your dick going balls deep in her hot pussy while her hand rubbed away at her clit. It was desperate and hungry—more the need to release the sexual tension than to enjoy it.

But damn was it fun.

She deepened the arch of her back and presented herself just that bit more for you and you watched every inch go inside her with each thrust. Watched as your cock spread apart those soft pussy lips of hers and vanished into the warm embrace of her body. Her ass shook as your hips slapped against it and eventually, her legs trembled so much that you had to wrap your arm around her waist to keep her up.

But when you came—and you came deep—someone entered the bathroom. Their presence was unknown until you heard the faucet run. For a brief, horrifying moment you thought it might be someone waiting to bust you.

A security guard or maybe a tabloid reporter ready to get their story. The scandal of the century? Not quite.

Just another passenger. They didn't even realise who they were next to as they washed their hands. But the idea that you both could've been caught, had Karina let that moan slip or if you hadn't just stopped pounding her against the door so hard that it rattled the hinges.

Afterwards, with your spent dick sliding out from between her tight thighs, it was something Karina whispered in your ear. She said, "That was close. We'll have to be more careful."

If only you knew just how careless she was about to be...

See, it was a pretty normal evening. She texted you a time to come over, and you took all the usual precautions. (There's a side door into the block and a service elevator that Karina made sure to get the passcode for.) Admittedly, you got there five minutes early, but it wasn't the first time it had happened, and since the first time, Karina made sure to leave a sock on the bedroom door just in case it happened again. She was streaming, you see, an Instagram live session. One of those things where the adoring fans get to listen to their idols talk about themselves, or their day, or sometimes with Karina, something a little out of the ordinary.

So you waited. A drink of water, sitting on her couch, and letting curiosity take over. You opened up her Instagram, watched her for a few minutes, and smiled to yourself because, as usual, she was simply being Karina. No topic, just rambling, but there were thousands watching anyway, because well, why wouldn't they?

A smile crept onto your face as you watched, knowing that she was in the next room, just looking that good, and soon enough you would be in there ravishing her. There were thousands upon thousands of other people, jealous of you without even realising you existed, who would give almost anything to be in your shoes—to be able to do the things you do to Karina. Fuck, some of them would probably sell everything they owned.

Then she started saying goodbye to people. Signing off, wishing them a good night, whatever. So you locked the phone and waited until she came down the hallway.

She was moving quickly, right towards you. Bare feet hitting the wooden floor in hurried little slaps. She jumped right into your lap without so much as a 'Hello', and she clamped her legs, clad in tight yoga pants, around your waist. She grabbed either side of your face and kissed you, a hand reaching back and pulling on the hair at the base of your skull as she did.

And it wasn't soft either.

It was fierce and aggressive. Her tongue forced its way into your mouth, pushing against your own, flicking over your teeth. She ground herself against the erection growing beneath her and breathed hot breath against your lips while biting down on the lower one.

"You," she gasped. "Take me to the bedroom... Now."

"Hi to you too," you joked, putting your arms under her butt.

She was so very easy to carry. Maybe because you had done it so many times before. But she had always been a light little thing, so slender apart from exactly the places you would want her to be big. It always made it so easy to pin her against the wall with her leg over your shoulder, to press her up against the shower and bounce her up and down on your cock while steam filled the bathroom. But mostly it was great because you could easily throw her down on the bed.

Tonight wasn't going to be any different.

Except it was, wasn't it? But neither of you knew that just yet.

As you walked toward her room, holding her gorgeous body up with nothing but a firm grasp on her ass, she kept whispering things to you. Whispered them right against your ear, her voice low and husky as she did. She told you about all the things that she wanted you to do to her. The things that she wanted to do to you. Like some raw, filthy script of a play long overdue to be performed.

"...and then I want you to put it right back in my pussy and cum in me again and again," she said it right as you pushed through the door. Look, Karina's room isn't that huge, but when you're dying to get your cock into her, going all the way to the bed seemed like such a pain when there was a perfectly good wall right there. You turned and pinned her against it.

There you two stayed for a while, locked in that embrace, kissing and nibbling. She wrestled your shirt off over your head while you peeled up her sports bra. You bent your head down to her chest and kissed along the valley between her breasts. Her soft skin warm against your lips, and you kept pressing them down on her, leaving faint wet marks until you reached one of those pert pink nipples. You cupped her tit and you sucked. Hard.

A little whimper of appreciation followed by a slight tremble through her body was the response.

You went from one to the other. Fingers caressing one and your mouth on the other, switching between them, never fully committing to either, keeping her guessing as to which nipple would feel the bliss next. Karina knew what she wanted, and she simply wouldn't wait. Maybe the rush to get fucked could be blamed for all of this.

See, while you sucked her tits, she pulled down her leggings and her underwear. Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was convenience, but she didn't even pull them past her knees. Instead, as you continued your adoration, she unbuckled your belt and let your trousers fall to the floor. Your underwear didn't last long either. She gave a couple of lazy strokes up the length of your cock, just enough for her to feel it getting hard. Enough for her to know you could give her what she needs.

She twisted between you and the wall and leaned against it; her tits pressing against the white paintwork, and she stuck out her ass. "Don't hold back," she instructed. "I need it."

For all the focus you gave her tits, Karina does have a hell of an ass.

So with her arms up above her head and grasping high, she looked perfect. The swell of her hips, the curve of her ass—it was just to be grabbed and slapped. Those legs looked fucking perfect, slightly muscled from hours of dance practice but still so thin and lean. And between them... fuck. If there's such a thing as a pussy so good it should win awards then Karina better prepare her speech.

You weren't gentle.

Gentle doesn't work for her. Gentle is boring. Normal. Vanilla. Karina's tasted it all before and she's bored. You won't remember the first time she said those words to you. She made you promise not to judge her but she told you exactly how depraved and slutty she really wants to be in bed.

So when she said, "Fuck me hard," you did exactly that.

Spit on your cock was enough to get it slick. You stroked the tip up and down across her waiting pussy a couple of times and found the right place. Then you slid it right inside her, letting it rest buried for just a moment before you pulled back. You didn't even go halfway before you thrust it right back into her. Right down to the balls. Deep as you can go.

A pleasured hiss passed over clenched teeth as her cheek pressed against the wall and she nodded, just once, telling you that she wanted more. You fucked her harder, feeling her hot insides clench at your cock. Her hips smacked against the wall with each thrust, the room echoing with the sounds of your flesh coming together. The squelch of her wet hole was barely audible over her cries. Cries that steadily increased in volume the longer you held her against the wall, the more aggressively you bucked your hips against her, the harder you drove your dick into her body.

"Don't stop!" she cried out as her legs shivered.

No danger of that.

Maybe you should have.

Karina was struggling. To not fall apart in your hands, to hold herself against the wall, but also just to keep breathing as the intensity of your deep pounding washed over her, making her shudder and shake in front of you. One of her hands flew down to between her legs. The tips of her fingers went in a circle around her clit.

But as much fun as taking her against the wall was, she would fall if you continued.

So you did what you knew you could so easily do, just threw her. Her quivering body collapsed onto her bed after a small stumble. Right into the one place in the room, she shouldn't be.

See, Karina was sitting just here, maybe ten minutes earlier. You were watching, on your phone. She had chatted and joked and waved goodbye, just where you were about to fuck her.

She clambered up the bed and onto all fours, looking back at you with lust-drunk eyes, urging you on, needing to be fucked some more. So you crawled right up behind her, took a grip of those beautiful hips and you slipped your cock back inside her.

One stroke and you bottomed out within her.

Two strokes and she began moaning again.

By the third, you were slamming her forward with each push.

The bed creaked in protest as you hammered yourself into Karina, keeping up with what she wanted as she pushed back at you, meeting every buck of your hips with equal force and speed. At least one orgasm tore through her body. You felt it in the way her body contracted around your thick shaft as you drove it deep inside her, but also heard it in the way she screeched through gritted teeth. Saw it as she clawed at the blankets, grabbing handfuls of material and pulling at them as her body tensed up.

"Cum," she pleaded with just the one word.

And that's what you did. Her little pussy made sure of it. Feeling her spasm around you, squeezing your throbbing cock so tightly that you couldn't resist but join her in ecstasy. So you flooded her sweet cunt, sending ropes of cum into her waiting body, painting her walls, feeling every inch of her pussy pulse as her body urged yours to give her everything it had. Her cries mingled with the heavy panting as you emptied your balls within her.

You couldn't keep it up. Fucking Karina sometimes feels too intense, takes so much energy out of you, makes your muscles burn. So you had to withdraw from her and rest back on your haunches, catching your breath, your heart racing. But Karina is Karina.

She turned around and before you could move, she had taken hold of your thighs and moved forward. Her lips wrapped around the tip of your glistening cock and began sucking on it. As her tongue rolled across the slit and along the underside, tasting your seed and her own juices combined. Her cheeks hollowed, eyes staring up at you from behind damp hair and you felt her moans reverberating through you.

How can she do this every time? How can she make you recover so quickly? Because you did. No sooner had Karina placed her head in your lap than you grew hard again. You were left fighting that war against conflicting desires: whether to push her off and have her again or keep the pleasure of having her mouth on you. Every swirl of her tongue across the sensitive parts of your cock, the feeling of her lips gliding along its length, her throat opening and the tightness taking your crown.

"Oh shit..." you groaned. "Are you trying to kill me?"

She didn't answer but you noticed her hips wiggle slowly side-to-side.

It wasn't long before she relinquished the grasp she had on your thighs and let you pull her into position. A roll onto her back. A pillow under her lower back. You hooked one leg over your shoulder while she held the other out wide, laying right on the edge of the bed. You sank into her again and again, rocking the entire bed with each thrust.

And how you only wish now that you had at literally any point taken a look to your right. Maybe you would have questioned why her phone was still there. Maybe you would have made her check the thing was actually off.

Of course, you know now the mistake that Karina made.

You pushed her down into the bed, pressing her leg against her chest as you fucked her. Fucked her deeply. You had changed the tempo now, switched to something slower, more powerful and purposeful. That load you left in her cunt made the whole thing a mess. You pounded into her and it spilt between you, running down her ass and soaking her bedding. Karina gasped as her second climax crashed through her.

Her phone caught it all.

Every minute.

When Karina came, so loud, so hard, so intense that she didn't know who or where she was, people were watching. Her fans watched. When she said your name as she stared up into your eyes with such gratitude, they were listening. And when you came for the second time, she made sure everyone could hear.

"I feel it," she whispered, her fingers digging into your arms. "I feel it. All of it. Give me more. Fill me."

She pulled at her thighs, spreading herself open and making you groan into the crook of her neck as your throbbing dick pulsed, unleashing another load of thick cum deep within her body, making another wonderful mess. Leaving her already soaked cunt saturated. Together you lay like that, two exhausted bodies wrapped in an embrace, your cock twitching, occasionally releasing a few drops inside her. Karina giggled.

"There's nothing better than that feeling," she groaned. "Nothing... better."

She looked right into your eyes as she said it.

"It's my favourite thing in the world."

So you kissed her, both of you falling into the tangled mass of sweat-soaked blankets while you stayed on top of her. She didn't want to let go, not yet, not while the closeness and warmth were shared. Your bodies pressed together with your softening cock still inside her until eventually you slipped out and came to lie beside her. She nestled up against your chest.

In the silence that proceeded, there was a vibration across the room. Your phone is still in your pocket, somewhere on the floor. You let it ring out, while you lay there, breathing heavily. Again it vibrated. "Ugh," you groaned, "Leave me alone."

