#i mean i could barely sleep last night. still hurts to swallow

[fingertipsmp3]

Lads I am once again unwell ☹️

[blindmagdalena]

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful. 

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm. 

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care. 

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable. 

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there. 

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

[steddieas-shegoes]

in a new light

for @steddie-week prompt 'body swap'

rated t | 2653 words | cw: mild language | tags: body swap, friends to lovers, eddie has a crush on steve, steve fast burns through a sexuality crisis, steve has chronic pain

🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺

Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed.

He woke up wearing Eddie’s clothes.

He brushed Eddie’s hair off his shoulder as he yawned.

Or was it his hair?

He opened his eyes and looked down at his shoulder.

Eddie’s hair.

He brushed it off again, but it just fell to his back.

He sat up in bed, looking around the room. No Eddie.

Steve looked around the room before his eyes settled on his own hands.

Eddie’s rings were on his fingers.

He looked down at his arms, jumping at the sight of Eddie’s tattoos.

Eddie’s pale skin.

He rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, ignoring a deep sense of dread taking over him.

“What the fuck?” He asked out loud, only remembering that Wayne would be home at the last minute.

“Everything okay in there, Ed?” Wayne’s voice asked from the other side of the door.

“Yep!” He squeaked out, Eddie’s voice falling from his lips.

He had to call Robin or Nancy or Eddie-

Oh god. Was Eddie in his body?

He had to get to his house immediately.

He opened the door slowly, hoping Wayne had already gone back to another room. He hadn’t. Wayne was standing right outside the door still, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“You hurt?” Wayne asked.

“No,” he replied, trying to keep their interactions at a bare minimum.

How would Eddie talk to his uncle? He knew they were pretty close, especially since everything that happened in March, so he probably shouldn’t be so standoffish or awkward. Wayne didn’t know everything��about what happened, but he knew enough to be suspicious of anyone acting differently than they normally would.

“You need to talk about anything?” Wayne pushed.

Steve didn’t know how to handle an adult actually caring. Was this how it was for Eddie all the time?

“Um…no?” He cleared his throat. “Just a weird dream. I’ll be fine.”

Wayne squinted his eyes, but nodded and walked towards the kitchen. “Makin’ some eggs for breakfast if you want some.”

“Sounds good!”

Steve booked it back to Eddie’s room, closing the door quietly behind him. Eddie had a phone in his room ever since they moved, a requirement that Dustin insisted on so they could easily reach him. Wayne didn’t mind, especially because it meant he didn’t have to listen to Eddie on the phone in the living room while the game was on.

He dialed his house number, hoping that Eddie would answer.

“Harrington residence,” Robin answered.

“Robin! What’re you doing there?” This was good, actually. She could probably confirm if Eddie was stuck inside Steve’s body.

“Uh…I slept over last night? I always sleep over on Thursday nights, Munson. You know that.”

Shit. She didn’t know yet.

“Right. Sorry. Forgot what day it was.” Steve had to think. He could drive over there and check himself. Or he could just have Robin check right now. “So here’s the thing-”

“Oh, there’s the sleepyhead now!” Robin said away from the phone. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve said through the phone before he realized Robin wasn’t talking to him.

“What the hell is going on?” Robin asked, sounding more panicked now.

“Is that Steve?” he could hear his own voice asking. Jesus, is that what he actually sounded like?

“What do you mean? You’re Steve!” Robin’s voice was getting louder, higher pitched than it had been when she first answered.

“Robs, hand the phone over,” Steve said as calmly as possible. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“This is so fucked.” He heard her say as she handed the phone to Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, quiet and unsure.

“So you’re stuck in my body,” Steve confirmed. “This isn’t good.”

“Tell me about it. Are you always in this much pain?”

Steve swallowed around a lump in his throat. “It’s…not always that bad. It’s been worse the last few weeks.”

“Why the hell haven’t you said anything?” Eddie sounded angry, but Steve was having trouble getting past being reprimanded in his own voice. “My head is pounding, my side aches, my knee creaks. Your body is fucked, man.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s it?” Eddie sounded angry. “Get over here so we can figure this out.”

He hung up the phone and Steve stood awkwardly by Eddie’s bed.

“Shit.”

****

Steve managed to avoid questions from Wayne, but did get forced into eating some eggs before he left.

“I swear, you better tell that boy soon,” Wayne said as he made his way to the front porch to have a cigarette. “Can’t handle all this dancin’ around feelings.”

Steve tabled that for now, in too much of a rush to get to his house to figure out what was going on and how they could fix it.

By the time he managed to get Eddie’s beat up temporary truck into his own driveway, Robin was gone and he was watching his own body pace up and down the walkway to the front door.

“Robin?” Steve asked as he walked up to Eddie.

“Her mom needed the car. She’s gonna be back later with the kids apparently so we can ‘figure this out’,” he did air quotes around it. “She said this can’t be that bad of a migraine because I can still stand. What the hell does that even mean?”

“Let’s get inside,” Steve sighed as he pushed Eddie in the house and locked the door behind them. “You already knew I get migraines.”

“I thought they were rare! I didn’t know you just woke up like this.”

“Oh, this isn’t a bad one.” Steve looked at the way his eyes weren’t drooping and his shoulders were still surprisingly relaxed. Most of his bad migraines were too intense for him to even be standing, let alone look this calm. “If you’re upright, it’s manageable.”

Eddie’s face dropped from anger to disbelief. “Do you feel like this all the time?”

“I mean, some days are worse than this. Some days are better. But I guess…yeah. Most of the time is like this.” Steve shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Steve…” Eddie’s hand raised, then he seemed to think twice and let it drop to his side. “Does Owens know? I’m sure he could find something to help.”

“He had more important things to deal with and I didn’t wanna bother him.” Steve walked to the kitchen so he could grab them both drinks as they figured out what to do. “But let’s focus on what’s most important right now.”

“How is your health not what’s most important?” Eddie asked as he followed close behind.

“We can figure it out when it’s my health again!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You’re stuck in my body feeling the way I’m supposed to feel instead of in your own body, which seems surprisingly normal despite the itch on my side. You should get that checked out by the way. It shouldn’t be itchy anymore.”

“Are you seriously telling me to get an itch looked at when you’re in constant pain? You’re kidding.” Eddie stood in front of Steve, hands on his hips. It was weird seeing his own body doing something so familiar from Eddie’s body. Now that he was seeing it like this, it was a little funny. “I can barely see straight and you’re worried about my scars itching a little?”

“Well, I don’t want it to be infected,” Steve started playing with the ends of his hair, no, Eddie’s hair. “If it ever burns, you should get some antibiotics.”

“Steve. For one single second I need you to focus on the fact that you are in pain all the time. You don’t even take anything for it!” Eddie gently took his fingers from where they were wrapping his own hair around them. “Robin said you never even told her about the scars still hurting.”

“It wasn’t important. I barely even feel it anymore most days,” Steve couldn’t help noticing the way Eddie’s hands were still on his. “Other people had it worse.”

“I think the people who allegedly had it worse would have wanted you to say something. The kids wouldn’t want you to hurt like this all the time,” Eddie turned away and groaned, holding his own head. “Fuck, this is awful. How do you accomplish anything?”

Steve didn’t answer, but reached into the freezer to grab his ice pack designated just for headaches and held it up to where he knew his head was hurting. Eddie seemed to deflate, leaning back against Steve.

And that’s when Steve had the realization that they fit together pretty damn well.

Despite the fact that there was only about an inch of height difference between them, Steve’s body fit perfectly against Eddie’s front.

It felt nice. Even being stuck in Eddie’s body, it felt good to be close like this.

He kept holding the ice pack against his temple and left eye, where the pain always seemed to be the worst. Eddie leaned more weight against him.

“Feel good there?” Steve asked, barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah. Perfect.”

“You wanna go back to bed? I can wait for Robin and the kids,” Steve offered.

“Nah, I can wait with you.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

Eddie turned and glared at him, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at his own face.

“Bold words coming from Mr. Overdo It himself,” Eddie mumbled as he took the ice pack from Steve’s hand and made his way to the couch. “Come sit with me. We might as well try to talk through what could’ve caused this.”

“I honestly don’t even know where to begin. I don’t think it’s Upside Down related.”

“Pretty sure if it were, one of us would be dead by now.”

Eddie’s eyes closed as he rested his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“It happened in our sleep so maybe it was a dream thing?” Steve asked as he wrapped his arm around Eddie, pulling him into his side more. “Was I in your dream?”

“Mhm. Always,” Eddie slurred, already half asleep.

Steve was too busy trying to think through what could have caused this to realize what he said until he was already asleep.

He looked down at his own sleeping body, the ice pack starting to fall as Eddie’s hand relaxed more. Steve grabbed it and held it in place while he got distracted by new thoughts.

Wayne had said something about feelings earlier and Eddie had sounded genuinely upset about the pain Steve was in, not just because he was currently living it. He’d admitted that he was dreaming about him always.

Sometimes, Eddie would find excuses to be alone with Steve during movie nights: helping him grab drinks for everyone or offering to help get the guest room ready for the kids. He showed up randomly with Steve’s favorite milkshake from the diner, always remembered to order his favorite beer when they went to the bar, and bought him earplugs so he could go to a Corroded Coffin show without getting a migraine.

“Oh.” Steve breathed out, his heart fluttering in his chest.

So Eddie probably liked him.

But did he like Eddie?

As Eddie turned his face into Steve’s neck, breath sending chills down Steve’s neck, he realized that he did. Probably for a while, actually.

Because when Eddie showed up with his favorite milkshake, the butterflies in his stomach would start fluttering. When he watched Eddie on stage at his concert, he’d felt so proud of him, all he wanted to do was kiss him. When they spent endless hours together while the kids argued or splashed around in Steve’s pool, he fell for him.

“Shit.”

Steve closed his eyes and hoped that they could figure everything out soon. He wanted to kiss Eddie when he was Eddie, not while he was stuck in Steve’s body.

****

When Steve woke up, he felt a dull ache in his head and a sharp pain in his neck.

He opened his eyes and frowned.

Hadn’t he fallen asleep holding Eddie?

Now Eddie was-

Steve sat up quickly, nearly falling off the couch. “Eds! Wake up!”

Eddie’s eyes blinked open. “The fuck?”

“We’re ourselves!” Steve shouted before jumping into Eddie’s lap, legs straddling Eddie’s thighs.

Eddie’s hands instinctively grabbed his hips to keep him from falling backwards in his enthusiasm and Steve’s arms wrapped around his neck to hold on.

“Head still hurt?” Eddie asked him. “And don’t lie to me.”

“A little, but not that bad,” Steve gave a comforting smile. “I promise. The ice pack must’ve helped.”

“Wayne used to get migraines when he kept switching between night shift and day shift. Used to swear by peppermint tea before he went to sleep. I could make you some?” Eddie offered, thumbs rubbing just under Steve’s t-shirt. “We’d have to go back to mine for it, but I’ll drive so you don’t have to.”

“Eds, I’m okay. But I think I’ll grab some at the store tomorrow and you can make me some next time,” Steve wrapped a strand of Eddie’s hair around his finger, much like he did earlier when it was his hair. “Did you really dream about me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m hoping the answer is yes,” Steve continued. “So if you have been, I think we could do something about making your dreams a reality.”

Eddie blinked back at him for a long minute.

“That was horrible. Is that the charm the girls always bragged about? Jesus, Stevie.”

They both laughed, Steve’s head falling forward so it rested against Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie’s hands started rubbing his back, slow and cautious, testing the waters a bit.

“I just meant that if you want me like that, I’d like to take you out.” Steve leaned back, but kept his face close enough to lean in for a kiss if Eddie let him.

“Out? On a date?”

“Out on a date,” Steve nodded. “Would you wanna?”

“Steve. I’m seriously asking this question so don’t laugh.”

“Okay…”

“Is it because you saw the size of my dick when you were in my body?”

Steve laughed so hard, he choked on his own breath. “No!” Steve shook his head. “I didn’t even see it. What the hell, Eddie.”

He shook his head, smiling fondly at Eddie, who was smirking back at him.

“You wanna see it, though, don’t you?” Eddie teased.

“I’m not a fuck on the first date kinda guy,” Steve smacked his shoulder. “But maybe for you I could be persuaded.”

“This might be the best day of my life.”

“It could be better if you kiss me.”

The moment their lips touched, Steve’s front door burst open and Robin, Nancy, and the kids rushed into his house.

“El thinks she knows what happened!” Dustin yelled.

“Okay, this is definitely not something Robin mentioned,” Mike said as he turned away from Steve and Eddie on the couch.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked, probably so done with the events of the day.

“Nothing anymore.” Steve slowly slid from Eddie’s lap, but grabbed onto his hand to hold it on his leg. “Back to normal.”

“Just like that?” Will asked.

“Yep. Just like that.”

“What if it happens again?” Nancy asked them both.

“Dunno. But if you don’t mind, we’ve got somewhere to be,” Steve said as he stood up and pulled Eddie to his feet. “We’ll let you know if it happens again!”

