#like over the years he’s gotten better at doing like

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics.

No Loose Ends

Week #3 Prompt: Sneaking Around | Word Count: 6500 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Post S4, Sexual Content, Underage Recreational Alcohol and Weed Use | Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Florida!!!, Hiding Out, Healing, Steve & The Boys of Corroded Coffin Taking Care of Eddie, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson

Song inspiration to fill the @steddiesongfics prompt is FLORIDA!!! by Taylor Swift feat. Florence & The Machine:

Little did you know, Your home's really only the town you'll get arrested, So you pack your life away, Just to wait out the shitstorm back in Texas Indiana

Steve's almost eight hours into the twelve hour drive, when he starts looking for another gas station. The smaller the better. One with a cashier who would rather be anywhere else other than at work behind the counter, and who in turn, won't be paying any attention to anything going on around them.

Not that he's wanted, or being looked for, because he's not. He's just being extra careful. Trying to garner no additional eyes on his car, or himself, if possible. No speeding, no rolling through stop signs. He's never driven this carefully in his entire life, and he feels tense from it.

It gives him a glimpse of what it might be like, sometime in the future, if he's in charge of hauling around six of his own little nuggets.

But that's not today. Today he's just in charge of one, well two, other people.

And himself. But he's used to being in charge of himself, since he has been, since basically forever.

If everything goes smoothly tonight, nobody's even gonna realize he's been out of town. Only Robin knows, and she's running interference with everybody else. Giving excuses for why they haven't seen him all day. Just buying him the time to get down, and back, without being missed.

The next filling station is a little raggedy, but exactly what he wants. Probably no cameras. Perfect.

He parks alongside the pump, and pulls up on the handle, starting to fill his tank. He looks in the backseat, and the bundled up figure moves under the blanket, shifting. It's dark under the poorly-lit canopy, three of the six fluorescent bulbs are out, and it makes it look just a little bit spooky. But even better, unless you were looking for him, you'd never see the slightly moving lump in the backseat.

And nobody's looking for him. Not anymore.

Thank fucking god.

Steve pays for the gas, and grabs drinks. Back in the car, he puts his own Coke in the cup holder, then lays the Mountain Dew in the backseat floorboard for when Eddie wakes up, and finally slides the Dr. Pepper into the passenger side cup holder.

He doesn't know Gareth Jones, not really, and it has taken everything he has to trust him. But Eddie couldn't be left alone, not yet, and Steve had asked who could they trust, and Gareth had been Eddie's answer.

Now he's asleep, head against the window, and Steve pulls back out onto the two-lane road, and keeps heading south.

They pull up in the driveway of the dark house, and Steve kills the engine.

"We're here," he says, and Eddie stirs in the backseat.

Eddie can barely walk. Once they've gotten him out of the car, he can only shuffle along, blanket over his shoulders. Together, they hold him up on both sides. The sand surrounding the beach house is not making it easier for him to move, Steve can tell. Steve has to try three keys before the door swings open, but they get him inside. Steve's not satisfied until Eddie's on the couch of his grandparent's vacation home in Destin, the city they swear is gonna become a tourist hot spot in the coming years.

So, the elder Harringtons scooped up a waterfront home that they only use once or twice a year, swearing it's an investment they'll be able to turn a profit on in the future. Steve doesn't care about that, but he is glad they have it right now, so they have a place Eddie can lay low. 

It's a little musty from being shut-up, but it'll do. 

Especially since there's no chance anybody in his family will turn up, since they're all in Europe right now without him. That left it just sitting empty, the perfect place to stash Eddie long enough to wait out the shitstorm back in Indiana.

Nobody knows he survived. Not the public, and barely any of their friends. Not even Wayne. Not yet. It's easier to keep a secret when you don't know the truth, as guilty as that makes Steve feel. 

But right now, he can't dwell on that. Today, Steve's gonna try to get him holed up in here, and then figure out a more permanent solution once Eddie's back on his feet. 

He can't dwell on the rest of them, or his guilt will eat him alive. Knowing Wayne's mourning his nephew. Knowing that Dustin is going through hell. Steve hopes they'll both forgive him, when the truth comes out. Eddie swears Wayne will. Says he'll understand. Says he'll only be relieved that Eddie's safe, and well. 