"Is someone missing you?" Karina teased.

"Doubt it," you replied.

Karina let her hand trace patterns across your chest, moving slowly towards your hip. You knew the game. Get you hard again, and ride you into the middle of next week. It worked, too. Even though you protested, her hand wrapping around your shaft soon brought it back to life. Sensitive strokes had you squirming and groaning.

"Well, whoever it is will just have to deal with the fact you're mine tonight," she purred.

Then you heard an unusual noise. Another buzz. But not your phone. From somewhere else. But you paid it no attention as Karina got up from your chest, swung her leg over you and began lowering herself down onto you. What started as slow gentle fucking quickly progressed back to something far hungrier and desperate. Her nails dragged lines across your torso, your hands gripping tightly at her waist to steady her. You watched as your cum leaked out of her cunt and onto you as she rode.

You reached between her legs and scooped up a blob, bringing it to her lips.

"Lick it," you told her. "Taste it."

And she opened wide for your fingers and cleaned them up. "That's what you wanted?"

"Yeah. Tell me what it tastes like."

"Tastes like us," she moaned, fucking you faster, pushing you deeper.

Then she leaned back, making a show of the way she rolled her hips against you. Bouncing as she impaled herself on you. Her head rolled back and her eyes closed as another orgasm approached. It built slowly, the intensity growing higher and higher until she teetered on the edge, balanced between bliss and rapture. The way her tits bounced had you hypnotised. Focus locked on her. Ignoring the phone that continued to ring.

She was close. Really close. Riding you frantically. Her moans turned into short desperate gasps until she had no voice left. You heard the scream before and saw how hard she came, but now you had front-row seats to watch it all again. Her muscles tightened and spasmed. Her rhythm faltered.

Your phone rang.

"Shit. Oh fuck!" she screamed, throwing her head back, arching her spine and freezing mid-thrust.

Her cunt gripped you tightly. Squeezing, milking. Urging you to release within her once more and give her that final gift. You felt her leak over you. Watched as her pussy throbbed as she rode out those final moments, struggling to continue as her strength failed. You grabbed her hips and did the work. Thrusting up into her repeatedly. Feeling her cum dribbling down your shaft and over your balls. Fuck, she's messy.

She panted desperately and let her arms drop by her side, staying arched and leaning back. You helped her balance. She needed it.

Your phone kept ringing.

You ignored it. You fucked up into her, wanting nothing more than to cum inside her again. Your muscles burned. You clenched your teeth. The pressure in your lower abdomen was unbearable. But you pounded up into Karina, making her call out with each thrust, while your grip on her probably turned her hips purple. The pleasure in you rose and rose, so fast, so intense, and without warning it broke.

You came again.

Holding her down and shooting your cum deep inside her. Gasping for air as you did, flooding her body with rope after rope until her insides dripped. Her thighs became glazed in the evidence of your passion.

Then you lowered her down to lie against your chest and you held her close. Until her breathing settled and you could hear her purr, "I think you've outdone yourself this time."

"I think you'll kill me," you joked in return.

"But imagine how happy I'd be if you died from giving me too many orgasms."

A laugh. Another vibration. "Whoever that is must really need me," you grumbled.

"Fuck them," she laughed.

"Why, when I can keep fucking you?"

Karina bit her lip. She seemed pleased with that answer. Then you realised that even as you softened within her, she hadn't stopped grinding against you. Making those slow circles, keeping herself stimulated and trying to get you hard again.

"You're relentless," you marvelled.

"And you love it."

"I love-"

There's a bang at the door and then a bell.

Karina groaned. She sighed. She relented.

Then she rolled off your spent cock, letting it slip from her swollen cunt and you both stared at the ceiling. "Maybe they'll go away?" you mused. They didn't.

"Come on," she huffed. "Stay there. Let me get rid of them."

You listened to her walk across the hardwood floor in her bare feet. Unstable steps courtesy of your enthusiastic rutting.

She pulled on a robe and left the room. Your phone vibrated again as she left, so finally you rolled out of the bed, crawled to find your pants and pulled the damn thing out.

More missed calls and messages than you could count, and not just one person. Your friends, Karina's friends, and... Karina's manager? Face recognition kicked in and the phone unlocked. You're staring at Karina's messy bed.

You're staring at Karina's messy bed on your screen.

The icon has the word 'live' beside it.

You're staring at Karina's messy bed on Instagram Live.

Your heart stops beating. Your breath catches in your throat. You swallow nothing. Wait. One. Two. Three.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" is the scream from across the apartment. You look at the phone again. Karina's messy bed, on Instagram Live, with millions of viewers.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

That was when the realisation of your combined carelessness struck you both—separated by a wall, finding out from two different sources.

Now, they're calling it the scandal of the century. A downright disaster.

[dramatic-dolphin]

hey just wanted to rant too cuz this shit makes me ashamed of being italian. I'm used to hating this country for a multitude of valid reason but Carini was so fucking dumb and stupid I wasn't prepared for this.

Like Bitch your fucking job is being punched in the face. you could've picked any other sport but you were like you know what. I want to get punched in the face. I will dedicate my life to Getting Punched In The Face. Like with what kind of integrity do you go up on the stadium of Get Publically Punched in the Face and curl up crying. You are pathetic. I've broken bones in sports cause it Just Comes With The Territory but nahhh were gonna weaponise the patronising feelings people have about us to start a witch hunt on someone who isn't even trans. Can you believe that you can be fucking defined as Too Strong to be a woman? Like oh I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that the female Olympics section was a kindergarten playtime to let those poor weak women think they can achieve physical feats too. I hate her so much.

One last time. HOW CAN YOU CRY. ABOUT BEING PUNCHED IN THE FACE. WHEN YOU'RE. A FUCKING. BOXER.

Can you guys imagine if it was a dude that pulled this shit??? No one would take him seriously cause bitch. getting concussions for our entertainment is your FUCKING . JOB. Sigh .

tbf it wouldn't even be a problem in itself if everyone just handled it like normal fucking people. she got hit too hard for her to handle - comes with the territory, i suppose being a boxer does not make you immune to pain. everyone has bad days.

it's just that EVERYONE is rallying to protect this poor innocent fragile woman - who is an OLYMPIC BOXER - because she got punched too hard - IN AN OLYMPIC BOXING MATCH. BY ANOTHER BOXER. just. this is so mind-numbingly stupid. do people see white woman tears and lose all their rational thinking? poor fragile little woman crying, must protect? THIS IS AN OLYMPIC BOXER BEING HIT BY ANOTHER OLYMPIC BOXER IN HER WEIGHT CLASS. this italian woman could probably lay you out in one punch, even if she sucks, because she is, as i keep repeating, An Olympic Boxer. she is not fragile 😭😭

and just. "she hit me too hard, i immediately yielded" like hello???? what you are saying is she was too good at her job. at the sport both of you are there for? what you are saying is "she was so good, i immediately knew i didn't have a chance" and this is HER fault? for being too good?

i get you fully btw. imane khelif's next match is against a woman from my country (hungary). you can imagine the kind of shit people are saying. i just saw an article saying that our athlete shouldn't be her "next victim". VICTIM OF WHAT? BEING PUNCHED IN THE FACE AT THE 'GETTING PUNCHED IN THE FACE' SPORT????? are swimmers the victims of water now? am i victimized by someone running faster than me? IT'S A SPORT WHERE PEOPLE PUNCH EACH OTHER. i need to burn down the internet fr.

[bratscave]

This thought is about Batman specifically. It might a bit out of character?

(tw: dubcon)

So, there's this civilian, always hitting on him, teasing him, just getting herself into trouble to see him. It's a game for her.

Now, Batman or Bruce, he's pent up. He has a gaggle of kids and Gotham to look after. He doesn't get time to fuck or jerk off. So this is just getting on his nerves, even though he's known to have immense patience.

One day he snaps, he just hauls that civilian up into a dark alley. One that he knows is secluded. He ends up eating the civilian out until she's seeing stars and then promptly using her like a fleshlight while rubbing her clit almost raw.

At the end, he dresses her back up, drops her off at her apartment complex with a plan B pill and is back on patrol, feeling much, much better.

Also, I really love your work!

�� i can totally imagine this omg

It started out as a joke. Your life was boring, you were mostly buried in your journalist work. Until Bruce Wayne started making headlines, and your company wanted as many articles on him as soon as possible. It became your job — obsession even, to keep up with Gotham’s most elusive billionaire. You, and your annoying snarky comments on his nepotism and his suits, his womanizer activities. Your writing style was something the average reader of Gotham couldn't look away from, not even bruce himself. He'd never admit that he actually reads your 'shit'. You were so incredibly infuriating yet he couldn't stop thinking about you. When he has his little one night stands after the galas you show up to, he thinks of you. pounds harder into said-woman at the thought of you under him. And when he sees you smoke on the large balcony, he thinks about how it would feel like to see those plump lips of yours, wrapped around his dick. He'd never admit that though. You had mumbled another jab at him the second you noticed his lingering gaze, which led to him dragging you across the main hall to the luxurious restrooms. It recks of those typical rich men cologne's, not the ones that bruce wears —not that you knew exactly what dior perfume, he was wearing. The exact one that you now scent while he's kissing down your neck, it's quick, it's rough. rough enough to surerly leave evident marks, in a matter that he knows everybody will see once you walk out. You'll become exactly something that you critize him for being. He slips your dress of, so fast like he has no damn time. Even though he doesn't event want to get back to the gala, he just wants to make you feel how you make him feel. annoyed and well- very horny. He lifted you up onto the marble counter like you weighted fucking nothing, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. Slipping your panties off, his fingers cold against your wetness. His mouth followed, finding your core with a primal hunger all while his groans vibrated against you. And how he loves the sound of nothing besides whimpers and whines coming from your direction, they are sweet noises, noises he'd love to hear more of. When he finally slides inside you, it’s with a harsh thrust that makes you cry out. His movements are powerful, driven by a raw need that leaves no room for gentleness. He’s using you, each thrust a release of the pent-up frustration he’s felt from your taunts and the constant grind of his dual life. His fingers continue to work at your clit, rubbing it almost mercilessly. And he's an asshole about it, taunts about how 'loud you are', muses about the fact that all your damn morals went out the window the second you saw some good dick. When he finally finishes, it’s with a low growl of satisfaction, his grip on you loosening just enough to let you catch your breath. He dresses you with a rough efficiency, handing you the Plan B pill with an almost clinical detachment. The look he gives you is cold, but there’s a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. Something that suggests that this will definetly not be the last time. Oh, and he loves that little complete dumbfounded expression of yours. He'd pay millions to see that rare one again.

[webslingingslasher]

spiderman saves cherry one time (but not even from smth serious) and suddenly she falls in love and tells peter ab her new obsession w him that she didn’t understand before and he’s literally cheering on the inside at how she’s closer to falling for him without realising

happy sunday!

--

'you know how you're always trying to get me to like spider-man?'

'yes.'

you hold the back of your hand to your forehead and dramatically swoon, your back lands on peter's bed. 'i've been swayed.' peter's got a strong feeling it's because you ran into spider-man today but he has to pretend he doesn't know that yet.

'did you have another dirty dream?' you gasp at the question, peter rushes out he was just joking. 'you're not funny, fyi.'