They both walked out of Steve’s house and got in Steve’s car.

“You think they’re gonna be here when we get back?” Eddie asked him as they pulled out of his driveway.

“Probably. But I think if we kiss in front of them, they’ll scatter pretty quick.”

“Devious.” Eddie lifted their hands and kissed the back of Steve’s hand. “Where’re you taking me?”

“Milkshakes. I think I owe you one after all the times you brought me one.”

[roseyodditea]

Stiff Joints - Wriothesley x gn! Reader

Summary -> Some mornings are harder than others. (Established relationship)

Warnings -> Slightly suggestive towards the end

A/N -> 850 words, not proofread and self indulgent because I am also having a bad hand day.

**********

Early. Too goddam early to be awake. The sun wouldn’t even be fluttering in the curtains if you could see the damn sun from the bottom of the ocean. The bed around you was too cold, too uncomfortable, too… empty.

“Wrio?” You muttered, sitting up despite the protest of your back. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. Your eyes scanned the dark room until you saw the light underneath the bathroom door. “Wriothesley?” You ask again as you slip out of bed, the metal floor of the Fortress of Meropide cold underneath your feet. You approached the bathroom door only to hear the clattering of something in the sink, followed by the frustrated growl of the man behind the door. “I’m coming in.” You don’t give him a chance to protest as you open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of the man hunched over the sink, wearing only a black t shirt, boxers, and a face full of shaving cream.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up, sweetheart.” He grumbled, not wanting to take his frustrations out on you as he reached for the razor in the sink. 

You stepped close, placing a hand on his back. “Don’t apologize. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He clawed at the shaving cream on his face, wiping it off, frustrated. “It’s nothing” “Wriothesley.” “It’s nothing.” “Wriothesley” “I said-” He turned to look at you, seeing that worried, and tired look on your face. All the negative emotions dissipate immediately. “You want the truth?”

“I’d greatly prefer it, yeah.” He put the razor down on the edge of the sink. “I’ve been fighting my entire life. Boxing with both gloves and bare knuckles.” “I’ve known this, and yet I still sleep in your bed every night. Is this you thinking you’re too dangerous for me again? We’ve been through this. You know I’ll always love you.” You point out, too early to have your normal patience you grant him, instead offering him rather blunt compassion.

Wriothesley sighed, looking into the mirror. “I’ve all but destroyed my hands. It’s why I wear wraps every day. They hurt, my fingers don’t move right, and some mornings I can’t even grip the damn razor and get this stubble off of my face.”

“Is that it?” “Seems a bit dismissive.” He sighs and looks over at you, hurt in his eyes.

You hesitate, noticing he is in a much more vulnerable position than you’re used to seeing him. “I don’t mean that in a dismissive way, my dear. I just mean it’s something I can help with.” He clenches his still foam shaven jaw. “What could you possibly do to help my broken hands?” “Be your hands for you.” You respond, gently taking the razor from his hand, thankful he didn't make a snarky comment at the cheesy words. You hop up on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth and running it under warm water. 

“My dear you don’t have to.” He responds, swallowing the lump in his throat, trying to hold back his emotions. 

You respond by placing a hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to lean forward, his towering frame shrinking down to reach your waiting hand, the razor running gently across his jaw, taking care of the stubble he found so annoying. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” You guide his face to look to one side, shaving one side of his jaw and down his neck, his icy eyes locked on yours, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you so much.” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You ask as you run the warm washcloth on his freshly shaven jaw. 

He scoffs and doesn’t resist looking the other direction, letting you shave the other side of his face. “What? That my fingers don’t work?” “I mean they were working just fine last night.” You watch as he bites back a smirk, but he couldn't resist it for too long. “There’s that handsome smile.” “You’re the worst, you know… I have a reputation you know.” His eyes soften impossibly further as you finish shaving his jaw and his neck for him. He doesn't hesitate to rest his forehead on yours. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He says softly, answering your question.

“What a silly thing to hide from me you stupid man.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his lips. “What helps your hands the most, hm?”

His lips chase after yours before he lets out a huff. “Heat. Ironic giving the cryo vision.” “Mmm what kind of heat?” You ask with a low voice, your lips still hovering near his, him taking a deep breath between his teeth. 

“That kind works perfectly” He bent down and captured your lips again, his arms wrapping around your waist, he went to pull you off the counter, but stopped when you broke the kiss, placing your hand on his chest.

“Absolutely not. Your hands hurt. Let me take care of you this morning.” You chuckle and hop off the counter, grabbing the collar of his shirt, tugging him out of the bathroom and towards the bed, and of course, he follows without hesitation.

“Of course~”

**********

[holidayinhell]

CWs: captivity Whump, failed escape Whump.

“I know you have it.”

Whumper outstretched his palm. “Hand it over.”

Whumpee hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes flickering with defiance and defeat.

As soon as Whumpee dropped the box cutter into his hand, Whumper’s fingers snapped closed around it. His cold gaze fell over the flimsy weapon with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, just before tucking the cheap plastic knife into his back pocket. 

He shook his head in quiet disbelief.

“Oh, Whumpee…” he sighed.

Whumpee’s cheeks burned with shame. He never intended to use the box cutter maliciously. Or, at least, he knew he would never be capable of killing Whumper. He didn’t have a plan, he never did, he just needed to feel secure before he trying to find a way out of this fucking place.

After all, he was scheduled to die tomorrow. Surely Whumper didn’t expect him to accept his fate willingly. He had to fight back in order to stay alive.

“Sorry.” Whumpee whispered. 

He had so much to say, yet that was all that came out.

“Yeah.” Whumper murmured, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry…” Whumpee’s voice cracked. “Really, I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I, I don’t even think I could…”

“Sure, Whumps. I get it.” Whumper said in a soft, reassuring voice. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, exhaling. “You’ve been through a lot, I know.”

Whumpee’s shoulders sagged and he looked up at Whumper, searching his eyes for an ounce of compassion.

“But you fucked up big time.”

Whumpee’s breath hitched as he heard Whumper’s tone harden, the last trace of sympathy evaporating.

“Get up, Whumpee. I need you to turn around for me.”

His tone made it clear that any illusion of mercy was gone.

“Please. I’m sorry.”  Whumpee’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, panic bubbling in his chest. “I’ll do anything you want from here out, I’ll be good, I’ll listen--” 

Whumper laughed, a low, bitter sound. “Doesn’t make much of a difference now.”

“Turn around.”

“Please, just, give me a break. Just tonight. It’s my last night, I, I won’t try anything, please I swear to you!” Whumpee’s composure shattered as he choked out the words. “J-just, please, let me have tonight...”

“No.”

His gaze settled on Whumpee’s tear-streaked face.

“Sorry, Whumpee. You fucked up."

Whumper locked a pair of zip ties together behind Whumpee’s back. He instructed Whumpee to climb onto his cot, and made quick work of locking his ankles together too.

Tears gushed down Whumpee’s cheeks as the plastic ties snapped snugly into place.

“A box cutter. Really Whumpee?” Whumper’s grin grew, savoring the irony. “You risked it all, and that was your weapon of choice?”

Whumpee’s throat tightened, dread coiling in his stomach. His shoulders ached from the forced position, but he barely noticed, his mind was consumed with absolute terror. He could barely bring himself to look up as Whumper loomed over him.

“I’d laugh if it wasn’t so goddamn pitiful.” The tall man’s voice dripped with contempt. “The worst part is, well, I was gonna go easy on ya tomorrow. I picked up some good painkillers and booze to make it more comfortable for you.”

"You did?" Whumpee’s voice quivered, the hope fading from his eyes. “...really?”

“Heh, yeah. I wasn’t even going to tie you up.” 

Whumper leaned in, his tone dropping to a menacing whisper. “But now, comfort is off the table.”

Tears streamed down Whumpee’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean t--”

“But you did,” Whumper cut him off. “You did, and you went and fucked it all up didn’t ya?”

“I thought you liked me...” Whumpee mumbled, his words nearly swallowed by his own shame. “...don’t do this.”

Whumper shook his head as he rose to his feet. “It’s okay. You can still sleep on your side.”

“Whumper! PLEASE!”

“I can’t help you.” 

Whumper’s figure cast a long dark shadow across the wall next to the cot. 

Whumpee watched as the tall silhouette crossed into the light, swinging the heavy door closed with a thud, submerging Whumpee in total blackness.

((more Whump oneshots))

[mattsobvimyfav]

roommate (matthew sturniolo)

pt 20-

I led Matt upstairs to my room, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the space.

I handed him a pair of my dad’s old sweatpants and a hoodie, figuring he’d be more comfortable in something other than his jeans and shirt. “Here,” I said.

“Thanks,” Matt replied, she started to slip out of his close and i caught myself in a trance staring at him as he took his shirt off. I quickly snapped out of it grabbing my own pajamas—a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts, i finished changing and got into my bed, pulling the covers over me.

Matt turned to me as I took in his appearance, his hair slightly messy from pulling the hoodie on. He smiled as he walked over to the bed. “Alright, where do you want me?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Just get in, dickhead,” I said, patting the spot next to me. He climbed in, and we both settled under the blankets, the room growing quiet except for the sound of our breathing.

It didn’t take long for Matt to shift closer, his arm slipping around my waist. “You good?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, though my heart was racing.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine softly at first, then with more purpose. I kissed him back, melting into the moment as his hand slid up my side. My skin tingled under his touch, and for a second, I let myself get lost in it. But then his hand dipped lower, brushing the hem of my shorts, and reality hit me like a freight train.

I pulled back abruptly, sitting up and pushing his hand away. “Matt, no,” I said, my voice shaky but firm.

He looked at me, confused and slightly hurt. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up as well.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Matt. Not yet,” I said, looking down at my hands.

“Why not?” he asked softly, his tone more curious than frustrated.

I looked up at him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Because I don’t trust you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, a mix of guilt and regret crossing his face. “Y/N…” he started, but I shook my head.

“You told me I was a mistake, Matt,” I said, my voice breaking. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget it. I’ve been trying to, but it still hurts. And now, with everything that’s happened… I just don’t know if I can trust you”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I know I screwed up,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I didn’t mean it when I said that. I was just scared and being stupid. But I promise, I wouldn’t do that to you again. I care about you.”

I looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes almost breaking me. “I want to believe you, Matt,” I said, my voice trembling. “But I need time. I need to feel like I can trust you completely before we take things any further.”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to take my hand. “I’ll wait as long as you need,” he said softly. “I’m all in if you’ll let me be..”

“Really?,” I whispered, confused at what he meant.

“Yes y/n. I’ll stop. all the girls. All the hook ups. Just us.” He looked into my eyes and for the first time I actually believed him.

We laid back down, Matt wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my back into his chest. I let my thoughts wonder about what it would be like to give Matt a real chance and see if he could truly change after I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes blinked open slowly, and I realized Matt’s arm was slung across my waist, his face buried in the pillow beside mine. His even breaths tickled my neck, and I smiled softly at the peaceful expression on his face.

Last night’s conversation played through my mind, The breakthrough we’d had, the honesty, the vulnerability—it felt good. It felt real.

Matt shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open. When he noticed me watching him, a sleepy grin spread across his face. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, feeling warmth bloom in my chest.

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Better than I have in a while,” I admitted, my smile widening.

“Good,” he said, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “Smells like something’s cooking downstairs.”

I sniffed the air, the faint scent of bacon and coffee wafting into the room. My eyes lit up. “Dad must be making breakfast.”

We both got out of bed and quickly threw on some comfy clothes before heading downstairs. Sure enough, my dad was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while the radio played softly in the background. He looked up when he saw us and grinned.

“Good morning, kids,” he greeted, gesturing toward the table where plates of bacon, eggs, and fresh fruit were already laid out. “I figured I’d make a proper breakfast since we’ve got company.”

Matt beamed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. It smells amazing.”.

We sat down at the table, and Matt immediately started piling food onto his plate. “Your dad’s already winning major points,” he whispered to me, making me laugh.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” I said, my heart swelling with affection as I watched my dad work.

When my dad finally joined us at the table, the three of us fell into easy conversation. Matt told my dad some funny stories about college life, and my dad shared a few embarrassing tales from when I was a kid, much to my dismay. Matt laughed so hard he nearly choked on his coffee, and despite my protests, I couldn’t help but smile at how natural it all felt.

As breakfast wound down, my dad clapped Matt on the shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime, kid,” he said warmly.

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Matt replied, his sincerity evident.

I glanced between the two of them, my heart full as I realized just how lucky I was. This was what I’d been missing—these simple, happy moments.

After breakfast, Matt and I headed back upstairs. As I rummaged through my bag for an outfit, Matt leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with a lazy smile.

“You still up for Black Friday shopping?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, pulling out a pair of black leggings and my favorite oversized hoodie. “Just promise not to ditch me if it gets too crazy.”

He laughed. “Deal. Though I’m pretty sure you could hold your own in a shopping brawl.”