Steve hopes that's true. 

He knows he'll be in for an ass-chewing from Dustin, but that's nothing new. He can handle that.

Steve gets Eddie situated. A blanket. Some pillows. A drink. All while Gareth looks around the house, snooping, and it sets Steve on edge. He's a kid. Is he really gonna trust a kid to keep Eddie safe? Alive? He supposes he is. It's not like he has any other choice.

Gareth's older than Steve was when he got involved in the Upside Down. But still. Kid.

Steve can't stay long. He takes a nap, and then gets back on the road before he's missed. Back in his bed in Hawkins before anyone has started asking any real questions that Robin can't deflect.

A week later, when Steve steps out of his front door, Pop Tart in his mouth, he nearly chokes when he sees two guys leaning against his car. Jeff and…the other one. Steve's drawing a blank. They're Eddie's friends, but as far as Steve knew, they'd evacuated with the rest of the town. 

Out of the way, not a concern. But, here they are.

People are starting to come back, Steve's noticed, now that the town is rebuilding after the earthquake damage. If they have houses to return to, lots of them are doing just that.

He should have expected this.

Well, not this. Because they shouldn't know Eddie's alive or that Steve might be a person to talk to about anything.

"Uh, hey?" Steve says as he pulls the dry pastry out of his mouth, trying to chew it up, and buy himself some time.

"Where's Gareth?" the one that isn't Jeff asks. 

"Um, Gareth who?" Steve asks.

Jeff laughs, showing a mouth full of braces. 

"Gareth Jones. He's not with his mom, and she thinks he's with you."

Steve tenses. That little shit. Gareth told his mom the truth? What the fuck? For real. That wasn't the plan. At all. 

What a dumbass kid. He can't believe he has to trust him with Eddie's safety. Clearly, he's doing a bang-up job.

Steve looks around, "Don't see him, do you?" Steve asks, sliding back into his King Steve persona easier than he'd imagine he'd be able to after a few years.

"Harrington," Jeff says. 

"He's not with me," Steve says, which is true. "I don't even know him." Also true. 

"If you have Eddie. If he's out there somewhere, you're gonna take us to him," the other one says. Goldie? Steve thinks his name is Goldie. Goldwin, maybe? Gareth was talking, and he's sure he mentioned him, but Gareth talked a lot. Steve zoned out. 

"Or we're going to the cops."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't actually think they'll do that, but fuck, what does he know? He cannot risk that. He'd rather tell them what he knows, than have any officials poking holes in their story.

He makes a decision, one he hopes he won't regret.

"Okay, Goldie, get in," Steve says, resigned to this, but Jeff laughs loudly, mouth open as the guy who is probably not Goldie by his reaction, jabs Jeff in the ribs with his elbow.

"Goodie," Jeff corrects, "but that was closer than most get."

In the car, Steve squeezes the steering wheel. 

"Where is he?" Jeff asks. 

"Florida," Steve answers.

"Florida?" Goodie demands, and Steve just nods.

"He's healing. Gareth's with him. You can't tell anyone," Steve stresses. "If the government finds out. They'll, well. Dispose of him, I reckon. No loose ends."

And Steve starts from the beginning.

They worked out a schedule. Every week they'll switch. And somehow Steve is stuck making the long fucking haul in the dead of night, with one of them in his passenger seat. It's awkward. He doesn't know them, and they definitely don't like him.

This week it's Jeff Williams. Honestly, he's nice enough, but Steve runs out of things to say before they hit the Indiana state line.

The long haul back has Gareth jabbering nonstop about what they did this week. All Steve really wants to hear is updates on Eddie. Is he getting better? Are his wounds healing? Still no infection? Did you help him change the bandages he can't reach? Can he climb the stairs yet?

But he's having trouble getting those answers. He does learn all about the new Accept album, though. Whoever the fuck that is.

The third week is even worse, because hauling around Goodie Goodwin is like having an angry bear locked in the car with him. A brown bear, not a black one. He's fucking pissed, and snarky, and only belligerently agreeing to help for Eddie's sake. Not for Steve's. He's made that abundantly clear. 

He hates Steve, in case Steve needs it spelled out for him. 