'you're cute when you have a crush.' you kick your feet on his bed, peter's being extra annoying. 'i don't have a crush! i was going to tell you i saw him today but nope, nevermind.'

peter knows how to work around your attitude. it's a special trick he's learned. 'you met spider-man? that's so cool, where were you?' you grin at him and start speed talking, peter loves being right.

'the bookstore! well, outside the bookstore. when i was leaving i was reading the back of a book and i walked right into him! i dropped my book and he caught me and when i looked up, bam, spider-man. he grabbed my book for me and asked if i was okay, like i didn't run into him!'

you replay the moment, you swoon again. 'ugh, petey, he was tall and so broad! it felt like i ran into a wall, but he was also like... i could've given him a hug and he wouldn't mind.' you lift your head up to look at peter, it's a similar feeling with him.

'i think he's kind of like you. cause you're mr. strong guy but you're the perfect amount of soft for cuddles. basically, i think i'm gonna marry spider-man.'

peter has to act like he's jealous, he doesn't mind. you like spider-man now and nothing else beyond that matters. if anything, this is a bonus for him.

'please tell me you didn't get his number, i can't compete with a superhero.'

'no!' you think about it for a second, you're not spider-man's number one fan but you see clips and articles online all the time. 'i don't think spider-man dates, i've never seen him out on one. but also, i don't think he can eat dinner with his mask on... wait, do you think he dates outside the mask and has to pretend he isn't spider-man?'

peter blinks two times, 'i don't know, i've never thought about it.' he's very flat with his reply. you huff, he's no fun. 'if you were spider-man, do you think i would know?'

'um, well, if you don't know i'm spider-man, then no, i don't think you would know.' you nod, he makes a good point. 'fair.' you keep thinking about it, you'd be thrown for such a loop if that happened to you.

'that's crazy. imagine dating someone for months or years and he tells you he's spider-man, i think i'd freak out. i wonder if anyone in his life knows who he is. wait, do you think there are people just walking around the city that know spider-man's true identity?'

peter didn't prepare himself for hypotheticals, he's wondering why he wanted you to like his alter ego so much. when you didn't care, you didn't ask questions.

'what do you think he looks like? i think he looks like you, he's probably cute. do you think he's our age? damn it, i should've asked him all of this when i had him in front of me.' you sigh again, searching for your phone you youtube his name and start watching compilations of fights caught on film.

'god, he could throw me around like nothing.'

peter grumbles out the corner of his mouth, 'i could throw you around like nothing.' you happily hum, the idea is enticing. 'could you wear the suit while you do it? wait, you better not, i wouldn't be able to stop myself from... things.'

you stare at the screen, you start to have flashes of imagery and you bite down on your bottom lip. 'oh god, i'm feeling a hyperfixation coming on.' spider-man is hot, his strength, his power, how fucking kind he is.

you sit up to look at peter, 'wanna makeout?' peter wants to know how he went from mentally begging you to like spider-man, to actually being jealous of how you fawn over him. 'i'm not a placeholder for your fantasies.'

'i never said you were. come kiss me... and maybe get between my thighs and make me feel good.' spider-man is attractive because of the mystery, peter's hot because, fuck, just look at him. peter's giving you a look that's testing, he's baiting you for more information. 'don't make me beg, it's not cute.'

'no, you just wanna kiss me because you're hot and bothered over spider-man.' it shouldn't bother him, but it does. 'i don't want spider-man's fingers in me, i want yours.'

'only because you can't have him.' you groan, he's dragging it out more than he needs. 'maybe i do, maybe he's not scared to touch me.' peter's quiet, you immediately fill in the silence. 'wait, that's me being bratty. i'm not trying to force you into sex.'

peter smiles, 'you can't force the willing, cherry.'

you pat the empty space between your legs, 'then will you come fill me up? please?' peter doesn't need to be asked a third time, you're instantly settled the second he's caging you under him and pressing his lips on yours.

peter's fingers drag up your thigh, you sigh into his mouth. 'mhm, spider-man.' peter's done, he pulls off you and you're whining and trying to keep him over you. 'no! i was kidding, i swear i was just kidding!'

'too late. you're cut off, think about your actions.'

'fine. but you know who would've found that funny?' peter raises his eyebrows, he knows what's about to come. 'say his name one more time and see what i do.'

'will you punish me and show me who i really belong to?'

and... oh, that has peter bricked up.

why didn't he think about that? he would have proved how much better he is, he could've kissed you breathless until you're babbling and only whimpering his name. and the way you're looking at him tells him this was more of a ruse than anything.

peter's never dated a brat, he's still learning your quirks. you blink pretty, you have a way of acting like an innocent virgin after saying something dirty, it's an unspoken card you always pull out when convenient.

peter grips the skin above your knees and pulls you into him, your hips slam into his. 'think you can be quiet this time?' you shake your head, peter grins at your messy hair. 'no?'

peter leans down, his lips brush yours. he whispers against your mouth, a hint of a kiss. 'didn't think so.'

and peter makes you say his name so many times, spider-man's is a distant memory. 

[chasedeys]

wait what’s the context of the “that’s my qb not theirs” quote 😭

hiiiii okay so first of all i got so pissed i couldn't find the post here like at all. like i was imagining shit but i WASN'T 😭😭 but here you go this is a link to the actual full interview that was surprisingly easy to find mostly because the headline was literally ja'marr's insane ass quote lmaoooo 'Ja'Marr Chase: "He's My Quarterback"' okayyy bengals i see what you did there.

That's not their quarterback, that's my quarterback. I could tell him what I wanna tell him.

so basically for context joe got injured right before the 2023 season and of course ja'marr said he told his ass not to play until week 5 (he played from the start sigh) and he didn't want him back until he's ready and fully healthy. the reporter asked him about this quote (rightfully so lmao) because joe is the franchise QB and how would their season go without him etc and. this is what he said. in response. he said that this guy is his and he can say whatever the fuck he wanted to him for a good reason and it's all for the better for the both of them and for the team. yeah i know he's insane.

you should totally watch the full interview through!! because there's a whole lot more insane shit like he says about him and joe like not really liking asking joe about his condition because joe always says he's good even if he isn't and ja'marr would like him to be more straight up about his health. like. okay married couple shit trying to keep the other from being worried only to make them even more worried okayyyyyyy god they need to stfu. the reporter straight up asked if he liked that about joe and he said 'nah' 😭 like what is this couples therapy?? god you gotta love it when reporters ask out of pocket shit and then ja'marr answers with equally out of pocket shit and like exactly how one would answer if one was in love with their best friend idk. (also i think he mentioned about when he was injured in the previous seasons and how he didn't say it to joe but in his mind he said 'im gonna be back when you want me to be there and be ready' and that joe got it????? and that this time with joe it's the same thing lol what is the matter with them jesus)

there's actually so much more insane quotes from other interviews on this entire injury thing like he repeatedly says that he doesn't want anyone talking to joe about forcing himself to play and how he wants joe 100% healthy when he's back. of course joe played through anyway and started from week 1 and apparently it went......not good........but on week 3 they beat the rams (yay) and week 5 (hilariously the week ja'marr gave joe to come back. which could mean nothing. soulmate precognition anyone?) it was absolutely beautifullllllll peak burrow to chase connection joe threw 3 touchdowns and ja'marr was literally all of them and also broke a franchise reception record (?). 2023 week 5 vs cardinals highlights!! god i loved watching that shit.

anyway if i could just blabber a bit on how much ja'marr prioritizes health especially other people's especiallyyyyyyy joe's and it's probably because joe is.....very injury prone and also has a tendency to play through them anyway so yeah i can see how ja'marr has to constantly nag him about it and stress how no one should press on joe to keep playing sigh.

on another note that injured article brought forth a new (for me) joemarr insane ass mention about their 'looks' and 'nods' bullshit it's like i search for one thing only to be bulldozed over by another thing jesus

[drabblesandsnippets]

i need to know what happens in drabble #2 after they get home from the airport

Drabble #3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Background: Continuation of drabble #2 where Bucky listened to his girlfriend pleasure herself in the backseat of his car.

Summary: After weeks apart, Bucky finally gets her home to have his way with her.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Explicit sexual content. Slight domination. Praise. Oral (f receiving).

---------------------------

She’s still recovering from her intense orgasm when Bucky yanks the car door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges in his haste to get to her. Before she knows it, he's throwing her over his shoulder, his vibranium arm keeping her securely in place as she lets out a squeal of laughter. “Bucky! Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” he tells her, effortlessly carrying her through the door from their garage, kicking it closed behind them. She starts to argue that she can walk when his hand suddenly lands on her ass, the slight sting of the smack cutting off her words, making her yelp in surprise. “Don’t wanna hear it. Stay put so I can get you to bed and fuck you senseless.”

Her only response is to tighten her grip on his shirt and let out a ridiculous giggle. She loves it when he gets like this.

The moment he reaches their bedroom, he tosses her onto their bed, her body landing with a soft bounce, eliciting another happy giggle from her. Their shared look says everything, making it obvious how much they both want this. How much they need this.

A grin lights up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he starts to undress, quickly shedding all his clothes, his pants barely off his legs before he’s joining her on the bed in nothing but his underwear. 

Her body is still buzzing from her recent orgasm, her desire heightened for him, making her desperate for more. She eagerly meets him in a kiss, her thighs opening the same time her lips do, welcoming his tongue into her mouth as he settles against her core.

The groan that comes out of him makes her toes curl, and she lifts her hips, grinding herself against his erection, pleading with him, “Bucky, please.” There are still too many clothes separating them.

Bucky works fast, getting her undressed in record time, flinging each article of clothing over his shoulder with flourish, making her laugh.

He had planned to take his time undressing her, imagined exactly how this moment would go after being apart. He was going to kiss and lick every inch of her exposed skin, tease her, make her beg for him. But, he can’t wait another second. His plans will have to wait until later.

When she’s finally naked, Bucky allows her to pull him back on top of her, his underwear the only barrier between them. For a moment, he lets himself get lost in the feel of her, how hot and wet she is for him, just begging to be touched, licked, fucked.

It takes all his willpower to stop her when she reaches for him, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to pin her hand over her head, the look on his face telling her exactly how this is going to go.

Her fingers flex and she lifts her hips lift again, trying to entice him, but he shakes his head, smirking slightly as he looks down at her. “Pretty sure I already told you what was gonna happen when I got you here.”

She licks her lips slowly, a grin of her own pulling at her lips. “Something about fucking me senseless.” It’s been too long and she needs to feel him inside of her, have him fill her up, fuck her until they’re both spent.

Bucky shakes his head again, his eyes dark with desire and leans close, kissing a path to her ear. When he presses himself harder against her, making them both groan in pleasure, he promises, “That comes later.” Her soft moan of need fills his ears in response, and he continues, telling her, “First, you’re gonna ride my face, Princess.” 

A sudden squeal of his name leaves her when he quickly rolls them over so she’s straddling him, the heat of her pressed against his erection. His hands move to her hips, keeping her against him when she sits up, her hands on his chest as she starts to move slowly. His eyes greedily roam her naked body, his cock twitching at her heavy breaths, her flushed skin, her nipples hard and aching to be touched.

“God, look at you,” Bucky breathes, his words barely audible. He’ll never get enough of her. A million lifetimes with her wouldn't be enough. He wishes she could see herself the way he does. How beautiful and perfect she is.

As the back of his fingers follow a trail along her collarbone, and down between her breasts, she arches her back, moaning softly, her movements making her grind deliciously against him. 