I smirked, tossing my Uggs onto the bed. “You’d be surprised.”

After slipping into my outfit, I brushed my hair into a sleek ponytail and dabbed on some tinted moisturizer. Matt gave me an approving nod as I threw my bag over my shoulder.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Matt’s house was quick and quiet, the town still buzzing from Thanksgiving festivities. Nick was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while Justin was in the kitchen, pouring himself a coffee.

“I’m gonna head upstairs and change,” Matt said, tossing his keys onto the counter. “You good here?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” I said, waving him off.

I wandered into the living room, where Justin had settled onto one of the armchairs with his coffee. He looked up and gave me a grin.

“Y/N,” he said, setting his mug down. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, Matt roped me into Black Friday shopping,” I said with a laugh, sitting down across from him.

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Brave of you. Matt’s got no patience for crowds.”

“I’ll survive,” I joked. “How have you been?”

We fell into easy conversation, talking about everything from school to his latest projects. Justin’s laid-back demeanor was infectious, and I found myself laughing more than I had in weeks.

Matt came bounding down the stairs, now dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. “Ready to go?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the counter.

“Yup,” I said, standing up.

Justin gave me a knowing look as we headed for the door. “Good luck,” he called out, grinning.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Matt held the door open for me.

Matt and I spent the entire day navigating the Black Friday madness, though surprisingly, the crowds weren’t as bad as I’d expected. We started at the mall, where every store seemed to have a massive “50% Off” sign in the windows.

The first store we went into was a shoe store. Matt immediately gravitated toward the Ugg section, spotting a pair of chocolate brown Ultra Minis that caught his attention.

“These are cute,” he said, holding them up.

“They are,” I agreed, but when he walked up to the cashier with them, I nearly lost it. “Matt, no. I don’t need new Uggs!”

“They’re half off,” he said with a shrug, ignoring my protests.

“But I already have a pair!”

“Yeah, and now you’ll have two.” He handed over his card before I could argue further.

I groaned but couldn’t help the small smile on my face. “You’re impossible.”

He just grinned and handed me the bag. “Merry early Christmas.” He kissed my cheek and I couldn’t help but blush.

After leaving the shoe store, we focused on getting gifts for our parents. At a cozy boutique, I found a padigonia sweatshirt that was perfect for my dad. Matt picked out a sleek leather wallet for Jimmy and a set of fancy coffee mugs for Mary Lou.

At one point, we stopped in a home goods store, where Matt dragged me over to the holiday display.

“Do you think my mom would like this?” he asked, holding up a set of Christmas-themed dish towels.

I laughed. “I think she’d appreciate the thought, but let’s find something a little more her style.”

By the time we finished, we had bags filled with thoughtful gifts for everyone.

We had gone too about five different stores in total, from clothing boutiques to a sporting goods store where Matt found something for Justin.

At one point, as we were walking through the mall, I nudged him. “You know, for someone who claims to hate shopping, you’re pretty into this.”

He laughed. “I don’t hate shopping, I hate waiting and people. There’s a difference.”

After hours of walking, we took a break in the food court, sharing a giant pretzel and some lemonade. Matt insisted on dipping the pretzel in cheese, while I stuck with mustard.

“You’re missing out,” he teased, holding up a cheese-drenched piece.

“I’ll survive,” I shot back with a grin.

By the time we finished, the trunk of Matt’s car was packed with bags, and we were both exhausted. On the drive back, I leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Thanks for everything today,” I said softly, glancing at him.

He looked over briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime. We have to get back for the video though. We are reading fanfictions about ourselves and your judging them”

My eyes widened and I started laughing “I’m going to read them about you in my free time” I winked at him

“I know, your obsessed with me.” He clapped back.

A couple of hours later, I found myself squished into the back seat of Matt’s car next to Nick, his phone already in hand as he searched for fanfics. Matt was in the driver’s seat, adjusting the camera angle on the dashboard, while Chris sat in the passenger seat, looking less than thrilled about what was about to unfold.

“Nick, this is a bad idea,” Chris groaned, throwing his head back against the seat.

“Bad ideas make great content,” Nick said with a grin, turning his phone to show me the first story. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” I said, smirking.

Matt glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t let him corrupt you. These are going to be awful.”

“That’s the point,” I replied with a laugh, Matt his the record button.

Nick started dramatically: “Matt was in the library, headphones on, lost in his music. He didn’t notice her at first, the girl with the messy bun and oversized sweater, until she dropped her books. He rushed to help her, their hands brushing as they reached for the same book. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks pink. Matt froze. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.”

Chris immediately burst out laughing. “Matt? In a library? I don’t buy it.”

Matt shook his head, covering his face. “I can’t believe people think I’m this smooth.”

“You are baby trust me” I winked at Matt causing him to smirk at me in the rear view.

Nick continued, grinning. “‘I, uh… like your sweater,’ Matt stammered. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.’”

“Okay, okay, pause,” I interrupted, laughing. “This gets a 5/10. Cute, but way too unrealistic. No way Matt’s heart skips a beat over a sweater.”

Matt turned in his seat to look at me. “Maybe it was you wearing the sweater.”

Nick pulled up another one and started reading. “Chris had seen her before, the girl who lived in the apartment next door. She always left her door open just enough for the scent of cookies to waft through the hallway. One night, he knocked on her door, pretending to need sugar. When she smiled at him, holding out a bowl, he thought, ‘This might be the sweetest face I’ve ever seen.’”

Matt snorted. “Chris, cookies? Really?”

Chris groaned. “This is so dumb. Why am I the guy knocking on someone’s door?”

Nick kept reading, barely holding back his laughter. “‘You should come by sometime,’ she said shyly. Chris found himself grinning like an idiot. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Maybe I will.’”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll give this one a 6/10 for effort, but She should not be just leaving her door open.”

Chris turned around to look at me. “Very true”

Nick smirked as he opened the last fanfic. “Alright, this one’s spicy. It’s a love triangle with Matt and Chris both falling for the same girl.”

“Oh, God,” Matt muttered.

Nick began: “‘She was unlike anyone Matt had ever met. Smart, funny, and completely unbothered by his antics. Chris, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about her smile. One night at a party, Matt cornered Chris in the kitchen. ‘Stay away from her,’ Matt growled. Chris smirked. ‘You’re just mad because she likes me more.’”

Chris groaned loudly, throwing his hands up. “God y/n they wrote a whole fanfic about you” Nick started hysterically laughing.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Woah watch it. This one gets a 9/10. The tension is hilarious.”

Matt shook his head, trying not to laugh. “This is so dumb.”

“But entertaining,” I said, still grinning.

By the time Nick finished, my cheeks hurt from laughing. “Alright, guys, that’s it for today,” Nick said into the camera. “Make sure to like, comment, and subscribe. And keep sending these fanfics, because they’re pure gold.”

Matt turned off the camera, sighing. “I don’t know why we let you do this.”

“Because it’s funny,” I said, nudging Nick.

Chris leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, funny for you. Embarrassing for us.”

Nick shrugged. “That’s the price of content.”

As we sat in the car, still laughing from the ridiculous fanfics, I pulled out my phone and typed out a message to Matt.

Y/N: Wanna have another sleepover?

I hit send and glanced up, catching Matt’s subtle smirk through the rearview mirror. He pulled his phone out of the cupholder, glanced at the screen, and his smirk grew wider.

He texted back quickly:

Matt: Say less.

I bit back a smile, locking my phone as Nick and Chris kept debating over which fanfic was the most cringe-worthy.

“Alright, guys,” Matt announced, putting the car into drive. “I’m dropping you two off at home first.”

Nick whipped his head toward Matt. “What? Why? I thought we were hanging out?”

“Change of plans,” Matt said nonchalantly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Chris narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What’s the real reason, huh?”

Matt shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “No real reason. Just figured you two could use some rest.”

Nick groaned. “Fine.”

Chris crossed his arms, mumbling under his breath. “Whatever.”

I leaned back in my seat, hiding my smile as the car filled with more playful bickering. Matt met my eyes briefly through the mirror, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that made my stomach flip.

[moghraidhs]

because i cannot stop thinking about it, have a bikeriders fic :)

crossposted on ao3.

Johnny's awake when he hears the knock.

He's always been a light sleeper; since the war, light sleeping has turned into the occasional night of no sleep whatsoever. Betty had called it "insomnia", whatever the fuck that is. To him it just means staring at the ceiling until sunrise.

He gets out of bed. Betty's still fast asleep. The knock isn't heavy enough or loud enough to be a Vandal, so it must be something else.

Briefly, he thinks about that punk kid from Brucie's funeral. Mean look in his eyes. He could be standing on the porch right now, waiting with a knife in hand.

Johnny's vaguely surprised by how little the thought bothers him.

He goes downstairs and opens the door.

Benny stands on the porch, one foot already on the steps as if he was in the middle of leaving. Lit up in the yellow glow of the streetlights, he looks for all the world like a hallucination. A memory of the worst night of Johnny's life.

But it's cold outside, and Johnny had heard the knock, so this must be real. Right?

"Hey, kid," he says quietly, not wanting to scare away this maybe-hallucination. And doesn't that just make him the most pitiful man in the world, clinging on to the imaginary vision after he'd driven the real thing away?

"Hey," Benny says, and that's when Johnny realises two things.

1) This is real.

2) Benny's hurt.

His face is angled away towards the street, and one arm is pressed against his middle, almost protectively.

The sight makes something inside Johnny howl. He doesn't want to think about why that is. Refuses to even consider it.

All he says is, "Come on in."

The injuries look even worse under the ugly yellow-white light in the kitchen, but maybe that's just Johnny's thinking. Two cuts, one across Benny's cheek and the other at his hairline, both needing stitches. His knuckles are wrapped up, which doesn't bode well, but he can move his fingers okay so nothing's broken.

"Who was it?" Johnny asks as he awkwardly threads the needle he'd stolen out of Betty's sewing kit. She'd always teased him about his hands. Big enough to cover the whole state.

Benny's hands are big too, but there's something almost fine about them. Those long, slim fingers of his look like they were made for playing a guitar or working with animals or something. Not bikeriding and getting into bare-knuckle fights.

Shut the fuck up, Johnny tells himself harshly just as Benny answers.

"Couple of guys in a bar." He doesn't even flinch as Johnny starts cleaning up the first cut. "It's fine."

Of course it's fine. Johnny's seen Benny in a fight half a dozen times, knows he can handle himself and then some.

None of that does a thing for the side of Johnny that wants to know exactly who and where and then call the others so he can go take care of it. So this never happens again.

He's getting fucking sentimental in his old age, that's the problem. Twenty years ago, someone like Benny wouldn't have made a dent in him. Wouldn't have been allowed to. Real men don't do that shit.

Real men. Johnny's lived through a war, a dozen motorcycle club rumbles, and now another war, and he still doesn't know what the fuck that means. Honestly, he's tired of trying to figure it out.

All he's wanted for the past six months is for Benny to come back. And now he's here, all Johnny can think of is how not to fuck up and make him leave again.

So he swallows the questions and stitches Benny up, carefully as possible. Benny doesn't make a sound the whole time, doesn't even wince as the needle slides in and out of his skin.

A real man. Or maybe someone who's so used to being hurt he doesn't feel it any more.

Johnny doesn't like thinking that last bit, doesn't like the way it makes him want to tear the room apart. He finishes stitching and starts to tidy up. "Your ribs okay?"

Benny nods, even though his arm is still pressed across his middle, the set of his shoulders the only other sign that he's in any kind of pain at all.

The temptation to push the issue threatens, and Johnny gets up. "Want some coffee?"

They sit at the table and drink in silence. After, Benny takes out his cigarettes and offers Johnny one. Johnny lights both of theirs and selfishly uses the opportunity to get a better look at Benny up close. Beating aside, he looks okay. A little tired, maybe. Definitely thinner. Not that Johnny cares. Why the fuck does he care?

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asks halfway through the first cigarette.

Benny nods. "Motel."

"Good. That's good."

Where were you? Are you staying? Are we okay now? The questions tumble over themselves in Johnny's mind, demanding to be spoken.

He doesn't, of course. Being sentimental hasn't made him fucking stupid. He'd already fucked this up once.

A little bit of Benny is better than none at all.

They finish a couple of cigarettes each before Benny gets up to leave. Johnny walks him to the porch. He's surprised to see the sky turning pink-grey, dawn on the horizon.

"Thanks, Johnny," Benny says. He'd looked beautiful enough at night. Dawn makes him look like a fucking angel, wounds and all. Fallen angel, maybe.

He's just a man, though. And so is Johnny, which is why he can't stop himself from asking, self control and fucking sentimentality be damned. "So, you gonna be around now?"

Benny looks up at him, and just for a second Johnny catches what looks like surprise in his eyes. "You want me?"

He sounds almost vulnerable, and it's for that reason and that reason alone that Johnny ignores the thoughts those three words put in his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You n' me, kid."