Steve does not. 

It's definitely clear.

Super duper clear.

Crystal clear.

And that's fine. Eddie just needs a babysitter, and an angry bear will do, so long as Eddie trusts said bear, and he seems to, for whatever reason.

When they fucking finally pull up, after a twelve hour drive that felt more like twenty-four, Eddie's sitting on the covered porch, the color finally seeping back in his face. Goodie sits down in the glider right next to Eddie, and steals Eddie's lit cigarette right from his mouth. Eddie leans against his shoulder, face pressed into his very weather inappropriate leather jacket, and smiles.

Oh, so now he's a gentle giant. 

Fucking dickhead.

Hauling Jeff back to Hawkins is a breath of fresh air after twelve hours of having Chernabog in the passenger seat. And he actually gives helpful information. Eddie's doing great. He's made some real progress, and he probably doesn't need a babysitter much longer. He's getting out of the woods.

Steve wishes he knew that before he had to spend time in the car with Goodie, but it's still good news, even if Steve had to suffer.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone this week?" Steve asks, and he doesn't know what he'll do if the answer is no. Leave Goodie for a second week of duty? Stay himself?

"I'm fine, Harrington," Eddie promises, and Steve nods.

"Okay, then. I'll be back next weekend," Steve assures.

Steve worries about Eddie being alone the whole next week, and it's a long drive by himself, but not as long as it was with Goodie refusing to make even the smallest of small talk. 

Goodie didn't say a word for the eight hundred miles back to Hawkins.

Honestly, it was actually an improvement from the ride down.

When Steve pulls up the house, Eddie's on the porch again, and Steve wonders if this is where he spends most of his time. There don't seem to be any neighbors here right now close enough to see him, and even if there were, they wouldn't know the Harringtons well enough to be sure Eddie didn't belong. 

"Harrington," Eddie says, foot pushing slowly, keeping himself in a soft sway on the porch glider.

Steve sits down next to him, and then Eddie keeps them moving, the breeze coming through the porch, and not feeling bad at all. 

"Ocean air is healing, you know," Eddie says as if he's serious, and Steve smiles.

"Is the gulf considered an ocean?" Steve asks.

And Eddie just shrugs and grins back, shaking another pack of cigarettes out of the fresh carton Steve brought him. Steve feels like a pack mule, hauling food and smokes and beer, back and forth across several states.

"Closest thing I've ever seen to one, at least," Eddie says, and Steve has the fleeting thought that someday, Steve will change that. 

He doesn't know why. They aren't really friends or anything. Just two people that were thrown together to fight back against evil. They don't exactly have a whole hell of a lot in common beyond that.

They get into the beer, and Eddie pulls out a joint. It's fun, and relaxing, honestly. Doing a whole lot of nothing. It feels like a mini vacation, and like Steve's settled for the first time in weeks, months. So, he stays an extra day, and then another, because they're having so much fun. Robin will cover for him. She will. But he's really gotta go in the morning. 

"Your friend Goodie hates me," Steve says. 

"All bark, no bite," Eddie laughs. 

Steve doesn't know about that. He seemed pretty nippy to him. 

The next week, he brings the decks of cards Eddie had asked for, and now they sit around the round table on the porch, and play hand after hand, going through a case of beer and cigarette after cigarette. It's fun, and unexpected, and Steve's pretty sure next week, he's gonna find a way to stay longer. 

He's tipsy, they both are, as they stumble up the stairs towards their rooms. He's got his hands on Eddie, the excuse that he's helping him not fall, but he's pretty sure that's not the whole reason.

He doesn't examine it too much.

They're just having fun, and that's a nice change of pace from the shitshow that Hawkins has been over the past few years.

He wants to stay. 

As his head hits the pillow, and he rolls over onto his belly, he tries to devise a plan to make that happen, even as he's drifting.

The kids aren't happy about it when he says he's going to be traveling with his parents for a while, and they'd really be pissed if they knew that he was actually sneaking back to Florida to hole up with a very much still alive Eddie Munson. 

He's gonna have to pay for lying about this, to a lot of people that really love Eddie. Steve knows it. But, he'd do it again. Eddie's safe. He's healing up. Every week he's been more mobile, more agile, more…Eddie.