If it were any other time, he’d let her stay like this for as long as she wanted. Let her ride him, use his body, while he worships her curves. But, it’s been too long. He can smell her, and he can’t wait anymore.

The slight twitch of his lips is the only warning she gets before both his hands are on her hips again, pulling her up his body, stopping only when her knees reach his shoulders. 

This is far from the first time they’ve been in this position, but there’s still a slight hesitation on her part and Bucky won’t stand for it. “Do I need to spank you again?” he asks, only half-teasing.

He understands her insecurities, but there’s no room for them in their bedroom. He’ll always do whatever he can to make them disappear, to make her confident and secure. 

She lets out a soft exhale of a laugh and shakes her head in response, letting him wrap his arms around her thighs to guide her closer to his mouth.

“You know the drill,” he tells her, licking his lips, his mouth watering at finally getting to taste her again. She needs no other instruction and immediately grabs the headboard, Bucky’s hands helping guide her into the perfect position over his face.

He lets her hover for just a moment, long enough for him to praise her, remind her how much he wants her. “Good girl. Now smother me with that fucking pussy.”

Fire pools in her belly, and she immediately lowers herself, her body shuddering at the first slow swipe of his tongue. Her moans are met with his own noises of pleasure, his groans vibrating against her pussy, the taste of her making his cock throb, pre-cum already soaking his underwear.

He feasts on her, tasting every inch of her, alternating between sliding his tongue along her entrance, licking her with the flat of his tongue, to circling her clit, letting his lips close over the swollen bundle of nerves.

Bucky builds her slowly, taking his time, his right hand gripping her thigh, keeping her in place, his soaked beard rubbing against her thighs, adding to her pleasure.

She’s no longer making coherent words, her breathy moans and gasps getting louder with each passing second, the tension in her body staring to grow to the breaking point. 

Her fingers strain against the headboard, her knuckles white, her entire body trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. No one’s ever made her feel the way Bucky does, and there’s no part of her that worries about doing the wrong thing.

Sex has never been as fun or as intense as it is with him, and the moment his metal hand cups her breast, his vibranium fingers delicately pinching her nipple, she starts to move against him, riding his face just like he wanted.

Bucky’s moan of appreciation makes her hips buck and his hand on her hip tightens, encouraging her to move as fast and hard as she needs, relishing the way she lets go of all inhibitions with him.

All thoughts leave her, her entire focus on the way his mouth and hands feel on her body, the feeling growing until it’s like every nerve ending is exposed. And then the coil suddenly snaps, taking her by surprise, making her cry out, the intense explosion of pleasure nearly making her collapse.

Her thighs tense around his head and both his hands grip her, keeping her against him, letting her ride out the waves of her orgasm, her pussy pulsing against his mouth.

The sounds she makes, the taste of her on his tongue, the way she screams his name is almost enough to make him come, his hips lifting on their own, seeking friction. 

It’s the last of his concern, though, his mouth never ceasing, refusing to stop until she can’t take anymore. Bucky knows her body better than even her sometimes, listening to her cues, the way her breath changes, the subtle twitch of her body when she becomes too sensitive.

Only then does he let up, pulling her down on top of him, his glistening mouth meeting hers in a passionate kiss, letting her taste herself. He's never loved anyone the way he loves her, and he plans to spend the rest of the night reminding her of that.

---------------------------

Thank you for requesting this, I had a lot of fun writing it!

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Main Masterlist

[amymbona]

I was thinking about being Patrick’s childhood friend and accidentally marrying him at Las Vegas. You’ve been in love with him for years and he with you, but neither of you know that the other is in love with each other. The marriage is completely legit and it’s weird, but it is so much work and money to get a divorce. You’re both close anyway and there are some benefits to staying married, so might as well right? Patrick agrees and you both go with it. The fact that you’re both secretly in love with each other has nothing to do with that decision of course…

Just all the domestic bliss of living with someone you’ve loved for ages but are unable to properly say it. Slowly coming to realize both of you are in love wirh each other and that this is the happiest mistake of your life.

(very vague ik but just some thoughts)

Ughhh imagine going on a lovey dovey honeymoon because both of you feel like two weeks spend tanning at the beach and drinking cocktails are more than needed. If Patrick is still playing tennis, he's like semi-famous, so the two of you might meet a guy or two who excitedly take selfie with him and then swiftly tweet how the Zweig guy is married!

The way the two of you act is a mix of friendly and romantic, cause nothing changed, but actually everything has changed. You know what I mean? It's no secret the two of you are touchy, giggly and all that jazz, like you've been best friends since you've learned how to speak! You genuinely don't mind if Patrick sees your boob when the top of your bikini slips while the two of you are swimming the sea; he literally held your hair and rubbed your back when you first got drunk, and changed a pad for you once as well. There's no hint of embarrassment or fear between the two of you.

However, for some reason, Patrick can't keep his eyes off of you. He's looking at you in such a different - lustful - way, but not in the sense that he'd bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you. God, you're glowing, you're like an angel, like a goddamn diamond that shines brighter than the cheap gold ring he put on your finger (he needs to buy you a prettier one). He longs to see you in pretty dresses, to lay in bed with you while you're reading your favourite book, to twirl your hair around his finger, to kiss your pink lips. But do you feel the same way about him?

And, oh, you do. You fucking do, and it drives you crazy. If only Patrick knew how much you wish you were one of the girls that are mentioned in articles about him, how much you wish that the two of you could go out in public and people would speculate it you're just a family friend or something more. And now you might have it, but is it really what you dreamed about?

It's like a fever dream to you actually, like a beautiful dream that you will wake up from once you make it back to the USA, slipping into consciousness and forced to part ways. What if the excitement will wear of? What if Patrick will realise that this situation offers no benefits at all and decides to go through the awful process of a divorce.

Patrick manages to convince you otherwise, especially when he scoops you into his arms while you're walking along the beach and threatens to drop you into the water, when he buys you your favourite flavour of ice cream and wipes a drop of it from your chin. The more Patrick does, the more you find yourself falling in love with him, which can't be good at all. But in the end, these are just the feelings that you've managed to repress for years, and maybe now, you'll be finally allowed to let them flow freely, considering you're officially Mrs Zweig.

[pedropascallme]

Didn’t You Miss My Voice?

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘I miss you, too.’ You sighed, ‘Wanna show you, Damien.’ You kicked the sheets off your lower half, sending them down the bed and letting your legs spread slightly in anticipation. ‘Can I show you how much I miss you?’”

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation (f & m), praise, kinda soft!Dom Damien, panty sniffing involved i repeat panty sniffing involved!! Damien wants to fuck you so bad it makes him look stupid. If I missed anything please let me know!

When he left for PAX East, he had taken one of your sweatshirts, worn it on the plane to self-soothe, and planned to sleep in it or near it the next few nights so he could dream that you were closer. 

Damien liked having something of yours nearby. On days or weeks that he was away, he packed any article of clothing of yours that he could, just to be able to envision you nearby.

It had started accidentally, after he packed a shirt of yours that looked near identical to one of his for a con. From then on it had become second nature to bring along something of yours for the allotted time that he would be away from home—away from you—so that he didn’t get as homesick. He didn’t think you had even noticed; the five shirts he wore on rotation could never compare to the dozens of various outfits that overflowed from your dresser.

He was fully convinced that his thievery had gone unnoticed by you. So, when he opened his suitcase on day three of being away, rooting around in it to find something comfortable to sleep in, and felt something silken and lacy at his fingertips instead of the flannel pajama pants he was expecting, he couldn’t help the genuine shock that hit him. Damien pushed the surrounding heap of his own clothes away and pulled out the piece of fabric that he had come across.

He held up the soft pink panties, swallowing upon recognizing them as the ones you had worn the night before he left; how you’d ground your hips against his and let him pull the lacy material to the side so that he could see how pretty you looked in them while you came undone on his cock.

He felt lightheaded.

The blood must’ve rushed elsewhere.

There was a note safety-pinned to the waistband, and he undid the clip before letting himself read what it said.

I miss you. Call me when you find these? <3

Your handwriting made his heart swell. God, he missed you. Even after only three days, he missed you so much.

Damien hurried to your contact in his phone. You picked up on the first ring.

“I was waiting for this call.” He could hear your smile, imagining the way your lips curled against the phone’s mic. You had been in bed when he called, his smell lingering on the pillow you had tucked under your head.

“You’re too good to me,” Damien could feel the heat rising in his face, “You’re really, really, too good to me.”

“Thought I hadn’t caught on to your light robbery?”

“Are you accusing me of a crime?” He laughed, and the sound made you feel warm. 

“I’m just saying, there are only so many times I can misplace a shirt that suddenly reappears when you come home until I begin to suspect something.” You giggled, hoping he knew you weren’t at all mad. “It’s cute, actually. You know that?” 

“Me?” He returned the lighthearted banter. He held your underwear in a closed fist, keeping them close to his chest. “What, uh—what made me so deserving of this…gift?” His voice got deeper on the last word, and you bit your lip. 

“Didn’t want you to leave without a reminder of what was waiting for you at home.”

“I have your sweatshirt, baby.” He sat on the mattress, reaching out with his hand still wrapped around your panties to touch the hoodie he’d taken from you, laid out next to him on the bed. “And even if I didn’t, you know I’m always thinking of you.”

“I know,” you verified, “But I like making sure. Didn't you miss my voice, baby?”

“I know,” he echoed your words. “And I did—I do. Miss your voice. I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You sighed, “Wanna show you, Damien.” You kicked the sheets off your lower half, sending them down the bed and letting your legs spread slightly in anticipation. “Can I show you how much I miss you?”

Damien had to stifle a groan, already eager from just the sound of your voice and the way you whined his name. “Yeah? You want to show me?”

You nodded, before remembering he couldn’t see you. “Yes—yeah.”

Though he was reluctant to put your panties down, he managed to part with them briefly before undoing his fly with one hand. His other hand gripped his phone, knuckles going white as he tried to make up for the physical absence. He brought his hand up when he finished unfastening his jeans, retrieving your panties from the spot he’d left them in on the bed. He brought them to his face and inhaled the piquant scent; sharp and stimulating and perfect—just like you—in a way that your sweatshirt could never replicate. He hesitated to wrap his hand around his cock, palming himself through his boxers to make this last as long as he could draw it out for. “You gonna listen to what I say even though I’m not home?”

“Always.” Your response was immediate, and he could tell by the strain in your voice that you were just as needy as he was. “I promise.”

“That’s my good girl,” He squeezed his bulge, still trying to exercise patience and allow himself time to play with you. “I’m giving you permission to touch, baby. One finger, can you do that for me? Rub your clit nice and slow?”

“Yeah.” You whimpered into the phone, thrilled by the way his voice lowered when he talked you through the act. You let out a small gasp when you touched yourself—half for show, and half because you’d been good while he was gone, not allowing yourself to play with what was his. You were sensitive in the most premier of ways.

“How’s that feel?” He asked, biting his tongue upon hearing your moans.

“Good,” you murmured.

“Better than when I do it?” His eyelids felt heavy, the sound of your quiet, breathy noises acting like a sort of relaxant. 

“No—not at all. Miss your hands. Miss how you touch me.” You picked up the pace just a bit, trying to find the proper rhythm.

“Is that what you’re thinking about, princess?” He smiled, eyes closing as he finally let himself remove his cock from his boxers. “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you found the proper tempo, rolling your finger over your clit in double-time with your breathing. “Come home, Damien, want your hands.”