That gets him a lightning-swift, half-shy smile, which disappears almost as quickly as it came but leaves him speechless nonetheless. He watches as Benny walks back down the porch steps and climbs back on his bike. The growl of the machine cuts through the morning quiet, and then just like that he's gone, the street empty as if he had never been there at all.

The sun is coming up. Johnny smiles and heads inside.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [21] - Dandelions

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Misunderstandings can be easily fixed.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, slow burn.

Word Count: 4300

Series Masterlist

Oh.

So this was what happened when you drank way too much.

You could barely open your eyes from the headache pounding in your temples and spreading over your eyes, making you let out a groan and bury your head deeper into the pillow. You snuggled into the covers, your eyes squeezed shut but your ears picked up a slight noise coming from the other side of the room and you opened an eye as difficult as it felt.

Benedict was half sprawled over the sofa that looked quite small for his sleeping figure, his arm thrown over his eyes to block the light. You repressed a small giggle at his attempt to actually fit in there and rubbed at your eyes, pulling yourself up to sit on the bed.

“Benedict?”

He groaned in his sleep and as soon as he tried to roll over, he almost fell off the sofa, slamming a foot on the floor at the last minute to regain his balance while your hands shot up to your mouth.

“Jesus…” he muttered, running his hand through his messy hair as he sat up and you lowered your hands.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“You were very drunk,” he said, hiding a yawn behind his palm. “I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

You could feel the warmth spreading inside your ribcage and you tried to control your face.

“No I mean, what are you doing there on the sofa?”

“I didn’t…” he motioned at you. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. How do you feel?”

“Dead, kind of,” you admitted, massaging your temples. “My head hurts.”

“As expected.”

“Don’t look so smug,” you made a face at him and he held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “You’re totally fine I assume?”

“I’m more used to it,” he said. “And I didn’t drink as much as you.”

“Lucy may have been a bad influence.”

Benedict’s head shot up. “Hm?”

“Lucy Granville?” you said. “She’s impossible to beat at drinking, I’ll tell you that.”

“Uh huh.”

“Both gorgeous and fun,” you commented. “Henry is a lucky man.”

Benedict cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and you tilted your head.

“Don’t you think so?”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“That’s she’s gorgeous and fun?”

He swallowed thickly, “I didn’t—I—” he stammered, motioning between you. “Haven’t noticed. Did she say something to you?”

“Like what?” you asked and Benedict stared at you, then shook his head.

“Uh, nothing. Don’t mind me, I’m still trying to sober up.”

“I think I will like spending time with her at the parties,” you mused and Benedict pressed his lips together, nodding his head.

“Wonderful,” he muttered and you leaned back to the headboard.

“How did you two meet again?”

“We um—we met through Henry,” he said. “At a party.”

“Was it a fun one?”

“…You could say that,” he said, averting his gaze. “Not the aftermath for sure though.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

You slipped a little into the covers, rubbing at your forehead and Benedict stood up from the sofa, then walked to the door to open it to say something to the maid that was passing by. You stared at his handsome figure, raking your eyes over his body hungrily, and looked elsewhere as soon as he turned his gaze to you.

“I know the cure for the aftermath of a long night of drinking, but you’re not going to like it.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Oh God,” you said. “How bad?”

Benedict grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“Very,” he said. “Very bad.”

                                                      *

Benedict’s cure for the headache after a party was quite possibly the worst thing you had ever drunk, a mixture of raw eggs and garlic. Even the thought of it made you grimace, but for what it was worth, it had worked very well. Towards the afternoon, around the time Charlotte was supposed come so that you two could go to the park, you were feeling much better already.

And your thoughts from the last couple of days were back in full force.

You would have been lying if you said the thought of Lady Margery smiling at him didn’t make you fill with so much fury. Though you knew very well that Benedict was attractive, it didn’t make things any easier, especially when—

Especially when you kept having those dreams about him.

You were more than aware just how much you desired him and luckily for you, you had an idea about how to solve this problem.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your ears as you bit inside your cheek, trying to hold onto the smallest sign of confidence within you. You lingered at the top of the stairs, pressing a hand over your chest before you swallowed thickly and threw your shoulders back then made your way to Benedict’s studio.

His head shot up from the painting he was working on as soon as you knocked on the doorframe.

“Hello there,” he said, giving you that lopsided grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “Feeling better?”

“Mm hm, your disgusting drink worked,” you said, leaning sideways to the doorframe as you crossed your arms. “Even though I have zero idea how.”

“I don’t know how it works either,” he said. “I thought you and Charlie were going on a picnic.”

“She should be here soon enough,” you said. “Before I leave though…”

“Dinner with your family tonight,” he said, nodding his head. “No worries, I didn’t forget.”

“Great,” you said. “I’ll probably go straight there from the picnic, just so you know.”

“Alright,” he said. “We said eight but I should be there at..?”

“Seven forty-five,” you said. “My uncle is incredibly punctual.”

“And flowers for your aunt, she likes lavenders.”

“Mm hm,” you said. “And for my uncle—”

“Already got a box of cigars,” Benedict finished your sentence for you. “I was going to ask you, should I get something for Josie as well?”

You made a face. “Not at all.”

“Teddy?” he asked. “Because I already got him some art supplies, so I don’t know if I should bring those or keep it as a surprise here for when he visits.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Art supplies?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sculpting stuff, you said he likes that.”

You could swear your heart melted but you frowned, trying to focus.

“Uh, let’s keep it here for when he visits,” you said. “Thank you though.”

“Of course,” he said with a small smile. “So, any tips on how to charm Josie?”

“You could charm a goddamn tree obviously, you’ll be fine,” you said. “But Bess likes Shakespeare, you could go from there.”

“Good idea.”

“And uh…” you hissed in a breath. “Andrew likes Byron.”

Benedict grimaced before grabbing his tea cup on the small coffee table. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks for the warning.”

“Anytime,” you said and pursed your lips together. “And after dinner, do we—do you have plans?”

“I thought we were coming back home?” he said. “But I mean, if you want to go out—”

“No no,” you said. “I actually had something else in mind.”

“Like what?”

You took a deep breath, trying to appear nonchalant as he took another sip of his tea.

“I was thinking we could consummate.”

He choked on the tea he was drinking and started coughing while you pulled your brows together, tilting your head.

“Are you dying?” you asked, trying to ignore your own nervousness with sarcasm. “Because it would be pretty inconsiderate to do so right now—”

“I thought you changed your mind about being a widow,” he managed to croak out, and you frowned.

“I did!”

“Why are you trying to kill me then?”

“I’m not doing such a thing!”

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“I’m completely serious,” you said and he pulled back.

“…What?”

“Yeah I mean,” you said, your thoughts whirling in your head like a hurricane. “We could if you’re—if it’s fine with you. We’re—” you motioned between you two. “We’re married after all.”

Benedict stared at you and you shrugged your shoulders, trying to keep your expression calm.

“It’s no issue, we could just get it over with.”

A flash of sadness crossed over his handsome face and he kept his gaze on you for a moment.

“Get it over with,” he repeated and you nodded.

“Might as well, all the married couples are doing it,” you thought for a moment. “Or unmarried couples now that I think about it.”

“Y/N.”

“So tonight when we come back is fine for me in terms of time, does it work for you?”

Benedict scoffed a bitter laugh, looking down at the brush before raising his glances again. “Very romantic.”

You made a face.

“That’s not a funny joke,” you quoted him and he raised his brows, nodding slowly.

“Is this how you want it to happen then?” he asked, his voice distant all of a sudden. “No feelings involved?”

“Why would there be any feelings involved?” you asked back, ignoring the way your stomach did an excited flip and his jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Why indeed?”

“You said it yourself it’s usually just fun, nothing more,” you insisted as he shook his head slightly. “And you’ve done it multiple times so I figured—”

“I can’t,” his voice cut through yours. “Not with you.”

Oh.

It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar with the idea of rejection, your whole life had been a string of rejections one after the other, so you had no idea why this one held so much power in it that it actually, physically hurt your heart, as if it was in fact breaking.

Which was ridiculous.

You didn’t have a heart.

The shock must have been apparent on your expression for once because a look of realization dawned on Benedict’s face and he took a step towards you.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Hello, is anyone home?” Charlotte’s sweet voice echoed through the hallway and you turned your head to see her enter the hallway, a smile lighting up her face immediately. She skipped her steps as she approached you.

“Good afternoon!”

There was a lump in your throat but you managed to smile back at her. “Hello Lottie.”

“And hello to you too,” she grinned at Benedict and motioned at the canvas. “Are you working on something new? May I see it?”

“Uh, Charlie could you give us a moment please?” Benedict said and Charlotte tilted her head and opened her mouth but you beat her to it.

“That’s not necessary,” you told her. “We can go.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll uh…I’ll see you at dinner,” you said without so much as looking at Benedict and walked past Charlotte to get away from Benedict as fast as possible. Charlotte rushed to catch up with you, a small frown on her brows.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh definitely,” you managed to say, blinking back the tears. “Let’s just go.”

                                                   *

Benedict did not want you.

In that way or another.

The thought wasn’t supposed to be as painful as it was let alone making your chest hurt. This wasn’t even a real marriage, and he was surrounded by ladies who were nicer or prettier or had more artistic talents, so you had to have been a complete idiot to entertain that idea.

Falling for your own trick, what a foolish thing to do.

It was alright though. You were just going to act as if nothing had happened, and never bring this up ever again.

“…So then they stopped watching the play altogether and were pushing at each other until Tony made them stop,” Charlotte said, making you snap out of your thoughts. “I’m telling you, Gregory and my youngest brother Jack cannot even decide whether they’re best friends or enemies at this point.”

You nodded slowly. “They’ll get along well in the future I’m sure.”

“I hope so,” she said and you stole a look at her.

“Lottie?”

“Yes?”

“Was it Anthony’s idea or your idea to take the kids to the play?”

“Oh, Tony’s idea!” she said. “He always has wonderful ideas.”

You tried not to make a face, pursing your lips. “Uh huh,” you said. “So it was just the two of you?”

“Well, surrounded by the rest of the ton and a bunch of siblings.”

“And do you two always…enjoy each other’s company?”

“I always enjoy his company,” she said with a bright smile and you tilted your head.

“Do you?”

“Well yes, of course.”

“Enough to want him to court you?”

Her eyes widened and she pulled back slightly. “Y/N!”

“What?” you asked. “It’s just a question.”

She paused for a moment and averted her gaze from you to fix the embroidery hoop in her lap.

“Tony would never consider me as a lady to court,” she muttered, and even you could tell the sadness laced in her tone, making you pull your brows together.

“Lottie.”

“No it’s true,” she said and lifted her head, trying to smile. “He only sees me as Benedict’s best friend.”

“I highly doubt that,” you said. “Benedict has many friends, I haven’t seem Anthony trying to take them to plays and such?”

“No I think—” she paused for a moment. “I think it’s also because he feels guilty.”

“About?”

“Well you see, everyone thought Benedict and I were in a courtship, which we were not,” she added quickly. “And we told everyone that, but they didn’t believe us.”

“Benedict mentioned that.”

“Yes and the ton still talks,” she said and a painful smile curled your lips.

“That I stole him from you,” you murmured. “Yeah. Hasn’t escaped my attention.”

“You have not,” Charlotte said. “Benedict is like a brother to me, we’ve never considered each other as a marriage prospect. And you two are in love!”

A bitter scoff escaped from you and you clicked your tongue.

“Yeah,” you managed to say. “Mm hm. Sure.”

“And you know, Tony is the head of the family and now with these rumors about Benny giving me hopes to abandon me out of nowhere, as silly as they are, surely reached him. So I think by spending more time with me than before, he makes sure to stop the ton from assuming anything.”

“I don’t think that’s the only reason Lottie.”

“It is,” she insisted. “Tony is…I will not even consider such a thought. His future Viscountess will be a perfect lady and I’m not perfect I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Lottie, Anthony would be the luckiest man in the world to marry you. I honestly don’t believe he deserves you but if you want him—”

“Let’s not talk of it,” Lottie cut you off. “Please. I don’t want to get my hopes up by your kindness.”

“I’m not kind,” you said. “I don’t know why both you and Benedict insist on believing that, but I never say things I do not mean.”

Lottie let out a laugh and squeezed at your hand.

“Perhaps we’re one of the very few you’re kind to?”

“Nonsense,” you brushed her off. “But alright, I won’t insist any longer as you wish, on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You will tell me about your newest story.”

A smile lit up her beautiful face and she nodded fervently.

“Oh, gladly!”

                                                       *

It wasn’t as if you expected this dinner to be completely comfortable and easy, but your conversation back at your own home had made everything much more tense for you. By the time Benedict got to your aunt and uncle’s house, you had already made sure to look busy and stayed in the drawing room. Benedict was obviously looking forward to get you alone to talk to you and it was apparent all over his body language, his eyes stealing glances at you even while he was talking to your uncle in the drawing room but you ignored him, making conversation with Bess.

When it was time for the dinner, you and Benedict were of course seated together and even though the urge to look at him was very strong, you managed to control yourself.