Sure, it's not as if Steve knew him well before all this. But they went to school together. He knows what Eddie Munson is all about, and it's definitely not being quietly introverted on a couch.

When he gets there, he lugs in his huge suitcase, and takes back over the empty room across the hall from the one Eddie's been staying in. 

And then they spend their time laying on the beach, or getting drunk, or stoned, as Eddie's body slowly finishes stitching itself back together. He still aches, and so does Steve, but it's not too bad anymore. There are no more bandaids, ointments or creams. No more antibiotics. They hurt, sure, but they're getting by better now.

Eddie wants to venture into the water, and with no open wounds, Steve can't find a reason to say no. Eddie had had to watch from the porch that first week as Gareth ran across the sand, wading out into the water.

Now, it's his turn. 

Steve by his side, making sure he's okay. Strong enough. They didn't go through all this just for Eddie to drown.

Steve's getting concerned that he can't quit touching Eddie, but Eddie doesn't seem interested in making him stop.

They're wet, and wrapped in towels, but it feels inevitable when Steve pushes Eddie towards the bathroom, and into the shower. Inevitable when he turns to leave, and Eddie snags his hand, pulling him back towards the tub. Inevitable as he washes his body, trying to not only ignore his own half-hard dick, but Eddie's too.

It's still inevitable as he slips on his clean underwear, and crawls into Eddie's bed instead of his own, and finally presses their lips together. 

Eddie kisses back, and hands roam across bare skin. Eddie's fingers trailing his back, making Steve squeeze his eyes shut. He didn't realize how long it's been since someone touched him like that.

Neither of them take it further than that, but they do find themselves, lips kiss-swollen and laying together, breathing heavily in the quiet of the room, and Steve doesn't even know how they've gotten to this point.

One day Eddie was just some guy, then he was wanted on trumped up murder charges, and now, well, this.

"What's the plan? I can't stay here forever," Eddie says into the darkness, and Steve thinks maybe he could. They both could. They'd be safer that way. Hawkins can fuck off. It's their hometown, but not home anymore. Just a place that would arrest Eddie and throw away the key, given half the chance. 

"We could," Steve says, and Eddie meets his eyes.

"You know you can't. And your grandparents will turn up eventually, and be less than thrilled to see me here."

"They won't be back until winter, and even that's iffy," Steve reassures, more himself than Eddie, he's pretty sure.

They could sneak around for months, until the snow birds fly south, and nobody would know. 

That's all Steve thinks about as he falls asleep, Eddie's arm slung over his stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Steve jerks, sitting bolt upright in bed. Eddie doesn't even stir beside him.

Gareth Jones is standing at the foot of the bed, and Jeff and Goodie are in the doorway. Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. There's no explaining this away as anything other than exactly what it is. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Eddie," Steve says, nudging him with his elbow. Eddie still doesn't budge, but his foot is sticking out of the comforter, and Gareth runs his knuckle up Eddie's bare sole.

Eddie's awake then, jerking his whole leg backwards.

"Jesus H. Christ, kid!" Eddie screeches, pulling the sheet up to his neck as if he's trying to protect his precious modesty. It's fucking endearing. 

Terrifying, but endearing.

Steve must be staring at Gareth, because the kid shrugs, "He was late to school. A lot. Wayne asked me to start getting him there before he was a fifth year senior from tardies alone. The bottom of the foot is foolproof."

And Steve's hammering heart slows, just a little. Nobody is screaming, there's no fight breaking out. Nobody's being called names. He's not sure how to take this. They've been caught in bed, but nobody is really reacting to that. 

It's just a best friend explaining how to get Eddie awake. Robin would know how to do that for him, too.

"What are you doing here?" Steve finally asks. 

"We thought we'd come give you a break," Jeff says from the doorway. 

"Doesn't look like you want it though," Goodie adds, and it's the nicest thing he's ever said to Steve, Steve's pretty sure.

"Our parents think we're at a band camp," Gareth adds, "before school starts back up for me."

"Band camp," Eddie laughs, flopping back against the pillows, "Go wait downstairs."

And they listen. 

Steve just lays there next to him, finally saying, "Well."