He moaned, loving how quickly your power play had turned into you begging for him, and he wished more than anything that he could give you what you needed. He held himself at the base, teasing himself with your sounds and the light touch of his own fingers. “I’ll give you whatever you want when I come home, baby, I promise.”

“Want your hands, and your mouth—want your cock.” You pleaded, still using one finger to massage yourself, unwavering in your commitment to follow his orders.

“You can have all of me, princess—are you getting yourself all wet? How about you use your one finger and tell me how soaked you are.”

“I can put it in?” You corroborated, making sure you had permission.

“Go ahead, baby. Play with that needy pussy for me.” Damien wrapped the panties you’d sent with him around the base of his cock. He dragged the fabric up and down over himself to find some relief, coating himself with the residue of the last time he got to fuck you before leaving for the week.

You trailed your finger up your slit, collecting the slick that coated the lips of your cunt, before pushing into your entrance. You whined, and Damien pulled your panties tighter around his cock.

“Doesn’t—not as big as yours.” You complained, curling your finger against the tender spot inside of you and wishing it was his hand pressed against your cunt.

“I know, baby, but you’re doing so good.” He reassured, watching the pink fabric of your underwear as he pulled it over his length, the quiver in your words making him think of all the ways he could fuck you until you lost your voice from crying out for him. Maybe he’d have you bouncing up and down on him in the same way that he moved your panties over his cock. “You can add another finger, how about that? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, please.”

“Go ahead, princess, use two.” He listened intently at the way your breath hitched when you pushed a second finger into your hole; he could tell you had him on speaker, the squelch of your fingers thrusting into your wet cunt were amplified. He let out a quiet moan of your name, wrapping his hand around his cock and over your panties, letting his fingers manipulate the silk and press it more firmly against his length.

“Still not as good as yours,” you arched your back, picking up the pace and letting your fingertips push more forcefully against your g-spot. 

“No? Not as good as when I fuck you with my fingers?” His chest rose and fell steadily, heart rate skyrocketing from the adrenaline he got touching himself paired with the knowledge that you were there on the other end making yourself feel good. 

“No, yours are bigger. Fill me up so much better.” You whimpered when the pads of your fingers found the perfect nook to rest upon. The spot with heightened sensitivity that he found with such ease required you to bend your arm at a difficult angle, but it was well worth it; the tickle spread through the lower half of your body, goosebumps breaking out over your skin at the feeling. “Fuck, but it does feel good, Damien—please.”

“Please what?” He was trying not to pant, and trying harder not to beg, so desperate to hear you make yourself cum.

“Tell me how you’re touching yourself—what you’re thinking.” Your mouth hung open when you finished your thought, lost in the joy of finally having time alone with him after days of being apart, emphasized by the blissful way your fingers moved in and out of you.

“Thinking about you,” he breathed, “told you, baby, I’m always thinking about you.”

This earned a moan from you, and he tried to imagine how you looked; two fingers driving into your cunt, soaked in your own juices, trying to fuck yourself open despite knowing only he could give you what you really wanted.

His imagination didn’t do you justice. You were too perfect. He needed the real thing. 

“More,” you whined, “Tell me more. Please?” You needed to hear his voice. If you couldn’t have him physically right now, you at least wanted to hear him tell you all the filthy pictures running through his mind.

“Have your panties wrapped around my cock,” he listened to you gasp at his words, proud that he could get you so excited even when he was miles away. “Thinking about all the things I want to do to you when I come home." He took a shaky breath, tightening the grasp he had on his cock and trying hopelessly to emulate the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him. "Is that what you want to hear about?"

"Yeah," you were whining, voice pitched up and breathing unsteady.

"Think maybe I’ll use my fingers on you since that’s what you seem to need so badly. Does that sound good, princess?” The image prompted by his words made him groan, bucking into his fist. The silken fabric of your panties acted as an improvised lubricant, gliding over his skin as he jerked himself off.

“Oh my god, Damien,” you used to heel of your palm to grant your clit friction, same two fingers still plunging in and out of you. “Yes, yes, need it!”

“Yeah, that’s right—use my fingers on you until you’re sore, bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? Till you can’t take anymore, then I’ll fuck you so nice, baby, make you cum one more time on my cock.” He couldn’t take his eyes off his own movements, watching, enthralled, as he brought your panties in his fist up to the tip of his cock before bringing the stroke back down and repeating the motion. “Need to feel you cum for me so fucking bad, that’s all I want.” He was whining now, frustrated and missing you. “Can’t wait to come home and give you what you deserve, baby—I want to make you feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good, Damien. Want—want you to come home,” you were so close, needing only a small push to fall off the edge now. “I’ll be so good for you, I’ll do wha—whatever you want.”

“Want you to cum for me, princess,” he gritted his teeth, trying to stave off his climax for just a little longer. “Want you to make yourself cum, baby. Need you to be a good girl and fuck yourself till you cum for me.”

His words were the push you needed; the exertion in his voice and the desperation behind his words made your abs tense as you used your fingers to make yourself cum. You cried out his name, turning your head to push your face into the pillow you could still smell him on. Your fingers stroked your most delicate spot, drawing out your high with trembling legs while you mumbled his name like a quiet prayer.

“Good fucking girl. Christ—” Damien’s jaw went slack when he heard your moans, your whimpers of his name made him feel something primal and wanting. “I’m gonna cum for you—fuck!—gonna cum with these pretty panties wrapped around me like this.” His words were stuttered, and his hips faltered as he fucked his hand, spilling into his fist and over the shirt he’d failed to take off.

The two of you breathed heavily over the phone, the sound of both your gasps overtaking both rooms despite the miles between you. 

"I miss you so much." Damien wheezed, lazily wiping off the cum that dribbled over his skin with his shirt. 

"I could tell," you laughed, drained but feeling carefree and light after unwinding with him like this. 

"What gave it away?" You could picture him over the phone, face matching his question; smile wide and brow creased as he held back a laugh.

You shrugged, aware that he couldn't see you but certain that he would pick up on the sarcasm in your quiet "I dunno." 

"That was ok, right? You feel ok?" His voice was softer, the force in his words diminished and replaced with his typical kindness. "Tired?"

"Tired." You confirmed, yawning. "Come home."

"Two more days."

"That's too long." You protested, and he laughed quietly. 

"I promise I'll make it up to you." Damien meant it wholeheartedly; he wanted to make sure you knew that every time he left, he could only ever think about coming home to you. 

"I know you will." And you knew he was telling the truth. 

There was a moment of quiet, both of you still breathless and stretching the ache in your joints following your impromptu rendezvous. 

"Will you stay on the phone with me?" His voice was small. He still got nervous asking you to do things like that, feeling like a lovestruck teenager and unable to hide his timidity despite having heard you scream his name while you came just moments ago.

"Yes, please." You smiled, eyes closing, "Like a sleepover."

"Just like a sleepover." He sighed dreamily, tired grin painted on his face. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You settled into bed, fixing the covers and making yourself comfortable. Damien listened to you rustle the sheets, focusing on how the sound of your breathing leveled out as you dozed off. 

He undressed himself, and got comfortable in the unnaturally well-made hotel bed, smiling at your soft snores and impatiently counting down the days until he could once again hold you while you slept. He grabbed your sweatshirt, placing it under his head, between himself and the pillow, and breathed in your scent. 

Even when he wasn't home, he knew he had you—and you were all he ever really wanted. 

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 4 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake gets some more insider information about Jessica, and he decides to let her know exactly what he intends to do next. The heated moments in her office are about to boil over, until Jessica is hit with the feeling that Jake is starting to run cold. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, eventually 18+

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"Did you get her number yet?" Bradley asked in the locker room on Monday morning while Jake was changing into his flight suit.

Very begrudgingly, he said, "No, I did not." It had been almost a full day since he emailed Jessica, and all he got in return was radio silence. 

"Damn... I've been messing around with my wife all over campus. I got a blowjob in a lecture hall last week, and you still don't have a phone number?"

Jake just rolled his eyes and said, "I'm hoping I'll see her again tomorrow."

"Sugar was right," Bradley said, shaking his head as he zipped up his own flight suit. "You're losing your touch."

Jake slammed his locker closed. "It's not like she's some random tag chaser from the Hard Deck, okay?" he growled. "She's smart, and she's gorgeous. And I doubt she's handing her phone number out to anyone who looks at her. I'm not in a rush for once."

Bradley smirked and held his fist out. Jake very slowly hit it with his own fist. "What is this?" he asked cautiously after the fist bump. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Sugar said she'd eat lunch with Dr. Reed today and try to see what's up, but only if I could determine if you really liked her and weren't just trying to fuck her."

Jake stopped the smart response on his lips before the words came out. He still wasn't sure what kind of rumors were circulating about Jessica, and he definitely didn't want to add to anything by coming on too strong or being an ass. Part of him was convinced he needed Bradshaw's wife on his side to make it to the next step. So he said, "I've been spending the vast majority of my time thinking about cooking dinner for her while she reads to me from a scientific journal. Not sure if that's the kind of information your wife is looking for."

Bradley looked shocked and his face paled. "Huh. If she has a titty tattoo, you're screwed, man. Completely fucked." But he was reaching for his phone now. "I'll text my wife and let her know."

"Thanks," Jake grunted, checking his email app one last time before closing his locker and heading out toward the hangar. As he looked over his jet and filled in the safety protocol sheets, he kept thinking about her. She would be fascinated by this, seeing all of her mathematical knowledge playing out. He could take her up in the air with him, and she would be delighted the entire time.

Jake would have already taken Jessica out to dinner last night and dropped her off at home with a kiss. But this wasn't playing out the way he imagined it would. If Bradshaw's wife didn't help clue him in on what was going on here, then tomorrow would be his last attempt. He was on the verge of getting his hopes up. He couldn't even look at the patch on his flight suit the same way anymore. Not after her elegant fingers had skimmed along the golden threads. 

But he pushed everything from his mind the best he could, and he got up in the air for the training exercises with Phoenix and Bob. But when he got back to his locker around five o'clock, he saw an email from Jessica that had been sent eight hours ago. Jake nearly dropped his phone as he tried to open the app.

Dear Lieutenant Seresin,

I'm so pleased to hear that you enjoy the journals as much as I do. If you keep reading them from front cover to back cover, I'm sure you'll be rewarded with the knowledge that you're craving. I might even have to pull some of my own published articles for you to read... if you think you can handle that sort of thing.

My equations are not for the faint of heart. Bring your pencil on Tuesday but leave your skateboard. I wouldn't want to have to lecture you about skating in the academic buildings. We could be there all night. 

Perpetually looking forward to my office hours now,

Dr. Jessica Reed, Ph.D

P.S.- If you liked that photo and are well behaved, maybe you can have more. Ones that aren't listed on the university website.

Jake had to juggle his phone again as he read the post script. "Holy shit," he drawled, his eyes skimming along the words a second and third time. He was in. He had to be? This was sent before any sort of lunch could have happened between his favorite physics professor and his favorite math professor. "Shit, shit, shit. Bradshaw!" Jake ran back past the lockers and toward the showers. "Bradshaw!"

"What?" Bradley called back from one of the stalls where steam was rising from the top, voice echoing loudly.

"What did your wife say?" Jake asked impatiently. 

"Jesus, Hangman. I don't know. I haven't checked my phone yet."

Jake sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Well, how much longer are you going to be?"

"For fuck's sake! I don't know! I'm literally taking a shower. Is nothing sacred?"