“Benedict, thank you so much for the flowers!” your aunt said as the soup started being served and he smiled at her sweetly.

“I got some help, Lady Thorne.”

“I figured,” she said, winking at you and you smiled back, trailing your spoon in the soup. Teddy sat up straighter in his seat.

“Uncle, Benedict says I could become an artist!” he said and your uncle let out a small laugh.

“Does he now?”

“Absolutely,” Benedict said. “Teddy, Y/N and I have a surprise for you when you come to visit us next time.”

Teddy gasped. “A surprise!?”

“Mm hm.”

“Y/N, what is it?!”

“That’s the thing about surprises Teddy,” you smiled at his little excited face. “It’s for when you visit, but I promise you that you will like it.”

“Speaking of artists,” Bess said. “Benedict, you must tell us everything.”

“Y/N says you’re planning on applying for Academy in the future?” Andrew asked and Benedict nodded.

“Uh, next year yes.”

“He already has many admirers, or at least the ones who were fortunate enough to see his art,” your aunt said and Benedict chuckled.

“You’re too kind, Lady Thorne.”

Josie frowned slightly, looking between you two while you trailed your spoon in the soup, then shot her a quizzical look when you felt her glances on you. She raised her brows and turned to Benedict but Bess had already noticed the look on her face so she beat her to it.

“Where do you get your inspiration from, Benedict?” she asked with a smile. “I’ve read so many works of artists, they all say different things. What’s yours?”

Benedict covered your hand with his and held it up a little, making your aunt let out an “aww!”

“That’s so romantic!” Bess said, turning to Josie, “Jo, don’t you think so?”

“Artists are required to be romantic I think, Bess.”

“Debatable,” Andrew said. “I think they’re just required to be talented.”

“Talent and love go hand in hand, one would say,” Bess said while you subtly pulled your hand out of Benedict’s, making him turn to look at you while you reached out to grab your glass to take a sip.

It was insincere and fake, all of it.

But at least now you knew it was. Now you knew he was absolutely faking it, and that he had the ability to do so, just like you.

You two made the best pretend couple in the ton, and that was saying something.

“Artists have fleeting loves, everyone knows that,” Josie commented and tilted her head at Benedict. “With exceptions, I hope.”

“Jo!”

“Otherwise—”

“Josie,” you cut her off and she shrugged her shoulders.

“What?”

“Let’s not threaten people at dinner, Josie?” your uncle said. “I’m sure Benedict is one of those exceptions.”

“I am,” Benedict said. “I absolutely am, I assure you. Y/N is the love of my life, you have no reason to worry.”

Well you had to give it to him, for a person who did not desire you at all, he definitely sounded convincing.

You scoffed and took another sip of your drink, then placed your glass on the table.

“Have you two decided on where to go for your honeymoon after the season is over?”

“We decided yesterday actually,” Benedict said. “We will go to Rome.”

“Oh I love Rome!”

“So do I!” Bess said. “It’s gorgeous, you will love it Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, swirling the drink in your glass.

“Yeah,” you said, not even wanting to think about just how awkward that honeymoon was going to be. “I can’t wait.”

                                            *

After the dinner was over and it was time for you to go back home, you were so nervous that you could barely focus on anything other than how your heart was pounding in your ears. Thankfully your house was close to your uncle’s, so even though Benedict looked like he wanted to start a conversation in the carriage, he decided otherwise, probably because he was under the impression that you would throw yourself out of the carriage to avoid that conversation.

And it wasn’t exactly the wrong impression.

So when the carriage stopped, you immediately got out without waiting for the coachman to open the door or for Benedict to help you out, and made your way up the marble stairs leading up to the front door to the house.

“Y/N—”

“Good night,” you said as you stepped into the house and started climbing the stairs to get to the hallway, your heart still pacing in your chest quite fast. He heaved a sigh, following you.

“Can we just—”

“Benedict this is not necessary,” you said as you reached the hallway but he got in front of you before you could take another step, making you frown.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to talk.”

“We really don’t,” you said and he ran a hand over his face.

“We do,” he said. “I know how it sounded but…”

“You have no obligation to explain yourself,” you said as you walked past him. “In fact, I’d rather if you didn’t and we could pretend that conversation did not take place.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“I’m not interested in that conversation I’m afraid,” you said when you reached your room but to your surprise, Benedict followed you inside. You took a deep breath and crossed your arms, turning to look at him.

“I assure you I have no bitter feelings,” you said. “If that’s your worry. It’s fine, you don’t want me and now that it’s clear, we can move on.”

He pulled his brows together. “What?”

“Yeah you can go and sleep with whoever it is you want,” you said, ignoring the bitter taste in your mouth. “Lady Margery I suppose?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Go be with a mistress of your choosing,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “That was the plan anyway—”

“That was never the plan for me,” he cut you off and you rolled your eyes, walking to your vanity to take off your bracelet.

“Sure,” you muttered. “Mm hm.”

“Jesus, you really can’t see it can you?” he asked, incredulousness apparent in his voice and you placed the bracelet on the vanity, stealing a look at him in the mirror. “It’s beyond me how someone so smart can be so damn clueless.”

You narrowed your eyes and turned around to glare at him.

“What?” you asked. “Do enlighten me, what do I not see?”

“You—”

“I’m honestly not offended or anything that you do not want me, what I don’t understand is why you keep trying to talk about this when I told you specifically—”

“Y/N.”

“That I don’t wish to have this conversation!” you continued as if he hadn’t interrupted you. “It’s fine, you’re an artist and your interest in me was going to fade away eventually, the only problem here is that we ended up getting married before it faded away so I don’t—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The impact of his words was immediate on you. That was more than enough to make you fall silent, your heartbeat echoing in your ears so loud that for a moment that was the only thing you could hear as you stared at him, at a loss for words.

“But you were saying something about my interest fading?” he said almost in a taunting manner, his eyes locked in yours, the light in them so intense that it made your face burn as he motioned at you to continue. “Go ahead, what was it?”

It took you a couple of seconds before the complete disbelief took over the control of your mouth.

“You’re lying,” the accusation left your lips quite easily and Benedict raised his brows.

“Am I?” he asked, his voice completely calm unlike yours and you swallowed thickly, pursing your lips to glare at him.

“I don’t know why but that’s a lie,” you shot back. “A cruel one at that.”

Benedict shook his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe you and crossed his arms.

“You don’t think it’s killing me to be close to you only when we’re with other people?” he asked. “You don’t think it’s the worst kind of torture to know that we only pretend for the other people yet I want to believe it’s real?”

You could feel the burning at the back of your eyes while you dug your fingernails into your palms, your head spinning.

“The difference between you and me is that I married the person I’m in love with and you didn’t,” he said, a pang of pain seeping through his voice. “That’s why I can’t. Because even if it will mean nothing to you—”

“I didn’t say it would mean nothing to me,” you managed to rasp out and a bitter smile curled his lips.

“No,” he admitted. “But you can’t say it will mean something to you either, can you?”

You clenched your teeth, trying to keep calm.

“You can’t ask me that,” you said, half pleading and half commanding. He pressed his lips together, his gaze turning soft for a moment before he nodded.

“Then let me clear out any misunderstandings you might possibly have,” he said gently. “I want you more than you could possibly imagine, but I’m not going to touch you until you are in love with me.”

You blinked a couple of times in confusion, staring at him and he shrugged his shoulders, offering you a small smile.

“Sweet dreams Y/N,” he said and walked through the door connecting your room to his before closing it behind him, leaving you there completely dumbfounded.

You let out a breath, your gaze still fixed on the door before you leaned back to the vanity, burying your face into your palms.

Chapter 22

[piftamere]

sixteen - covering my ears (wc : 972)

she's strolling through the aisles of the convenience store, her head pounding from one drink too many last night. she has pieces to finish for her exhibit in two weeks, pieces she promised herself she’d work on today, but the thought of picking up a brush right now feels impossible. she’s on a mission to find taiyaki to cure her hangover, but she’s walked the store front and back three times and still hasn’t found it. she’s about to give up when she feels a light tap on her shoulder. she jumps, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. she silently curses the gods above before turning around to discover… atsumu's mom.

“hi sweetheart!” mrs. miya greets her, her voice warm but just a tad too loud for yn’s hungover brain to handle. “fancy running into you here!”

she blinks, rubbing the sleep, or lack thereof, out of her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating.

“mrs. miya? hi. yeah… small world.”

“small town.” mrs. miya corrects with a smile. “you look tired, dear. late night?

yn hesitates, “something like that. just... overdid it a little.”

“ah, to be young. and recovering with snacks, i see,” mrs. miya teases, eyeing the chips and energy drinks in the girl’s basket.

yn laughs awkwardly, “yeah, it’s a science. how are you?”

“great!” she chirps, but then pauses, it’s clear she’s dying to say something. “listen, i don’t want to overstep but… did you and tsumu have a fight? he’s been really down lately, and he changes the subject whenever i ask about you.”

yn freezes, the guilt suddenly hitting her like a truck. she uncomfortably shifts her weight on her feet, staring at her hands like a kid in trouble. “kinda.”

“i’m sorry to hear it. do you mind me asking what happened?”

yn swallows hard, unsure of what to say. she glances up at her and something about the woman’s reassuring presence cracks her defenses. she doesn’t know why, but she starts talking.

“it’s been a rough few weeks…” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

mrs. miya reaches out and places a soothing hand on yn’s shoulder. “are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

a lump forms in yn’s throat. she tries to shake it off but ends up letting out a shaky sigh instead. “i didn’t mean to… hurt him.”

“i‘m sure you didn’t, dear,” she replies, her voice kind as ever, holding back her questions to not sound too nosy. “sometimes life just gets messy, but talking to your mom always has a way of making things better.”

yn hesitates for a moment before the words slip out, “i’m not exactly close with my mother.”

they've never been close, and yet, in moments like these she can't help but want her mother. who she could have been, who she should have been. and it's frustrating because she knows that she shouldn't, that she doesn't have any reasons to want her, to love her, to want her mother to love her, in fact she has every reason not to. she knows that she's doing so much better without her in her life. but when something goes wrong, there's this small, childlike voice in her head that wishes she had a mom. she wishes her brain could accept that she'll never have that. and she feels like she'll be perpetually grieving the loss of her mother, the loss of the relationship with her mother, even though she is still alive.

“oh honey, why’s that?”

she takes a deep breath, her fingers gripping tightly the handle of her basket. her gaze drops to the floor as she feels her eyes sting, tears brimming in the corners. “it’s just- she always made me feel like i wasn’t good enough, no matter how hard i tried.” her voice falters. she leaves out on purpose her mother’s complicated relationship with alcohol, and her tendency for cruelty, not wanting to burden mrs. miya too much.

“family can be complicated,” she continues, gently, so kindly that yn’s not sure she deserves it. “not everyone is meant to be a mother, and not every mother knows how to show love the way their child needs.”

she mumbles, looking down, embarrassed. “i don’t know why i’m telling you all this.”

mrs. miya replies with a warm smile, “because you need someone to tell.”

yn lets out a small laugh, wiping her eyes quickly before anyone else in the store notices. “you’re really nice.”

“i’ve made my share of mistakes, dear. i try to learn from them. and i think you’re doing the best you can.”

“it doesn’t feel like enough.” the words tumble out before she can stop them. she shrugs, trying to mask the ache in her chest. she feels like she keeps messing up, and everyone around her is bound to realize that she’s a burden too heavy to carry for long. they have every right to be pissed at her, and she’s not sure why they keep putting up with her. and atsumu, there’s no way he’d want anything to do with her if he knew the truth. she feels cornered, by her actions, her lies, and the weight of it all is becoming far too much for her.

mrs. miya studies her for a moment before speaking. “sometimes it won’t be, but that doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

yn hesitates, taking in what the woman just told her, but doubt still lingers. “do you think i should talk to him?”

“that’s up to you, dear. but if you think there’s something worth fixing, don’t let fear stop you.”

yn’s shoulders relax a little and she nods, “thank you.”

“anytime. and get some rest, these energy drinks can only do so much.”

yn laughs a little, waving at mrs. miya as she heads off to the next aisle.

fun facts

hinata was the one who suggested staging an intervention

yn's been spending most of her time at her studio painting, at least she's more inspired than ever

she felt awful after seeing atsumu's mom and it brought back the guilt she had been trying to ignore

kiyoko doesn't care about the gc but she's worried that yn won't forgive her for her words

she thinks noya's plan won't work but she's at a loss for what to do

actually, noya is the only one who thinks his plan's gonna work

yachi's already written her apology for when yn finds out and kageyama is planning on buying her drinks to earn her forgiveness

author's note

before this i didn't know what "armchair psychology" was, who knew writing fanfiction would be bettering my english

the written part was supposed to be much shorter but i got too self indulgent oops

next part is going to be eventful eheh and we're getting close to the end👀👀

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

@alpha-mommy69 @bakugouswh0r3 @giocriedpower @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wondipity @iaminyourfloors @na0koz @from-mae @eusaevi @kr1nqu @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @thechaosoflonging @littlemiyastars @seikamuzu @nymphsdomain @r4veeen @shesabeeler @meekydeeks @justanotherweeb666 @bxbygurlisa @lvtilzs @fi-chanwrites

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[tw1l1te]

The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 8

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: depression, angst, mentions of mental health, some fluff

₊˚✩⊹

Sky tucks you in, placing another small cushion under your head to take a bit of pressure from your back, but it doesn’t relieve much pain.