Eddie laughs, then turns to face Steve, "They knew about me. I mean, the theory of me. It's not like I was getting any action. From boys or girls. But they're cool. Freaks gather together."

Steve chuckles, but Eddie keeps talking, "I'm sorry they know about you without you okaying it first, though."

It's fine. Honestly. Like, if they aren't gonna kick his ass? Everything's fine. Sneaking around always ends this way. Steve knows it. You always get caught by someone. He just didn't predict it to be so soon, or here.

"How'd they even get in here?" Steve asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He's pretty sure he locked the door when they went to bed.

"That's probably my bad. I taught Goodie to pick locks."

"Another Munson family trick?" Steve asks, pulling his jeans on, sliding up the zipper.

"Yep," Eddie answers, "the school would sometimes forget to leave the room unlocked for us to have Hellfire. So, I taught him to open it, since I have a bit of a tendency to run late."

Steve laughs, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Regret it now, though," Eddie says dryly, and Steve holds open the bedroom door for him.

Gareth and Goodie are sitting around the kitchen table, already helping themselves to the beer they found in the fridge. Cards dealt. Waiting.

Jeff's cooking a massive skillet of eggs and there's toast piled high on a plate.

Beer and eggs. That's something. Breakfast of champions.

"You can fuck him, but Eddie is my card partner," Gareth says, pushing a waiting hand of cards towards Eddie.

Fair enough.

Steve snags a plate, and is more interested in eating than cards, anyway.

"We can't have set partners with five of us," Jeff says. "It's just gotta happen as the game unfolds."

Gareth starts to argue, and it's like they totally moved on from what they all saw upstairs. Steve feels off-kilter, but he takes another bite of toast.

Maybe these guys are Eddie's version of Robin. That's the only thing that makes any sense. 

Steve picks up his cards, and starts organizing them in his hand. He isn't even sure what they're playing, but he guesses he'll figure it out. There were lots of card parties in the Harrington household growing up. He probably knows whatever they're gonna throw at him, as long as it isn't something they've straight made up.

Which is possible, he's sure, knowing Eddie.

But that's about the extent of the discussion about what they walked in on earlier. 

Jeff turns over a card.

"Eldest, auction is in your hands," Jeff says, and Eddie looks down at his cards.

"Order it up," Eddie says, eating eggs and playing at the same time.

"Trumped up, just like your murder charges," Goodie says, and everybody laughs. 

"That doesn't even make sense," Jeff says.

"You just wanted to say it," Gareth adds, and Goodie takes his needling pretty damn well, all things considered.

And Steve smiles, happy that this is something they can all joke and laugh about. That as fucking terrible as it all was, is, that they can still make light of it to cope.

That's not nothing. That Eddie wasn't lost to it. That he's here to be gently ribbed. That his friends believe in his innocence, totally.

Eddie names his card, and Gareth plays it, becoming Eddie's partner. 

They continue to play, and things do not go Gareth's way, which Goodie seems to be enjoying.

And later, Goodie smirks, "I'm in the barn."

Gareth heaves a big sigh, "Damn. I'm gonna get skunked." 

And everybody laughs at his misfortune.

They stay. Camp out in all the rooms in the house, staking their claim. And it's actually a lot of fun. Like a high school house party that just doesn't end in a fist fight on the lawn. Steve hasn't been this relaxed since, well, before. Before 1983. Before monsters and the Upside Down came crashing into his life. 

He embraces this break, this chance to just be. He's not a kid anymore. Not in age, and definitely not in life experience. 

He lays on the beach, catching a tan.

These couple of weeks have felt as close to a vacation as he's gotten in years, and he lets the worry of the past slide off his back. 

Steve supplies the beer, Goodie has a few pre-rolls left, so they smoke, drink, and play cards. Steve watches them fight over the stereo, and he learns to recognize the new Accept album by ear with time. 

They swim, except for Goodie, because apparently he's scared of gators. Even if they tell him that the gulf isn't a swamp, and the chances of him being taken down by a gator are extremely unlikely. Not impossible, gators gonna gate, but it's not like it's super plausible. 

Goodie doesn't care. He's not doing it, and says no amount of peer pressure will work on him. So, he sits on the porch, beer on his knee. Cigarette in hand. 