Jake muttered, "I really need your wife's phone number," as he wandered back to sit on the bench in front of his locker and read the email again. 

A few minutes later, a glaring Bradley strolled back over in his towel, reached into his locker and tapped his passcode into his phone. "Here, knock yourself out," he said, handing it to Jake. But then he snatched it back quickly with a look of panic. "Actually, let me just scroll and make sure she didn't send a dirty picture," he mumbled, swiping along his phone screen. "Nah, you're good."

Jake quickly found the one long message at the bottom of the thread and started to read it. 

Thanks for packing my lunch today. I feel ridiculously spoiled when everyone else has to eat a sad looking microwave meal or grab something from that horrifying food truck next to Chippy's. You're the absolute best. 

Jake glanced to where Bradshaw was getting dressed and fixing his hair. You might not immediately know it by interacting with him, but the man clearly loved his wife. 

I shared some of the veggies and hummus with Jessica. I still don't know what went down with her and Brian Conley, but it's creepy the way he looks at her. But anyway, lunch was nice. I think I made a new friend? Because she's not annoying or old or a man, and she doesn't try to talk over everyone else. Oh, and she's definitely into Jake. She started to fidget and adjust her glasses when I told her that I saw him at the Hard Deck over the weekend and he asked about her. She's cute as a button. Tell Jake to just Keep Truckin' (that's a Grateful Dead reference for you, Beer Boy. Reward me later.)

"Truly, the two of you are disgusting," Jake said as he reached for his own phone. "I'm saving your wife's phone number." Once he had it saved in his contacts, he gave Bradley his phone back. "Thanks."

"Sure," Bradley grunted. "She get you what you were hoping for?"

Jake just smirked. "Dr. Tits never lets me down."

----------------------------

Jessica tried not to let her hesitancy show when she was invited to have lunch with the only female with tenure in the math department. This wasn't even the first time recently that she thought she might be able to make a friend at work, but she didn't want to get ahead of herself. One small step at a time with these things. She still wasn't exactly sure who to trust around here. 

But when the other woman knocked on her door promptly at noon, Jessica opened her door and smiled. "Do you want to eat in here?" she asked, noting the lunchbox the other woman was holding which had a funky tie dye print. 

"Sure, AP," she replied with a smile. Jessica's heart swelled with happiness; they actually had nicknames for each other. Advanced Physics and Advanced Calculus.

"Have a seat, AC," she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. Jessica knew her husband worked with Jake, and she really wanted to ask about him. But out of extreme caution, she kept her mouth shut as far as he was concerned. The last thing Jessica wanted was to make this kind female who was close to her own age and who seemed really cool thinking she was only interested in talking about the aviator she was crushing on. Instead she said, "So, tell me more about the mythical math department where they give tenure to women."

Then as she opened up the meal that her husband packed, she regaled Jessica with tales of fair treatment and an office with a view. And then she offered to share her lunch as Jessica ate a hot pocket. And while Jessica was munching on a carrot stick, the other woman said, "I was at this naval hangout over the weekend with my husband, and Jake was there. He asked me about you."

Jessica sat up straighter in her seat. There was still no response to her email from this morning, but she doubted Jake was allowed to just play around on his phone while operating a seventy million dollar aircraft. She slid her glasses a little further up her nose and said, "In an effort not to sound completely boy crazy... what did he want to know?"

She snorted. "Everything."

And that's when Jessica started to panic. Everyone in this part of San Diego State University had surely heard some rumors about her and Brian. She was mortified that this woman might have told Jake the truth. If she even knew the truth. But one of the lies or rumors would be just as bad. She wanted to hide under her desk now, and all she could manage to say was, "Oh."

But she just kept going. "Between you and me, Jake's going a little crazy that you apparently won't let him have your phone number? Which I think is absolutely what that man needs. So keep up the good work. He's too handsome, and he knows it. I don't think he's ever encountered someone like you before."

Jessica looked at her with wide eyes. "Be honest with me. How soon is he going to lose interest in a nerd who collects journals and does math problems for fun?"

But she just shook her head. "Lose interest? Probably never. Get frustrated and think you're not interested? Hmmm. I'm not sure."

But Jessica could feel her neck growing warm. She'd been pretty forward in her email to him earlier, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. "Nobody could lose interest in Jake," she murmured, helping herself to some more carrot sticks. 

"Listen," the other woman said. "This is just from Advanced Calculus to Advanced Physics, okay?"

"Okay," Jessica replied with a laugh.

"Jake could probably get any woman he wanted, but he hasn't had much exposure to anyone except hardass military officers and tag chasers. I'd say you fall somewhere in between. Just be careful, okay?"

Jessica nodded in agreement, unsure exactly what she was agreeing to. But she found she liked the idea of falling somewhere in between for Jake. In her mind, it made her more unique than she actually felt. 

On Tuesday morning, she dressed in a matching set of lingerie just like she always did. But she chose a deep wine red, because it made her feel bold. And if Jake followed through with what he said, then he would be stopping by her office later today. Bold might be a necessity.

She was running her finger along the strap of her bra before tucking it into her lightweight sweater as her computer booted up. She had her coffee on her desk, but she didn't need it. She was so excited and filled with adrenaline, she felt like she might bounce around her small office. Then she gasped; there was a new email from jake.seresin waiting for her.

Dear Dr. Reed,

I'm hoping you'll have some time for me later today. I'm also thinking that one of these visits, my luck will run out. Will somebody else skateboard off with your heart? Will I have to compete with a whole line of aviators with detailed physics notes and sharpened pencils?

I won't be able to stand the heartache, so I wanted to let you know now that I'm going to ask you out tonight. I'm going to try to persuade you to join me at Chippy's for more beer and peanuts on Wednesday. I want you to have some time to think about your answer. Because if that's not something you want to do, then I'm going to need you to let me down very gently, Jessica. 

See you when I report to your office hours,

Jake

P.S.- If there actually is a whole line of aviators, I wouldn't be surprised in the least.

Oh, he was so smooth. And funny. And he was giving her the whole day to decide what she wanted to do. Jessica squeaked and smiled behind her coffee cup. He must have sensed her hesitance, but he didn't seem annoyed. Rather he seemed like going to Chippy's with her again would make him really happy. Chippy's of all places. Her of all women. 

With a few minutes until her schedule really started for the day, she stood and knelt in her dress pants in front of her bookshelf. There was a specific journal with a specific article that would be just perfect for what she had planned. Once she located it, she tucked it away in her top drawer, and then she went back for a few more journals that she could send home with Jake. 

And as far as Chippy's went, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Last time they were there, she'd had the best time talking to him, and they hadn't even gotten into many personal topics. Of course she did run away terrified that he was trying to two time his wife or girlfriend. But this time around would be different. 

She snatched up her folders and lecture notes and locked her door behind her, knowing she would have to contend with Luca and all of her other students before she would get to see Jake at all. So she buckled down and got to work. Three lectures, one lab class and one recitation later, she wandered back up to her office, absolutely starving and exhausted. 

The sad salad she pulled out of her mini fridge and the thermos of lemonade would just have to do. It was already after three o'clock, and she had exams to grade. The fact that she had the worst schedule out of everyone in the physics department was not lost on her as she forced her salad down and dreamed about something homemade. It was ridiculous how jealous she was of the packed lunches that her calculus counterpart always had. 

Two huge stacks of exams later, Jessica made note that she had five students who were failing their classes. Gently, she removed her glasses and let her forehead come to rest on her desk. Her office hours were about to begin, and as excited as she had been to see Jake earlier this morning, she kind of wished more of her students would visit her. It was early in the term, and they had time to turn their grades around, but still. 

At 5:30 she propped her door open and waited. As long as Dr. Leeland didn't stop by today, she'd call it a win. She gave extra practice problems to Nia, and she helped Benji correct his mistakes on his lab calculations, and then she waited. After she checked the time on her computer, she turned off the monitor. It was 6:45. She'd been on campus since 8:00. She was hungry again. And she was starting to feel like an idiot.

"Reedy."  

Her eyes met his pretty green ones instantly. Perched in her open doorway with his notebook in hand, he looked like everything she wanted. Jeans and a black tee replaced his uniform today, and he was just stupidly handsome. 

"Jake."

He nodded toward the hallway, and she saw a sharpened pencil tucked behind his ear. "Would you like me to close the door?"

"Please," she replied softly as she stood behind her desk. When the door clicked into place, she imagined herself locking it and doing the dirtiest things in her office with Jake Seresin. These same thoughts circulated her brain as she tried to fall asleep every night now. She'd have him pushed up against the wall with her lips on his neck. Or she'd push him down onto her chair and straddle one thick thigh.

She was jarred back to reality as he made his way over to her desk with a soft smile. "I tried my hand at some of these equations," he drawled. "Can't quite figure them out. Don't seem to have the right numbers."

Then he reached up, and Jessica watched him take that pencil into his hand. "Would you like me to show you how it's done?" she asked with a smirk. 

"Oh, you know I would." Hungry eyes roamed over her face as he handed the pencil over to her. His fingers felt rough when they brushed hers, and she had to fight to keep her mind focused on the math in his notebook. 

"Have a seat," she told him, and she knew the fun was just about to begin. 

-------------------------

Jake eased himself down into the chair opposite Jessica's desk, and he looked up at her where she stood. She had his pencil in her hand, and as she reached into her drawer to retrieve her calculator, he watched her pretty, red sweater slide a few inches down her shoulder revealing her bra strap. It was a darker shade of red. It looked beautiful against her skin. 

"You're using the wrong formulas," she said with a smirk. "You can't expect the physics problems to respond to the wrong math."

"Show me how it's done, Jessica." 

She bit her lip, and when she bent at the waist, Jake couldn't fathom how her students were able to pay attention in her classes. Her body was absolutely sinful looking. And when the tip of his pencil pressed against the notebook page, Jake's eyes drifted to the front of her sweater. That bra was even prettier than he imagined. His cock pulsed in his snug jeans. Lace. Just lace and her gorgeous cleavage. 

He grunted and her eyes met his. Was she doing this on purpose? Did she know how good she looked to him right now? Did she have any fucking clue how crazy she was making him? No. He could tell she had no idea how much she was messing him up. 

Then she wrote out the set of formulas that he would need to use before spinning the notebook around so it was facing him. "Give it a try," she said, setting her calculator and his pencil next to it. 

As Jake leaned closer to her desk to take a look, Jessica walked around to the other side. She perched herself next to where he was working, his fingers just inches away from her thigh as he desperately tried to remember the difference between thrust and propulsion. 

"Are you distracting me on purpose?" he asked without looking away from the notebook. 

"Do you find me distracting?" she asked softly, and Jake chuckled. 

"You know I do," he said before dropping the pencil and standing. He towered over her as he gingerly placed his hands on the desk, bracketing her in. "You know I do, Jessica."

His face was close to hers, but she didn't shy away at all. The devilish grin that found its way to her lips was begging to be kissed away until she was moaning his name. But he didn't move an inch. 

"I thought you had something you wanted to ask me tonight," she whispered as one high heeled foot met his calf, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. 

He jerked his chin up an inch. "Baby, if you won't go to Chippy's with me tomorrow, it's gonna break my heart."

As soon as her teeth pressed into her plush lip, Jake could see that grin return to her face. When he moved a fraction of an inch closer, she gasped and said, "I couldn't possibly go out with a guy who can't get his thrust equation down correctly."