“Need anything?” he asks, cradling your hands in his, so gently as if he was scared of hurting you more. You shake your head.

“Stay?” you ask.

He nods, a small smile on his face. He makes his way to the other side of the bed, slipping off his boots that he put on earlier. He wasn’t exactly dressed for the day when he experienced all of the commotion, so he was already in his sleeping tunic and pants.

Slipping under the covers, he faces you, examining your features for any possible open wounds or signs of discomfort.

“I can hear you panicking over me, Sky. I’m fine. Sore, but fine.” you say, glancing at him.

“Sorry.”

“You’re all good. Just don’t want you to be in even more stress, hell knows we don’t need more of it.”

You were both silent for a while. The only sounds being the occasional grunt from you or shuffling in the covers.

“What’s home like for you?” Sky asks.

Well that came out of the blue.

“What do you mean? Like in general or my life?”

He props himself up on his elbow, like Twilight did last night, but you shoo the the thought away quickly, not wanting to think about making out with your traveling partner.

“I guess more so your life. What’s it like, at least most recently?”

You think for a moment.

“Well, I go to school, college as they call it. I live in an apartment with my roommate with a dog and a cat, god knows how they even stand each other. I work at a bakery when I’m not in school, which is ran by my aunt. She’s kind of the only family I have, other than my pets, I guess.”

You smile before continuing, “Its nice back home, I miss it. Despite my past… i’m doing pretty ok right now. I hope to introduce you guys to my life someday, if its possible.” 

Sky smiles at that, “That’d be nice. I’d love to meet your aunt, she sounds kind.”

Another beat of silence.

“What about your parents?”

Sky notices your wince at the question, “Sorr-”

“It’s fine. They’re not around anymore. Weren’t the best towards me. That’s all.” you mumble, wanting to change the subject.

He nods, but something is off about his demeanor. He seems… upset. 

“Sky, hey, they’re not around anymore, they haven’t been since I was 15. It’s long in the past.”

He grasps your hands tighter, “But the fact that they treated you terribly, regardless of how long ago, is still horrible. You… didn’t deserve that. I wish I knew, so I could-”

“There’s literally no way you could’ve known, you could only barely hear me when I only played the game, much less hear me outside of it. Stop blaming yourself Sky, you carry so many burdens with you that shouldn’t be there in the first place.” your voice stern, but not because you were upset with him.

“It’s hard not to. I mean, I caused the curse to begin in the first place, consequently placing the burden on everyone else. In a way, it… is my fault.”

“You were young, Sky. You didn’t know, or ask for it. You can blame yourself as much as you want, but I saw what happened, and it wasn’t your fault.”

You both stayed silent for a while, processing. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me for telling the truth, Link.”

When evening rolls around the others wonder where Sky is, prompting a few of the members to come upstairs, anticipating the worst.

They find you asleep on Sky’s chest, hands grasping each other.

~

“Ok, what animal do you think you’d be? I’d be a big ass shark!” Wind exclaims.

“Language.” Wind just rolls his eyes.

“I think I’d be a fox: sly and cunning.” Wars states. 

“More like flirty and you hiss.” Twilight mumbles, earning a choked giggle from you.

“Says you! You’d probably be a mountain goat!” he exclaims, hand on his chest dramatically.

“You’re actually not far off, an Ordonian goat.” he says, smiling.

“Oh, shut up, cowboy.”

“Hmmm… I think I’d be a swallow or maybe a sparrow.” Sky mumbles, deep in thought.

“Suits you, birdbrain.” Legend says, sarcasm lacing his tone, Sky just shoots him a bored stare.

You roll your eyes, turning to Time, “How ‘bout you, Old man? Any ideas?”

He sighs, “Maybe a wolf, protective of family and travel in packs. Loyal and cautious.” 

You raise your eyebrow at him, turning to Twilight with a smile. He shrugs back at you.

What a coincidence. 

You turn to Legend with a teasing smile, “You’re definitely a rabbit. All bark, no bite.”

Legend guffaws at you, “H-How did you- why I’m offended Y/n! Really supportive of you, Mouse.”

You just laugh loudly, but it quickly follows with a sharp pain from your back, causing you to hiss with pain. The group around you gets silent, anticipating.

“Ah, ouch! Fucking ow- guys I’m fine, just laughed a bit too hard. Anyways, Wild? How about you?” you ask.

His expression still worried, he hesitates before answering “I-uh, I don’t really know. Never really thought about it.”

Hyrule pipes up, “I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like I’d be a goat. Not Ordonian, maybe more like the ones we saw in Hateno Village.”

Hums of agreement go around the group.

“Personally, I’m with Sky on the Sparrow. Probably because I’m part Minish.” Four says, crossing his arms while leaning back. He looks at you, “And, Y/n? What about you?”

All eyes were on you, anticipating your answer.

Just as you were about to answer, Legend beats you to it “Easy, a mouse. Ain’t that right, Mousey?”

You squeak in surprise, face bright red.

Legend just hums in satisfaction, leaning against the wall, “Told you, a squeaker.”

You just look at him, eyes wide. He just gazes at you, eyeing you like a predator.

The silence was unbearable. If you weren’t covered in wounds and bruises, you would’ve sprinted out of the room. The awkwardness tension was suffocating.

“Are you guys done drooling?” Four asked.

The next minute all you can hear was yells directed at Four and Wind dying of laughter on the floor.

~

The next couple days were agonizingly slow. All you did was lay in bed, change your bandages, or talk to the group and occasionally Malon. You felt so guilty for everything that had transpired the past few days for her, apologizing profusely every moment you were with her. She didn’t want to hear any of it.

By the end of the fourth day, you were finally able to stand up and walk downstairs, granted you were leaning on Wars the entire way down, almost falling face first halfway down.

“Look! Mouse is up!” Wind exclaimed, running to you and hugging your unoccupied arm to not put pressure onto your back.

“Seems like I have a new nickname, huh?” you chuckled, ruffling his sandy hair. 

“How are you faring, Y/n?” Time asked, arms propped on the dining table. He looked tired.

You gave him a small smile, “Better, still really sore, but couldn’t be in that bed any longer, my ass was deflating.”

Legend coughs, “Can’t be flatter than Cap’s.” earning him a smack on the head from Sky.

You rolled your eyes for the millionth time, “Anyways… How has everyone been lately? I know things have been pretty shaken up around here the past few days.”

“Before ya go on apologizin’ and all, don’t. We don’t know who did that to you or if not someone, what did that to you.” Twilight said, voice stern.

You nodded, accepting his statement.

“But besides that, we’ve been alright. Mostly doin’ work around the ranch for Malon. She’s out in Castle Town right now.”

Time stands up from the chair, looking at you “Which is why now is a good time to talk about our next steps.”

Everyone sits down around the table, Wars helping you sit down without hitting your back in the process.

“We’ve been here for a little under a week and so far there’s been no news or updates on either the Shadow’s army or Y/n’s passageway home. Although the serenity for once is nice, it feels too serene. Too ideal. I want to say something is going on behind the scenes, but I don’t have any proof to show for that.”

Wars nods along before joining in, “I too have felt that way. It’s unlike for the Shadow to leave us like this for almost a week. It feels too convenient for us, especially since Y/n’s incident. Do you think he hurt Y/n to distract us?”

Time thought for a moment, eyes focused on the vase on the table.

“No. No, I don’t think it was to distract us, or not in the way you’re thinking. From what I’ve noticed from our battles with him, he needs to regenerate health over time to get back to his full potential again. He isn’t invincible, but he seems like it when we encounter him because he’s had time to heal.”

Legend sits up.

“So why don’t we ever track him down whenever he’s healing and finish him off? We could’ve been done with this bullshit so much sooner!!” 

Four shoots him a look, Legend just quietly seethes in his chair.

“Pardon my language, but it’s practically impossible to track that fucker down. From what we’ve seen with the portals, he disappears through them, and we don’t have a way of summoning portals or knowing when or where they went.”

You nod along, things were starting to click together.

“All I’m gonna say is that the Shadow is definitely not who I encountered in my vision, dream, or whatever the fuck it was. I thought that’s who it was, but…. It’s very unlikely that it’s him.”

Time looks around the group, “Right, well, there’s not much we can do right now. My guess is that a portal may show up somewhere around here in the next few days to a week, so we should always be ready to leave. You never know when it’ll open back up, even in the middle of the night.”

You groan, “Why do I have a feeling that’s what’s gonna happen.”

You look at Twilight, “Twi if we have to leave at two in the morning, you’re carrying me.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at you, “Is tha’ right? You the boss all of a sudden?”

You smirk. “I’m the only woman in the group, so yeah. Plus… you wouldn’t wanna upset me during shark week, would ya?”

Twilight’s smile dropped, ears flushed. Everyone just stares at you, wide-eyed.

Wind high-fives you. You had them wrapped right around your finger.

~

The chain and you were currently sitting on the couch and floor, just talking and laughing over jokes while Wild and Sky cooked in the kitchen. You sat in the corner of the couch, a pillow propped up behind your back and a blanket wrapped around your form. You were half listening to the boys’ conversation when the topic of birthdays came up.

“When’s your birthday, Y/n?” You snap back into the conversation.

“God, I haven't thought about my birthday in ages! I have probably missed one since being here. My birthday is in the late winter, though our idea of seasons and months are different from Hyrule's, so I can’t pinpoint the day,” you smile sadly.

“So you’re… 19? 20?” Hyrule asks, counting in his head.

“I think I’m 19 right now, but I’ll be 20 soon.”

Wind jumps up, “We’ve gotta celebrate! Birthdays are like the best time of year! Other than the Winter and Summer festivals.”

You look at Time, “Yeah, maybe when things settle down a bit. To be honest I don’t even know what to do or how to celebrate my birthday here.”

“We could always celebrate it during one of the upcoming festivals. It'll be easier to plan and there’s plenty to do.” Time offers, looking around for responses. Everyone agrees, already discussing what they think would be fun for you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Wild shouts out, ending the conversation and starting a new one. Twilight holds your arm to walk you to the table, your legs still shaky from the lack of physical activity the past few days. He sits you first, then slides into the chair to the right of you. You feel his hand slide into yours, giving it a small squeeze.

~

Legend follows you up, arm under your armpit in case you lose your balance. It was his turn for watch over you, the routine being almost natural at this point.

“Easy, Mouse. We don’t want you opening up those wounds again.” he mumbles, checking over your back. Satisfied with the lack of blood, you both continue back to your room, him shutting the door behind him. It must have been past midnight, as you could feel your tiredness approaching you.

You climb into bed, too lazy to change into comfier clothes, as that could risk reopening the stitches again. Wincing, it takes you a few minutes to find a painless position, as you can’t fully lay on your back.

Once you’ve settled, you notice Legend is still standing by the door, watching you.

“You… do know you can sleep with me right? You don’t have to stand there watching me.”

He seems to snap out of it, shaking his head slightly.

“Right, uh, sure. Need anything before I turn the lights out?”

You shake your head, patting the empty space beside you.

He sits on top of the covers, fully clad in his tunic and robes, even in his pegasus boots. He was staring at the wall across from you both, seemingly deep in thought.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” you ask, it has taken you a while to switch up the terminology from “penny” to “Rupee”. The first time you said the phrase, it took a lot of explaining on your part.

Legend seems to take a breath to speak, but instead stays quiet. Almost as if someone told him to not talk.

You inch toward his hand with yours, lightly holding it. It was ice cold.

“You do know I’m here for you, right? Whatever it is, I’m here for you Leg.” you murmur, not wanting to trigger anything for him.

“Forget it, I’m fine. Just rest, Y/n.” he rasps, eyes still not meeting yours. This was unlike him. You’d like to think you’ve both grown to trust each other over the past year or so, so you weren’t sure as to why he’s being close off and snarky about it.

“Leg, are you sure-” “Leave it, Y/n.” he grunts, his entire body goes tense, you pulling your hand back towards yourself. You could feel your eyes burn, so you lay down and lie on your side, facing away from him. Your tears silently spilled from your waterline until you fell asleep.

~

The next time you were woken up, Wild was shaking you by your arm, “Y/n wake up. Portal at the edge of the farm. Start getting ready and someone will be up in a few to help you pack up.”

He quickly jogged out, leaving the door open. You could hear Malon talking to someone. When’d she get back?

Eyes bleary, you noticed that the spot where Legend was sitting was empty, covers not even pulled down. Seems like he left the first chance he’d gotten. 

Wincing a bit, you hobble out of bed, heading over to where your pack lay on the dresser. You managed to pull on your tunic over your long sleeve shirt. Your pants were on just as Wars came into the room, looking disheveled for the first time in your time with them.