So much for him being big and bad, Steve thinks. 

Today, girls have suddenly appeared down the beach. Screaming and laughing, and they all watch them intently. Taking in the bikinis. The bouncing boobies. Not one of them above watching a free show. 

They have a volleyball that comes bouncing in their direction, leading the girls to finally notice them and approach. Apparently Steve's the only one with a working voice, though. He learns there are a pair of sisters staying in their grandparents' beach house with their friends. One last hurrah before going back to, or for a couple of the girls starting, college. 

University of Nebraska. Go, Cornhuskers. Apparently.

Since Steve's the only one engaging like a normal human, they're paying extra attention to him. One in particular. And she's cute. But he politely rebuffed her attention the best he could, and then watched Eddie do the same.

Goodie builds a little bonfire, and Steve is kind of impressed. He doesn't even know where he got the wood at. 

Of course, Steve was less impressed when he was sent off for the stuff to make s'mores.

Eddie followed him, and as nervous as Steve is any time Eddie pokes his head out of the house, it's probably fine. Honestly. They are so far from Hawkins. 

Eddie does wait in the car at the grocery store, but then digs through the bag to see what Steve bought. 

Graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows. Steve's not sure what else Eddie expected, honestly. It's s'mores.

By the time they get back, one of the girls has taken a shine to Gareth, and now Steve and Eddie are watching him blush and blunder through what Steve thinks could be considered flirting, maybe. 

It's honestly a good show. 

For some reason, she isn't put off by Gareth's awkwardness, and later that night, with the window to his room open, Steve can hear Gareth talking to her down below on the porch. 

He's not as bad as Steve once thought, none of them are.

Just like Eddie.

Steve should have realized that earlier, he's pretty sure. First impressions are almost never right about anyone.

And their partying continues, just now there are girls involved. The group, growing. 

Goodie's suddenly not as scared of gators, apparently. Because there's a girl on his back out in the water. 

Steve sees Gareth dip under the water, and knows where this is going, and sure enough, he must snag Goodie's foot, which causes a commotion. 

Steve misses Robin. He sits there considering if there's any way he could get Mrs. Buckley to let her join them, but can't think of an excuse that would seem plausible. Unless Robin also wants to go to fake band camp, too.

Steve's lounging on the steps, leaned back, his elbows braced against the wood. Watching from behind his sunglasses. 

Gareth sits next to him. 

Two of the girls are hitting around a volleyball. Bouncing along the sand. 

"Boobies," Steve says. 

"Boobies," Gareth echoes, then laughs. 

They sit and watch a few seconds longer, then Gareth says, "Eddie doesn't have those, you know." 

"I know," Steve answers. "I like both. I'm okay with that. Are you?" 

"Yeah. Eddie does too," Gareth says, then turns and looks at Steve fully. 

Steve turns to see what he's doing. 

"Thanks. For saving him. I know we've been kinda shitty at times, but we owe you." 

They don't owe him anything, but he still teases, "Don't worry. Someday I'll collect." 

Gareth slaps him on the shoulder, and then inserts himself in the volleyball game down below.

The next morning, Steve's shaving at the sink, bathroom door open, when Gareth appears in the doorway. 

Then says nothing. 

Steve keeps shaving, waiting to see what this is. Finally asking, "Eddie okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. Um, I have a question." 

Steve meets his eyes in the mirror. Still waiting.

"Do you have a condom I can borrow?" 

Steve grins, "Maybe. But not borrow. I definitely don't want it back."

Gareth rolls his eyes, "Very funny. Eddie told me to ask you. I regret that decision, now." 

Steve reaches over and gets his bathroom bag, and tosses it to Gareth, "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Gareth says, as he digs through it, finding what he was looking for. And then takes the whole box. Little shit.

But Steve lets him. He'd rather Gareth have more than he needs, instead of less. Steve can buy more. He's not embarrassed at all. 

"Play safe," Steve says as Gareth tosses his bag back, it thumping against Steve's bare chest.

Gareth doesn't come home that night, and by mid-afternoon the next day and still no sight of him, Eddie is sending Steve down to check on him. 

He's fine. Just laying on the couch in the girls' house, hand up the shirt of the petite, blonde one. 