Jake smirked and pushed off from the desk, leaving her and returning to his vacant seat. Then he read through the formulas she had written for him. And then he worked out his constants and entered his variables. When he punched everything into her calculator, he came up with an answer. And then he double checked it. Because the last thing he wanted Jessica to be concerned about was him knowing all about the power of thrust. 

When he handed her the notebook, he eased himself further back into the seat. She adjusted her glasses with the backs of her fingers and then started to skim the page to check his math. But that pretty smile was still present, and soon she closed the notebook and then set it down next to her thigh. 

She met his gaze and held it. "I would love to go back to Chippy's with you." 

That meant his math was correct. It probably also meant that she made her mind up earlier today but just wanted to toy with him. And he could become fucking addicted to that. 

"Just tell me what time, and I'll meet you there," he promised, heart thudding in anticipation of another evening spent with her.

"Seven?" she asked softly. 

"It's a date."

---------------------------------

Jessica stopped home between her last class and the beginning of her date at Chippy's. Every time she thought about it, she started laughing. A college dive bar was hardly the most romantic place in San Diego to grab a drink, but somehow it was exactly perfect. She ate dinner quickly and then changed out of her pantsuit. 

The mirror in her walk in closet caught her attention, and she spun to inspect her body in the royal blue bra and thong. Not bad. But she wasn't sure how to dress. And she wasn't planning on letting Jake see this pretty set. Yet. They hadn't even kissed. He still didn't have her phone number. But that made her giggle as she tried on a few different pairs of jeans before settling on ones that were high waisted and hugged her body.

She chose a cute blouse and then slid on a pair of high heels before heading back to campus. As she parked near the bar, she checked her makeup one last time in the mirror on the back of the sun visor. She looked good. Better than good. Then she grabbed the journals and her purse from the front seat and headed inside.

The peanut shells that littered the floor stuck to the bottoms of her shoes, and the crowd of students was a little loud. But she liked it here anyway. When Chippy himself looked up from the bar, he smiled at her. 

"Reedy," he said with a wave. "A beer?"

But she shook her head. "Not yet. I'm meeting someone. He should be here soon."

His brow scrunched up. "That same one? In the uniform?" When she nodded, he said, "Careful with those ones, Reedy."

And his words hung in the air as she found an empty high top with two stools. For the past year she'd kept to herself. Kept her nose clean. Stayed away from not only the bad guys, but really guys altogether. Was she making a mistake here? 

She checked the time on her phone. 7:04. Then she skimmed the journal she brought with her which contained her very own recent publication. Then she checked her phone again. 7:17. Chippy dropped off a bowl of peanuts, and she cracked one open as her brain started to tell her that she was being stood up. Because suddenly it was after 7:30 and there was no sign of Jake.

-----------------------

Jake, what the hell, man? You're only going to get one chance here. Loving the Beer Boy and Sugar moments. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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[11queensupreme11]

What would it be like if the Gods, adults not children, know all this about Percy being from another universe and everything he's going to have to go through and somehow they end up meeting a 12-year-old Percy? I'm talking about a Percy before the field trip to the museum with Mrs. Dotts, which is to say when he didn't know anything about the Gods.

this whole thing just reminds me of this final fantasy 7 ao3 fanfic where everyone got sent back to the past AND remembered what happened... EXCEPT CLOUD and they were all frantically planning on a way to train this poor kid on how to save the world in case sephiroth goes insane again while simultaneously not telling him cuz they didn't want him to remember all his trauma 😭😭😭

(also if anyone knows which fic this, PLEASE SEND ME THE LINK CUZ I FORGOT THE TITLE AND AUTHOR AND I WANNA READ IT AGAIN!!!!)

anyway, if they got isekai-ed to percy's universe in the past AND THEY KNOW what's gonna happen to her, they are absolutely gonna scramble for a way to get back to their universe with percy in order to prevent The Plot from happening 😭😭😭😭

like "hell fucking no my baby is NOT going through any of that!!!!" 😭😭😭😭

i can't even blame them cuz imagine finding this tiny lil 12 year old girl, the de-aged version of someone you love so very much, and KNOWING she's about to go through some traumatizing shit soon and you have the chance to save her from that? they're gonna do whatever it takes to save her from that awful fate!!

poseidon is straight up kidnapping her, getting a child leash, and tethering her to him while he frantically tries to find a way to access the bifrost and send them back home, meanwhile he's got a feral 12 year old trying to gnaw through the leash 💀

hades definitely feels bad for kidnapping her from her poor mother, BUT IT'S FOR PERCY'S OWN GOOD, HE SWEARS!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 he's absolutely not gonna go to any of the gods for help because he's seen their buffoonery and wants no part of it, so it's up to him to find a way back home!!

beelzebub's not gonna bother with a child leash, after he kidnaps her he's whipping out the cuffs again cuz those have a shorter chain AND she can't gnaw them off 💀 probably gives up on the handcuffs tho when she somehow manages to break them and ends up just lugging her around like this:

apollo's gonna be such a nervous wreck. he does NOT want to kidnap her, he would prefer it if she just comes with him willingly but it comes off SO sus like "hi there little girl! do you want some candy? i'm trying to save ur life pls trust me" and percy may be 12 but she's not STUPID, so she goes "stranger danger" and runs away and now he has no choice but to kidnap her while he tries to find a way back 😭

loki's more subtle at first. he'll kill of mrs. dodds, chiron, and grover and shapeshift to become percy's new math teacher to replace dodds. he knows he still has some time before The Plot hits, so he's not TOO panicked rn and when he's not pretending to be a math teacher, he spends his time snooping around asgard to try and figure out how their bifrost works to send them both home. killing those three ^ eliminates the whole field trip issue, but you know, Fates 💀 ofc they find a way to make The Plot keep going so yeah, loki snaps and kidnaps her to keep her safe

i promise you, ten minutes into anubis' arrival in the pjo verse, the news article "freakishly tall furry man kidnaps child from yancy academy -- local furry community claims no ties to the kidnapper" is gonna spread around like wildfire 💀 he is absolutely gonna kidnap her is probably gonna spend most of the time freaking the fuck out instead of actually trying to find a way back home

cú chulainn's got it a little harder. yes he can easily kidnap her, but he's not a god. he's been blessed with his adoptive father's abilities, but he can't like... teleport, be in multiple places at once, easily search the universe in case percy runs away, etc. so he tries to be more discreet about it like loki by killing off mrs dodds and any monsters that come percy's way. he'll try to find a way to the bifrost too, but it'll be more difficult for obvious reasons. it's once The Plot hits does he finally say fuck it and just joins her to keep her close while trying to find a way to access the norse pantheon

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

-

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

-

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

-

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

Wait wait aiat what if Ingo and Lady Sneasler went back to the future in Sinnoh and without Akari. They are being monitored because hello, extinct regional pokemon popping up, and then Lady sneasler lays eggs. Ingo, of course , is listed as the father on hundreds of articles and it becomes a big thing, you know like the famous baby aninals that become temporary celebrities.

And then Akari comes back and travels to Unova, taking Ingo along with Lady sneasler and her kits. So now she is on the run avoiding authorities. And then they meet Emmet who knows Sneasler!Ingo as the sire of a litter of extinct pokemon but not as Ingo. He knows this because Emmet likes thinking up strategies for different pokemon and have definitely thought of some for the sneasler line.

Even though Emmet is estactic that he gets to meet these strong and extinct pokemon he secretly calls the authorities and keeps Akari distracted by asking her about the sneaslers. Then Akari goes "by the way, you look like Ingo before he got sneaslerfied except youre smilling. *gasp* Are you the man in white that like winning more than anything?!"

And while Emmet is processing becuase she mentioned Ingo, just before the authorities show up Akari introduces the male sneasler as the sneaslerfied Ingo who then does the all aboard stance and his best mimickry of the words to prove who he is. Maybe Chandelure pops out of her pokeball and hugs Ingo, doing her little greeting chime noise that she only reserves for Ingo. And then the authorities show up but Akari and the gang managed to escape, leaving poor Emmet there, realizing he was so close to Ingo only for them to be separated again.

And then Emmet realizes he's an uncle now. Not of Akari but of the sneaslets so he's researching care of sneaslets and figuring out the ethics of a human turned pokemon and a regular pokemon mating. Because would Ingo still love his mate even when he's turned back into a human?

Later, much later, after a lot of miscommunication, is it revealed that Ingo is not the father but is considered an adopted older brother. And now Emmet is wondering if a pokemon can legally do an adult adoption.

i love the way your mind works, anon

I imagine Ingo is also mildly stressed the entire time because he only knows Galarian and an older version of whatever the Sinnohan language is, so while he can understand the researchers to a degree, it's very awkward and choppy. He and Lady Sneasler are also in an unknown area that's questionably safe and Lady Sneasler just had a new litter, so Ingo's a bit busy being filled with panic to try and communicate with the other humans.

And then Akari shows up, stages a jailbreak (probably using her stupidly overpowered pokemon), and runs off with the sneasler squad.

Emmet is very excited to meet these no-longer-extinct pokemon, but also why the fuck is this fifteen year old traveling alone with a bunch of pokemon, he is Concerned

Akari: you look so much like my dad by the way Emmet: ...your dad. Akari: yeah Emmet: ...you said the sneasler was your dad. Akari: *rolls eyes* well duh i was talking about BEFORE he turned into a sneasler you bidoofus Akari: WAIT ARE YOU THE SMILING GUY?? "I LIKE WINNING MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE"???? Emmet: *actively experiencing acute psychic damage*

*the squad gets chased off*

Emmet, standing there alone: ...WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE Emmet: INGO DID YOU FUCK THAT SNEASLER-

[a-certain-romance]

i made the house wife ei and miko thing tbh if u want more i can write u some fr (gonna turn it into a whole ass story for u) tbh skmetimes i imagine shenhe and her house wife to imagine how possessive she could get over her house wife being jealous at every moment

then we have ningguang who adores her house wife who dhe convinced to live a life of luxioury in her jade chamber tbh your not swayed at first untill you know you can worry over her while she works and sew her stuff shes always so pleased so she rubs her hand on your thigh staring at you knowing whats to come she already planned ahead ofc

then hu tao and her house wife (coping with the fact im an og and never got her c1) anyways shes so giggly most of the time watching you cook and giving you soft kisses every time she finishes a meal. your too cute to resist honestly!! so she decided to leave you her outfit who knows what she’ll do next <3

im mot gay iswear-

AHHH ANON U ARE THE BEST!!! (Feel free to share if you have more!!)