“Make sure you put your harness on, we might be dropped into battle.” he rambles, eyes flicking over the room, making sure you didn’t leave anything.

You were too tired to talk, silently tying your pack up and slinging it over your shoulder. Wars helped you adjust the chest harness, being careful to not squeeze your back too much.

“Ready?” you nod, “Alright, let's start heading out, it’s almost dawn.”

“Wars? Are you ok?” he seemed off, he was always composed, strictly business you once joked. But now was no laughing matter. You were worried for him. All of them.

He just smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Just tired, Y/n.”

He rarely used your name except if he was being serious or if he was worried.

Before you could keep pestering him, he pulled you along the hallway and down the stairs, helping you down the stairs like he usually did. Everyone was already awake, packing last minute and putting on clothes and armor. 

Twilight looks up from his boots, fastening the buckles around the calf.

“There ya are, was worried ya were still asleep. All ready?” he walks up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. You nod, yawning. He chuckled, giving you a small kiss on the crown of your forehead, “Don’t worry, pumpkin, we’ll make up for yer lost sleeping hours as soon as we can, ok?” You were too tired to react to the physical affection, just nodding into his chest.

You could feel Legend’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t deal with him right now. Avoidance was definitely not the best thing to do right now, but everyone was on a time limit to get to that portal.

Malon walks up to you, “Before you say anythin’, I’m gonna miss you too and stop apologizin’.” You chuckle, “You know me too well, Mal. I’m sorry we have to go so soon. I’ll miss you.” She smiles sadly. She brings you into a warm hug, mumbling into your ear “Just be safe, Y/n. I know how dangerous it is travelin’ with ‘em. I fully trust Link, I just don’t want you to be reckless and get hurt. Look after him for me?” she asks, voice slightly cracking.

“Of course Mal. Anything for you.”

“You’re too kind for this cruel world Y/n. I hope you come back soon, under better circumstances perhaps.” 

“I’ll be back before you know it. Ok?”

She lets you go, talking to Time about being careful and giving him the whole talk on “don’t be too hard on them, be careful”, the usual. Once that was done, Malon waves you all off, you walking through the field towards the portal. It was dark and imposing, standing amongst the fauna and flora of Lon Lon Ranch. You walked with Twilight, firmly grasping his arm.

You both walk in, hand in hand, the others following behind you through the murky purple abyss.

₊˚✩⊹

[dr5amatic]

ONE OUT OF MANY ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel the will of the many by james islington. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to death, violence, and religion. change verbiage as needed.

watch your step. it gets slippery down here.

so what is it all for? debts? a woman? some vice that you cannot bring yourself to give up?

i know it’s not in your nature, but if you’re ever going to swallow your pride, tonight’s the night.

i’d have thought twice about coming out here if i’d realized my opponent was such a coward!

chain your anger in the dark and it will only thrive.

i wasn’t trying to kill him.

i think you’re so used to resisting, you don’t know how not to.

sometimes bullies are better off with the truth, no matter how unpleasant.

a ladder should not be climbed from the shoulders of others.

you’re placing a lot of faith in the abilities of someone you’ve just met.

conviction is admirable, but it can only take a man so far.

what i want to know is what are you punishing yourself for?

they killed your family. stole your home. don’t you want to do something about it?

this is my best chance at finding something approaching a normal life.

you only have this chance because of me, and you seem to be under the mistaken impression that this is some kind of offer.

you can still back out, but this is your last chance to do it. is this opportunity worth it? is it worth your life?

it’s hard when the lies that let you sleep are so cruelly laid bare.

you’re welcome to rest and eat before you go.

if i believed in the gods, i would say they led me to you.

there is always something more to lose.

i can hate without it coming to violence.

hate is its own violence. your choice is whether to let it hurt them, or you.

i have come to bring a reckoning for your decisions. your weakness. your blindness and cowardice and complicity.

silence is a statement. inaction picks a side. and when those lead to personal benefit, they are complicity.

you should have told me all of this from the beginning

if there is something you should be telling me, i assume you will.

you’re brighter than most—but bright doesn’t mean brave, or caring, or heroic. more often, it means the opposite.

a man will always wonder what might have been, but a wise one recognizes fortune when it comes.

how could you not resent them for what they took from you?

there comes a point in every man’s life where he can rail against the unfairness of the world until he loses, or he can do his best in it. remain a victim, or become a survivor.

there can be no love without honesty.

there are more measured approaches to justice than punching.

just because you are good at something does not make others bad at it.

whether the obstacles to our advancement arise from our ties or our actions, we need to learn to overcome ourselves. it’s not fair, but nor is the world.

a fair system only works if there’s an unbiased means of assessing merit, which means that fair systems cannot exist where people are involved.

sometimes, i’m not sure there’s anything of the real me left anymore.

there are those who see what should be, and complain that they do not get their due. and then there are those who see what is, and figure out how to use it to their advantage.

you’re not planning to kill me, then.

a cut’s only worth it if there’s poison on the blade.

we do not have to be enemies.

if all you’re trying to do is change who’s in control, then you don’t really want to change anything.

you cannot be free if you are afraid to die.

be safe, and for the love of all the gods, don’t get caught.

i am just trying to remember the last time i so vastly overestimated someone’s intelligence.

you have a reputation as a killer.

in this place… each man has to find his line. has to find it ahead of time, and be resolved never to cross it.

don’t mistake inaction for neutrality.

violence is no answer to grief.

there’s being brave, and then there’s throwing your life away.

what do you believe makes a good ruler?

don’t equate having less heart with more intelligence.

not pleasant, seeing your trust betrayed, is it?

remind me to never get on your bad side. i have no idea how i’m going to repay this.

you’re so mysterious and unpredictable.

i want you to know that you are my friend. that you have my full trust.

i envy you, you know. your capacity to do that. to trust like that.

you rotting, fetid coward.

i’m going to make sure you burn for this.

death is only meaningless if it does not change us.

[hairmetal666]

Steve and Eddie.

Eddie and Steve.

After Vecna, they're inseparable. They share a bed. Always. Twine their legs together and sleep close. No reason to pretend they don't need each other when they so obviously do.

Eddie loves him. He knows it's stupid. Doesn't know how to protect his heart when Steve is everything.

Spring fades into summer, and between nights spent with entangled limbs, Eddie starts to see more in Steve's hazel eyes; soft fondness and gentle care, a flash of heat. Their physical affection goes beyond casual touches--arms around waists, fingers on hips, faces nuzzling against necks, kisses pressed into hair.

It feels like they have all the time in the world, but Robin asks Steve to move to Indy and Steve never mentions it. Eddie pretends like the silence doesn't hurt. They've only ever been just friends, after all.

Then, one night, "I'm moving to Indy."

"Okay, yeah." Eddie tries to keep his voice even, the tears from spilling. it was always a mistake, falling for Steve Harrington.

"Come with me?" Steve's hands are clenched in the duvet.

"I'm moving to New York." He had no plans until this very moment.

Steve falls quiet. "That's nice, Eddie. That's--yeah, you should do that, if it's what you want."

He nods. Ignores the lump in his throat. "Maybe I can really be somebody."

Steve smiles. Eddie's not sure why it looks so sad. "You'll knock 'em dead, Ed."

---

They stay friends, of course they do. There's phone calls and visits, and it's not the same, but it's still good.

Eddie tries to get over him. He does. There are dates, men, possibility. But they're not Steve.

Steve meets a girl--nice, pretty, wealthy--the kind of girl made for a King. It sticks. Eddie likes her. And nobody needs to know that he cries himself to sleep, thinking of what might have been.

The invitation comes in the mail. He throws it in the garbage without a thought, before standing against his counter, knuckles going white where he's gripping into the laminate. Tries to remind himself to keep breathing around the shattering of his heart.

He's not going. Knows he can't take it.

Then, a phone call.

"I'm getting married," Steve says.

"Yeah, just got the invite. Congrats!" Bile in his throat threatens to choke him.

"Will you--you'll stand up there with me?"

Eddie smacks his head repeatedly against the wall. "Of course," is the only possible answer.

---

The wedding is fine. During the ceremony, he tries not to listen to the vows, keeps his eyes on Robin's back and never, ever on Steve. He drinks through the reception. Knows it's too much, knows he's losing control. Can't take watching Steve dance with his new bride, so he sneaks out a side door into an alley, lighting his last cigarette. The nicotine barely hits his lungs before a scuffle of feet interrupts his moment.

"Can I get in on that?" Steve asks.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, handing over the cigarette. "What're you doing out here?"

"Haven't really talked to you at all today."

"Well. You've been a little busy." He means it to be a joke but it falls very flat, his bitterness too close to the surface.

Steve exhales a cloud of smoke. "Yeah. Didn't realize weddings were so much work."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, so they fall into silence, passing the smoke back and forth until it burns down to the filter.

"You happy?" Eddie asks. Doesn't think he meant to, doesn't want the answer.

"Ed..."Steve swallows.

"So, yes," he chuckles. It's the most hollow thing he's ever heard.

"It's just--It's normal, you know?"

And it's like Steve punched him, to know they never could've been because Eddie--being with Eddie--would never be normal.

"Right, of course, Harrington. Normal."

"That's not what--I'm not saying--"

"What else could you possibly mean?"

"I want quiet. No monsters, no secret dimensions. Something regular. Easy."

"Six-fucking-nuggets, right? Still a pretty lady in the front seat next to you."

"What's wrong with that? Huh? What's wrong with kids and stability and a fucking life. Not bartending until 4am and playing the occasional gig and living with 18 goddamn people."

Eddie straightens at that, fingers twisting in his button-down. "Sorry my life doesn't meet your exacting standards, King. Sorry I can't be what you want."

He storms away, Steve shouting after him, but he leaves him there with his promising and bright and normal future unfurling before him.

---

They don't talk. One month. Six Months. A Year. Two.

For lack of better to do, for stability, he writes a book. Fantasy. About an Adventurer who helps a group of kids save the world. They're joined by a handsome, mysterious man who seems like an asshole, but helps them selflessly every time. He and the Adventurer are something, but before it's anything real, the stranger is revealed to be their Prince. They save the world, but the Prince has to leave the Adventurer behind.

The book is a hit. Spawns a series. Eddie's somebody.

---

Eddie comes home from the store, paper bag of groceries balanced against his chest.

Steve Harrington, not looking a day older than at his wedding, stands at his door, hands wringing.

"Steve?" He asks.

"Hey, Ed." The nickname twists Eddie's stomach, but he doesn't say anything.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm getting divorced," Steve says.

Eddie almost drops his groceries, his hands shake so hard. He busies himself with the lock, ushering Steve inside.

"Is that all?" He asks.

Steve blinks at him, dazed expression on his still pretty face. "What?"

"You came all this way just to tell someone you haven't spoken to in almost eight years that you're getting divorced? What's it to me?" He stomps into the kitchen with his groceries.

"I wanted--I thought--"

Eddie snorts, makes it mean because he feels mean, wants to make Steve hurt the way he has for years. "You thought? We haven't spoken since your wedding day, man."

"She was ready for kids, and I realized that she's not--she's not who I picture having a family with."

The words pierce him like shattered glass, and he whirls into the living room, into Steve's space. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses.

"I wanted you to know, Ed. After all--"

"Stop calling me that. Stop acting like we're friends, for Christ's sake. And I don't give a damn about whatever realization you had once you realized normal wasn't for you."

"I'm trying to make this right!" Pink splotches highlight Steve's cheeks, his anger spiking to match Eddie's.

"There's nothing to fix, Harrington. We're over. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Steve is breathing hard. "I wanted you so badly, and you fucking ran away--"

"Bullshit! I waited for you. And you moved to Indy with Robin without a thought."

"I asked you to come! You were the one who said no."

"You asked a week before you left!"

"I was scared!"

"Of what, Steve? Not having that normal, easy, life you wanted so badly?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why?"

Steve chuckles, steps back. "I always thought you of all people would understand, and now--"

"Not when you come to my house unannounced to unload on me about your divorce because you expect us to pick up like none of it ever happened."

"That's not what I want!"

Eddie turns, pinching the bridge of his nose to cut off the stinging in his eyes. "I can't do this. I think you should leave, Steve."

"Fine." Steve won't look at him, storms to the door. "This was a mistake."

He slams it hard enough it makes the walls shake, picture frames rattle. Eddie can't stop the sob that rips out of him. Entitled, selfish, Steve Harrington, the only man Eddie will ever love. Steve Harrington who thinks love comes with strings attached. Steve Harrington who was afraid of asking Eddie to move away with them. And Eddie, always the coward, stifled by the weight of his own impossible love.

Eddie moves on autopilot, just knows he needs to find Steve, to see if there's a chance.

He skids down the stairs, almost falling a time or two, out into the night. His eyes scan the sidewalk, searching for familiar tall hair, but there's no sign of Steve, no sign--

A soft sob cuts through the air and Eddie's eyes fall to the steps in front of him, to the beautiful man sitting with his head on his knees.