"Check in with Eddie later," Steve says, startling him. "You know how he worries." 

Gareth laughs, and gives Steve a little salute and then a dismissive shooing away motion. 

Another girl is at the top of the staircase, and lifts the hem of her shirt, flashing him. 

"If only I wasn't already spoken for, sweetheart," he says, holding his hands to his heart, as if he's wounded by this admission. 

And she's laughing, and seems charmed, not offended, which is what he'd hoped for. He hasn't made anything official with Eddie, and they have definitely cooled their jets since Eddie's friends arrived, even if they all know. 

Steve walks down the sand, and Eddie is waiting on the porch.

"Well?" Eddie asks.

"I saw some tits," Steve says, sitting down next to him, "and Gareth's fine."

Eddie laughs, and briefly slides his hand through Steve's arm, squeezing his elbow.

In no time at all, the girls are packing up their cars, and Gareth is acting like he's about to become a war widow. 

Steve gets it. He does. Your first, you don't forget. But this should have been a little summer fling for him, not a pending broken heart. 

It's not like Gareth doesn't have to go soon, too. Labor day is quickly approaching.

Gareth is pretty pissed off that summer has slipped away, and now he has to go back to school. One more year. The youngest. Without him, they could probably stay indefinitely. 

And he's very unhappy about that fact.

But, he's made it his life's mission to make it clear to all of them that while he has to go back to high school for another year, at least he's not a virgin anymore. 

They're all sick of hearing it, and Steve's grateful it isn't gonna be him stuck in the car for twelve hours with him this time.

Eddie has given Gareth very explicit, detailed instructions on how to run Hellfire. How to keep it going for the other sheepies. Sure, the name will likely have to be changed. It's far too tainted now. And they might even if they have to do it in private, away from that godforsaken school, but Eddie wants that to happen, if need be.

A few days later, it's their turn to leave, and they're dragging feet, Gareth especially. 

"Are you ever coming home?" Gareth asks Eddie, standing next to his mom's borrowed minivan.

Eddie looks at Steve, and Steve doesn't have the heart to answer that. 

But no. Eddie's probably not.

Alone, once again, Steve follows Eddie up the staircase, his hand resting in the small of his back. As if Eddie still needs help with his balance. He doesn't, but Steve wants to touch him, nonetheless.

Steve watches as Eddie pulls his shirt over his head. He's gotten a bit of a tan while his friends were here, and he looks healthier, finally. Steve's hands find his bare skin, squeezing his sides. Eddie laughs, hair falling into his face. 

And Steve wants. 

He kisses him like he means it, then pulls back. During his last beer run, he'd done some other stocking up as well. He pulls the plastic sack out of the nightstand. New boxes of condoms and K-Y jelly. He shakes them out onto the bed.

"You wanna?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at them, cheeks going a little red, but he nods.

There's a little confusion on the expectations here, but Steve rolls over onto his belly. This is what he wants. He's never had it, but he wants it, anyway.

"I've never, have you ever?" Eddie asks, holding the tube in hand, flipping the cap open and shut, over and over again.

Steve shakes his head, "No."

There's a learning curve. It's kinda steep, but at least they can laugh about it. They can figure it out together, and now that Eddie's finally got two fingers in him, Steve thinks they're finally getting somewhere. 

It's an odd feeling, honestly. He isn't sure what he feels about it, other than full.

But he's gonna ride this out. See where it goes.

Now up on his knees, the blunt head of Eddie's cock is definitely bigger than his fingers, and Steve hangs his head down between his shoulders, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Eddie stills, "You still okay?"

There's a hand on Steve's ass, and he focuses on that point of contact. Like everything is in that warm touch, and nowhere else.

"It's a lot," Steve admits. Because it is.

"Want me to stop?" Eddie asks, his other hand now trailing up Steve's spine.

"No. No. Just, more lube, I think. And go slow," which Steve knows is an ask. He's pretty sure Eddie's barely been moving at all.

Eddie slides out, and now Steve feels left open, and missing something. It's so fucking weird. There's more lube, and more fingers, and even more lube. Steve feels it dripping out of him, he's pretty sure. 