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, possessive sex/tendencies (Shenhe), face sitting (Ningguang), Overstimulation (Ningguang), mastrubation (Hu tao), fingering (Hu tao)

Link to pt 1 , Pt3, & Pt4

- She’d get so jealous thinking about all the people you might be around. Shenhe hates crowds so knowing that she’s not at the best of her abilities in the harbor leaves her on edge

- Shenhe who gets so possessive that she singlehandedly builds a house in the mountains away from all those people who might interfere with the two of you. It’s a good midpoint between the Wangshu Inn and Qingce Village, and plenty far away from the crowded harbor

- As she spends her time in meditation and training you spend your time with household duties and tending to your garden of Qixing and other flowers. You spend the days trying to familiarize yourself with new recipes that fit to your and Shenhe’s tastes and even experimenting with a few dishes. On the few times you do travel back to the harbor with Shenhe you always stop at Wanmin restaurant to exchange knowledge and recipes with Xiangling

- These trips can be very fun, though many of them end in a rough fucking against the wall of some alleyway after someone looks at you in a way that Shenhe doesn’t like

- She’s content to carry you for a while since it means you get to be all the more closer to her

- It’s the fact that you aren’t interested in her for her wealth that makes her fall for you

- Being Ningguang’s housewife means you don’t need to lift a finger while you’re in the Jade Chamber

- Yet she still melts when you take it upon yourself to help the maids by cleaning Ningguang’s study on your own or cooking her favorite meals when she’s had a packed schedule

- She’ll order the finest silks or brocades or fabrics; anything you ask for will be in your hands at a moment’s notice

- When she’s especially pleased with your hard work she’ll guide you towards your shared room and reveal her most expensive lingerie & lipstick combo

- She’ll let you suck and nip at her breasts for a bit before locking her legs around your waist. She can’t have all the fun, this night is meant for you. Deep make-out sessions lead to her urging your legs to sit on either side of her head

- Ningguang will lick and suck on your clit until your brain goes dumb from the pleasure, and even after you finish she’ll keep going and overstimulating you further

- Hu Tao who serenades you with poetry as appreciation for all the cooking you do

- She also handpicks the prettiest flowers from her walks around Liyue and places them in a neat vase every few weeks just for you

- She leaves her outfit in plain sight on the bed. It all started with wanting to try on her hat, leading to you wonder what the rest of her outfit would feel like

- You bask in the sweet aroma of red plum blossoms. It’s like she’s with you right now! Sometimes you wear it when she’s not around. Hu Tao catches wind of this quickly and always leaves a spare article of clothing at your place

- One of these days she surprises you by coming early and finds you pleasuring yourself while wearing one of her jackets. Aiya, it was her who got you into this, might as well take responsibility and finish what you started she thinks as her finger teases your wet folds

[theshiftingwitch]

hi i hope you’re well! i asked a couple others this question but i was curious about your input! :

i was wondering what you think about people saying loa is a scam? ive manifested things such as green eyes that people would comment on how they were changing and longer lashes. and much more other things. i thought since getting this proof i’d finally believe fully and be able to finally manifest more things i want. but im so frustrated i read someone saying how metaphysical stuff is all fake which obviously they’re allowed to have their opinion but im sensitive lol. also, im pretty sure the CIA did studies on metaphysical stuff and found evidence that it is legit but also it didn’t always work/show evidence. but also im pretty sure someone said decades ago how they’d give a large amount of money to anyone who shows proof of any metaphysical powers within a controlled environment. but no one has done it yet. i also have literally astral projected but a part of me is like oh it’s just my brain playing tricks on me. or like with shifting i always see flashing lights and feel being touched and hear things i scripted to hear once ive shifted. but i also heard that symptoms dont mean anything :/ i was curious if you had any advice please? sorry if this is a lot of word vomit lol! 🤍 thank you!!

Surprisingly, this isn't the first question I get about the law assumption being a scam. You can go on my blog and search other articles where I discussed this particular topic if you wanted to see my opinion.

I understand doubt. Even master manifesters who have shaped their entire realities according to their own will still have doubts and fear. That is part of the human experience. If we were meant to be fearless, all-knowing creatures we would not have come here to experience humanity as a whole. The fact that you have already manifested green eyes and people actually saw the difference in them and commented on them and you still doubt your own power is such a typical, expected experience that I have heard of many times.

You are sensitive to other people's opinions and point of views because you still don't believe in your own powers. Because let me tell you something, if you knew that you manifested your entire life, if you got your dream body, your dream hair, your dream person, your dream house, your dream job, and you got it all out of thin air only by the power of your imagination, you would not give one single fuck about what anyone else is saying, especially people who do not believe in the law. The only way to fix that sensitivity is to work on your own power. Keep manifesting. From small things like rainbow cars and red butterflies and black ice cream, to big things like people texting you out of thin air or being asked out by every guy or girl you see or being famous overnight. The only way to grow your power is to use your power. Think of it as a muscle. The longer it goes without being used, the more useless it will become.

As for shifting, feeling like you're being touched and hearing noises you scripted you would hear once you shift are not in fact symptoms. Symptoms are tingles across your body, flashing lights behind your closed eyelids, dizziness and feeling like you're falling... Feeling like you're being touched, hearing noises, smelling things... Those are all signs that you have shifted. It is what most people in the shifting community call a mini shift.

And now, let's address the whole CIA debacle. Most of the documents that we know today like the getaway experience, have been an experiment that ran in the 80s 90s or the early 2000s. And only were classified years if not decades later. So let me ask you this, if the CIA had actual genuine proof of manifestation, of the law of assumption, of shifting, of astral projecting, of us being the universe having a human experience and everything that that entails from powers that we know and don't know of, do you actually think they are going to let us common folk know about that power?

The power that be, the people that are leading the world, they want us to be subservient. They want us to be powerless. They want us to be stuck in a state of not owning up our own powers and not knowing what we can do. How else would they remain in power? So instead of giving all of your attention and time towards agencies and entities like the CIA and NASA and whatever else, turn that time and energy inward and focus on yourself because that is where your true power lies.

In a world where celebrity culture is so rampant, you have people like Jim Carrey and Ariana grande and so many others telling the public that they have manifested everything that they have now. Ariana grande manifested her dream role in wicked and Jim Carrey wrote himself a check for $1 million dollars and said that he was going to cash it one day through acting. And they both got exactly what they wanted. And yet we still think that it's just a trick, or a coincidence, or pure fucking luck.

At the end of the day, you'll have two choices. You either listen to everyone else's opinion and limit yourself to their limiting beliefs. Or you decide fuck it I'm going to try and I'm going to do whatever I want and I'm going to see where this experience takes me. Because what the fuck do you actually have to lose? In 10 years, you can be wherever you want to be and have manifested everything you want, or you can be 10 years older and wondering where you went wrong.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[harry-sussex]

The media has branded Harry and Meghan a “flop” - there’s no coming back from that reputation.

That WSJ article just made my stomach drop. I have no idea how it’s possible that things have gotten this bad. The worst part is that there’s no way up from here - only further down. Rock bottom is a challenge at this point, and it feels like they’re shooting for it every single day.

This is what they wanted? This is better? They’re happy? No fucking way, man. No fucking way. If I know anything about Harry at all - and at this point, we all know Harry a bit too well - he must be outright miserable. There’s no way this whole thing has been worth it. None whatsoever. To someone like me, this is nauseating. I hate it. I hate this. I have always hated this, I always knew that they weren’t going to live the life they thought they would after they left, I’ve been saying for three years until I’m blue in the face - and the reception I’ve gotten from Sussex fans around the world has been horrific (you guys should see some of the shit that’s come through my inbox courtesy of the squad - so much for mental health, Harry and Meghan would be ashamed of them, but I digress).

If you give even a sliver of a shit about Harry, you’ll be able to get your head out of the sand and recognize that leaving was the absolute worst thing he could have done for himself. Look at him! Directionless! Lost! Misguided! Unproductive! Not to mention paranoid, tired, isolated, and he fact that he always looks miserable.

I will say it again and again and again - it. did. not. have. to. be. this. way. 3 years in - what do they have to show for it?:

A successful commercial venture? Nope - almost nothing has come out of Archetypes or anything else, as in the article. Bill Simmons called them “fucking grifters!” If he’s willing to say it loud and proud for the media to pounce on, how many are saying it behind closed doors?

More money? Their income hinges upon content they haven’t created yet. Clearly, these companies have no trouble pulling the plug on their deals and therefore cutting off the income. (Not for nothing - the more this happens, the less money they’ll be able to say they grossed by leaving the royal family. Since this looks like a trend, at what point do they stop and say ‘I probably would have more money at my disposal if I just stuck with the Duchy of Cornwall?’)

More exposure? Yeah, I guess, but look how shitty it is all the time. This is not the kind of exposure they were looking for.

More privacy? Totally goes against everything above, but they’ve never been more vulnerable to intrusive speculation. They invite it! Encourage it! Hand their personal lives over to the media and the public on a silver platter! The only thing keeping them ‘private’ is living in a gated community - imagine how private their personal life would be if they were in a palace instead?

Better treatment from the press? The American media are vultures too. The world media has made a fortune off of their bullshit. Even the gently critical ones that tell the hard truth - like the WSJ - show that the media does not care who you are if you deserve the criticism or if your bullshit is so completely out of this world that the story writes itself. Nothing is sacred, and it’s even worse now that there’s nothing standing in between them and the press.

The opportunity to provide universal service? What the hell have they done? One single Invictus Games? The occasional event? The occasional donation? They spend more time accepting awards for doing something rather than actually doing something!

Being happier? Bullshit, man. Look at Prince Harry. He hasn’t had a genuine smile on his face in public since 2021. I could go down a rabbit hole here, but you’re blinded by adoration if you can’t recognize he’s outright miserable and a complete shell of the person he used to be. That spark is completely gone.

I could go on, but these articles are starting to pop up in legitimate news sources. We’re not talking about the National Enquirer here - this is the Wall Street Journal. A legitimate news source is reporting on the way they’re failing to meet their own standards and the standards of those who control the purse strings - and how they’re nothing without their titles. If the money is the bottom line, then they need the star power behind their HRHs to make it. They don’t have anything else worth marketing. That star power is dwindling more and more as they get closer and closer to rock bottom and as they continue to bite the hand that has always fed them. Look at this from Vanity Fair:

So much for “service is universal.” They don’t get traction for any of their charity work because they spend so much time BITCHING. The world can’t focus on their service and help support those causes because they spend so much FUCKING TIME milking their only cash cow that nobody has any idea what kinds of causes they support! In fact - I’d bet that the only causes recognized by the general public are those they SUPPORTED BY WORKING FOR THE FAMILY. This isn’t about service - it’s about clout, star power, mystique, and the aura associated with the blurred lines between royal and celebrity. The service hasn’t been part of it for a long time. They’ve wronged their ship and there’s no way to right it anymore. That ship, for lack of better term, has sailed. The world doesn’t see them as charitable - the way they were seen when they were working for the family. The world sees them as washed up crybabies who don’t have anything to offer. It’s not just a “hater” thing anymore. They’ve lost their allure and that was the only thing they had going for them. Without that allure, they’re nothing compared to the Hollywood lights.

They’ve completely fucked up. I know it, you know it, Hollywood knows it, the Royal Family knows it. Harry and Meghan are the only people on earth who haven’t figured it out. They haven’t done a single thing they planned since leaving. They’re not happier, they don’t live a more private life, they don’t have more bandwidth to do charity work, they’re not making money hand over fist, they’re not successful in their new endeavors… they’ve completely fucked up.

Harry, in particular, has completely fucked up. He gave up a life of structure, service, wealth, luxury, success, protection, guidance, family, friendship for… this? And he’s pretending that it was the best decision he ever made? Please. He fucked up, and it will continue to come back to bite him day in and day out until he learns to sit down, shut up, get some help, and hire some competent people to make shit happen for him, because clearly he cannot direct the ship on his own.

This is not how it was supposed to be - not for us as fans, nor for them after leaving. It did not have to be this way. I’d bet anything that the part of Harry who wanted this is dwindling more and more each day. Someday, he’s going to regret the whole thing. The more I see him and hear him, the more I think he’s already there. He fucked up, and I think he’s finally on his way to realizing that they have to do something to make the world interested in them beyond their association with the family. That will diminish, and then they’ll really be shit out of luck.

What a complete and utter disaster, Henry. What a mess. With all due respect, Your Royal Highness - you fucked up.