"Steve," he says.

He stands, whirling, face a wreck. "Eddie?"

He doesn't know what to say at first, swallowing and swallowing around nothing. "I--I'm sorry I said no, when you asked me to move with you."

Steve's face does a funny, fracturing thing, even as he gives a little laugh. "I'm sorry I took so long to work up the nerve to ask."

Both of them take a step forward, then stumble together in a clumsy, tear-soaked hug.

"I'm sorry I got too drunk at your wedding," Eddie whispers against his friend's neck.

Steve giggles, but quiets quickly "I'm sorry about the 'normal' thing. I didn't mean it. I was--it doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

They hold each other for a long time on the steps of Eddie's building, rocking gently back and forth. When they finally let go, Eddie pushes Steve's hair off his forehead, asks, "wanna order a pizza and catch up?"

The answering smile is blinding as a sun, and Eddie is just as hopelessly in love as he was at 20.

They walk inside, fingers still entwined, lit up with hope.

"Hey," Steve says as they walk up the stairs together. "Are the Adventurer and the Prince going to find each other again? Because it's been four books now, and I'm still wait--"

Eddie twists his fingers into Steve's t-shirt, pushing him against the stained stairwell wall. "Fuck, Steve, I--"

He's interrupted by Steve closing the distance between their mouths, pulling them together in a searing kiss.

"They get forever, sweetheart" is Eddie's answer.

[oneforthemunny]

Omg that cowboy!eddie angst!! Now we need a makeup blurb (only if you feel inclined)

I've let you suffer long enough (24 hours) I will be merciful just this once (I can not stand that they're sad either so this is mainly for me lmao) this is the og blurb that is angsty

The knock on your door came two days later. Long enough that your tears had dried, but eyes still puffy. You didn't expect to see him there; band tee tucked into his wranglers loosely, under his buckle. He wore his nice boots, you noted. The ones he wore when he took you out, not his work ones.

Eddie was leaning against the door, his own dark bags under his eyes that even in his shaded profile from his hat, you could see clearly. He hadn't slept much either.

"Can we talk?" Eddie rasped, eyes rounding softly when they met yours. "Please?"

You relented letting him in to your tiny town house. It felt weird staying here for the last few nights. You'd nearly moved to the ranch after the first month of dating. Eddie had begged you to not renew your lease next month, come stay with him instead, you were there so much anyways.

You sat across from him, your dining room table that he'd helped you fix when the leg got loose. Eddie's knee bounced, nervous and overwhelmed. You looked at him, arms crossed over your chest. You were angry, of course you were. Hurt and angry and overwhelmed still.

"I'm sorry." Eddie said, fingers tracing the pattern of the wood, but his eyes stayed on you. "I-I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" You raised a brow, swallowing back the familiar burn of tears. "For what part?"

Eddie flinched at your tone. He knew he deserved it but it still hurt. "All of it, baby." Eddie sighed lowly, defeated and a little sad. It made your heart lurch. "I just... I didn't think that you'd be jeal- mad about Lola."

"Why wouldn't I be?" You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. "Seriously, Ed, she was all over you!"

Eddie took a deep breath, regulating and calming. "Because," He sighed, knee bouncing a little harder. "I don't like Lola like that. I don't give a shit about her or-or really anyone else for that matter, honey. They're not you, and I only care about you."

Your lip wobbled, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You thought you'd ran out of tears, surely, after crying yourself to sleep the night you left and most of the day yesterday. "She was all over you, Ed." You pouted, voice wobbling around the words. "She was in my seat when I got back, and she was all over you, and you were letting her."

"I know." Eddie sighed slowly. "And I'm sorry, baby, I really am. I just... My mind wasn't on her like that, and-and I shouldn't have gotten mad that you were upset, because honestly? If that was some guy talkin' to you like that and sittin' in my seat... I'd be pretty pissed off too."

Your lips curled lightly, trying to hide your warm, smug grin. Eddie caught it anyways, moving to make his way around the table, crouching next to your chair. "'m sorry, honey." He muttered, hands rubbing up and down the soft fabric of your pajama pants. "I'm real sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Your lip wobbled. "For being so... jealous." You muttered, blushing at the admission. You felt silly, really. A little juvenile for getting so worked up.

Eddie shook his head, a small smile that had his dimples creasing gently. "Don't be sorry." He muttered, cupping your cheek. "Didn't do nothing wrong, baby."

"But I did." You whimpered, lip wobbling. "I shouldn't have been so mean, and-and I'm not like that usually. I don't want you to think I'm like a controlling bitch, I just-"

"Hey, easy, darlin'." Eddie cooed, thumb gliding over your cheek bone. "I know, alright? Let's just put it to rest. I don't wanna fight anymore."

"Me either." You sighed, heavy but relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. "I missed you."

"I missed you." Eddie muttered, pulling you closer to him. "Sleep like shit when you're not with me, you know that?" He hummed.

You nodded, your lips barely brushing his before his mouth enveloped yours fully, kissing you hard and slow. Hands roaming each others, feet shuffling and scuffing the floor all the way back to your bedroom. Eddie collapsed on top of you gently, the bed groaning with the squeak of the springs, his hands under your shirt, his boots back under your bed.

[heller-castiel]

My Fics:

Bobby Day: Sam and Dean don’t have a mom to celebrate on Mother’s Day - they just have a Bobby.

This’ll be the Day That I Die: “They had this song, before they got married, that they loved. Cheek to Cheek, you know? And they’d look so damn sad when it’d play on the record, even though he asked her to marry her to that fuckin’ song. Had to tell Sammy to stop playing that record cause they hated to be reminded of their marriage so much.” Dean swallowed. “Hell, the song feels more like a funeral march than anything else after a childhood of that. Promise me? Promise me we won’t be like that? Together and hating each other for it?”

Castiel took in a mouthful of smoke and lied. “I promise.”

Or: The American Pie (by Don McLean) fic

Holy Palmers' Bloody Kiss: It’s nice, getting to take care of his family, getting to heal his family. Dean’s always been looking out for everyone else, was raised for it, bred for it even, and he’s made his peace with that. Held his baby brother in his arms and he knew what he was made for, going to sleep in beige hotel rooms stained in dark browns and reds with a baby in one hand and a revolver in the other. 

He’s never gotten to offer healing, saving, before. It’s the first time since he was a kid that looking out for family didn’t mean guns and death and revenge. 

Worm Ridden Filth: Mary had told him, that was the danger of them coming up - they weren’t made for people. They didn’t know how to avoid being hurt, so people needed to be careful to not hurt them.

Dean didn’t wanna hurt anybody, least of all a worm.

Or: Dean learns about life and love and death over the years through the power of worms.

Safety in the Stealing and Keeping: The hair isn’t what's startling about her. It’s the oversized brown leather jacket she’s swathed in, the sleeves uncuffed that her hands just barely peek out from, that ends at the middle of her thighs. It looks like a piece of armor on her. It looks like a blanket on her. It looks startling like a mirror to Dean, who knows that jacket well.

Or: Claire's got some emotional turmoil in a stolen oversized leather jacket. Dean remembers the feeling.

Goodnight Moon: Cas shifts in his arms, turning to face Dean, and just as Cas wants to hold him, Dean is ready to be held in return. Their left arms reach across their chests where they are pressed together, and they do not clasp hands but rest the backs of them against each other, and Dean’s right arm falls to rest on Cas’s hip just as Cas’s right falls to Dean’s hip, and together they let their foreheads rest on each other’s.

Or, Cas has insomnia sometimes. Dean brings him back to bed.

You Can Start To Make It Better (Beautiful Beautiful Boy): Dean goes to bed with Cas the night Jack's finally ready to reform heaven and give up his Godly powers; but before he does, he pulls Dean into heaven to bring someone back, one last time.

Or: Dean Winchester works through his mommy issues with some heavenly therapy.

Don’t Make it Bad: He walked up to Cas, looming over the kitchen counter, and pressed himself up against those hunched shoulders, wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist, and pressed his nose to Cas’s neck, breathing in, feeling the smell of Cas’s soap and sweat and sleep expand in his lungs and fill him with love. Cause he loved Cas, and he could think it now, even if he still couldn’t saying it. “Stop leaving me,” he prayed to grace that had been left to rot alone in the Empty.

In his arms, Cas tensed. “Sam..?” he said, cautious.

That love in Dean’s chest staled. “What the fuck?”

If You Ran Away, Just Come Home: Dean wandered, after. The night that Chuck died, subsumed into Amara, he had silently climbed into his car in the dead of night, walking past Jack's room, past Sam's room.

In his room, Sam laid in his bed with Eileen, and felt the air displace itself around where Dean slipped past in the hallway, instincts attuning him to movement just as they made Dean move soundlessly, without a thought to it. but Dean didn’t think of that. Dean only thought of moving, getting out, going -

Going to something the bunker couldn’t be, anymore. Something he couldn’t ever go to.

But he had to go.

Five Names Dean Winchester Has Gone By: John walked through the crooked motel door with his tired face and strong, drooping shoulders, looking up like looking at his kids was the last thing he wanted to do, like it made his shoulders all the heavier. Dean was cradling little baby Sam, holding a bottle to his mouth and humming “Hey Jude,” like the only example he had, and his head had startled up at the door, scared of what was coming in with nothing to protect them, relieved to see his father, confused why John was crying.

Ken Doll: Dean was fourteen when he found it.

Your Hair Falling Into Place Like Dominoes: Dean lets his hair grow out when he’s not paying attention to it.

[thelikesofus]

when the night is cold as it is long

9-1-1 on Fox | Buddie | 4k words | bthb claustrophobia | panic attacks, buried alive, hurt/comfort, nightmares, getting together

Eddie develops claustrophobia post “The Well Incident”, as well as frequent nightmares. Then on a call, he and Buck get stuck in a collapse and Eddie panics. Post 3x15 | @badthingshappenbingo

Eddie is shivering when he wakes up and his chest aches as he gasps for every breath. The light from the moon and street lamps outside is filtering through the thin curtains over Eddie’s bedroom window and yet his vision is too hazy to recognize his own hand in front of his face.

For weeks Eddie has been haunted by the squelch of mud and the stench of old sewer pipes. He has learned how to tire himself out to the point of collapse just to grab a few extra hours of sleep and is concerningly functional on a minimal number of hours. Even Eddie can admit that his current sleep schedule (or lack thereof) is unhealthy but it is also all he can manage at the moment. He would love nothing more than to bunker down under his duvet and sleep like the dead for 48 hours but he has obligations, a job, and a son. And even if he could fall asleep, which he rarely can, the terrors that haunt him while he is awake inevitably follow him into his dreams.

Tonight, however, is the third consecutive night of waking up in an absolute fit after only falling asleep only an hour before. He’s been barely functioning on four hours of sleep over the last four days and he is at the end of his tether.

Eddie’s thoughts are shaken by his phone ringing on the bedside table and he lunges for it instantly, answering the call without looking at the caller ID, yet somehow he just knows it’s Buck.

“Eds? You there?” Buck’s voice carries, thin and fragile down the line when Eddie takes too long to greet him after picking up the call.

“Yea-yeah, I’m here.” Eddie can hear the way his own voice shakes as he bites the inside of his cheek and twists his fingers into his sheets. “What’s up?”

There is a rustling on the other end of the line. Buck must be in bed too though why he is calling Eddie at four in the morning when they have a shift at seven is beyond him. Still, he waits, letting Buck collect his thoughts and listening to the steady sound of Buck’s breathing as it soothes the ache in Eddie’s chest. In this moment he wants nothing more than to reach out and bury himself in Buck’s chest, tuck himself under his ribcage and hide from the world. Eddie thanks small mercies that Buck is on the other end of the phone line rather than sitting in front of him, lest he does something stupid like follow through on the urge.

“Ah, did Chris find that maths workbook he left in the living room? I told him to put it in his school bag but I can’t remember if he did and he has that test at the end of the week and he was going to ask Ms. Jefferson about the questions on the worksheet.”

And the urge increases tenfold just as the pit in his stomach had opened up and he had wished for the ground to swallow him when Buck had left his house two days ago after watching Chris while Eddie went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment. He could have sworn that Buck hesitated in the doorway on his way out but Eddie was not feeling brave enough to ask him to stay, Buck probably had plans anyway, it was a Tuesday and he usually went around to Maddie’s. And so Eddie had bit his tongue and watched him leave.

Now he realizes that Buck is still rambling on about Christopher’s homework and pulls his attention back to his phone. “Yeah, yeah he got it. Buck, are you okay?"

“Me? Yeah, of course, sorry I didn't mean to wake you. I just remembered. About the book, you know.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Of course, no worries.”

There’s silence down the line and for a few passing moments Eddie simply listens to Buck’s breathing and tries to match him, breath for breath.

“Eddie?” Buck asks quietly after Eddie has sunken back under his covers and can feel sleep starting to pull at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, Buck?”

Buck breathes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.”

Eddie falls asleep before the call ends.

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