But then Eddie's pressing in again, and it seems to go a little easier. He feels the head of his cock pop past his rim, right into him, and he groans, fisting at the sheets underneath him. It's good, and the rest of the slide feels easier.

Eddie eventually stills.

"You all in?" Steve asks. He's not sure what he'll do if there's more.

"Fuck, yes," Eddie answers, and then Steve can feels his fingertips brushing along his hole as it's stretched around his cock, buried deep inside. "Look at you."

Steve can't do that, but wishes he could.

"You good?" Eddie asks.

Yeah. Steve thinks he's good, "Yeah. Yeah. You can move. Slow. Go slow. But fuck me."

And Eddie does. It's a little hesitant, and uneven, but he draws back, and then slides deep again. And again. Until he's found a nice rhythm. Steve feels insane, and whiny, and so fucking needy. 

He didn't expect how much he'd enjoy this. He kinda just thought he'd be taking one for the team.

Fuck that. He's taking this for himself. Happily, greedily.

It doesn't last long. Steve knows how that goes. The first time you slide into a body that's allowing, welcoming, you inside. It's overwhelming, and feels good in a way you can't even begin to expect.

Eddie shoves deep one more time, and comes with a noise that is nearly enough to send Steve over the edge, untouched. 

When he pulls out, Steve feels empty. Cracked open, and then Eddie rolls him over onto his back, slick hand finding his cock, eyes locked straight on Steve's, and Steve melts into it. He looks at Eddie. Into his dark eyes, his hand gripping Eddie's scarred waist, holding on.

It's a firm slide up, and back down, and Steve can feel his orgasm building. And when he tenses and comes, splattering his own belly and chest, he feels so fucking good. Eddie eventually lets go, cleans him up, and then curls into his side.

Fingers dancing along his skin, and Steve suspects, going from mole to mole.

He's gonna fall in love with him, hell, probably already has.

"We gotta do something. Make a plan. We can't stay hidden here forever," Eddie eventually says, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. "Even if I want to."

Steve knows. He knows that's true.

"Okay. I'll figure it out."

Steve paces on the porch, worried. He eyes the nailbat leaning against the railing, waiting, in case he needs it. He's scared he's made a mistake. Scared that it's gonna be helicopters, spotlights, and a whole fucking army decending on them.

It's not.

It's Dr. Sam Owens. Alone, with a briefcase.

Two hours later, Eddie Munson has a whole new identity, and a small tote bag of cash. A payout Steve hadn't even known to ask for, but Owens had brought as a peace offering to keep Eddie quiet if he'll just slink off and not expose all their secrets. 

Wayne's paperwork is on the counter, if he wants it. 

Jeff and Goodie are bringing Wayne out next week. That's the plan anyway. If they can lure him into the car. 

Eddie can't return to Hawkins with his new identity, but he can leave the beach house. Can leave Florida. He can go anywhere he wants, now.

Dr. Owens is descending the steps, nearly onto the sand, when Steve hurries out onto the porch. 

"Hey, wait!"

Dr. Owens turns around, and Steve suddenly isn't sure what to say.

"Yes?"

"Um. What would it take, to get me that kind of paperwork?"

Owens smirks, just a little, and reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a manilla envelope. 

Steve takes it.

"How did you know?" Steve asks.

"I've had eyes on you from the moment you ferreted him out of Hawkins."

Steve swallows. Nods.

Looks down at the envelope he's gripping tight. He could disappear, too. If he wants. He'd have to find some way to loop in Robin, of course, but he could just…go. 

Wherever Eddie wants. 

"Thank you," Steve says. 

"We think the activity in Hawkins has ceased. Once they finish rebuilding, it should be back to business as usual." 

Steve nods again. But it'll never be the same. Can't be. But the town will be able to start over. Have proven that's the plan. Hell, they've already figured out a way to start school on time and everything. 

Dr. Owens gives him one last look, and then he's gone.

Eddie's standing on the porch, and as Steve climbs the steps, Eddie holds open the door, asking, "What's next?"

Steve turns the lock, "Anything you want."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics to follow along with the filth and fun! 💦🎵

Notes: In the 1980's Destin was just starting to turn into the vacation city it now is. It went from fishing village to a resort city.

Accept's album Russian Roulette was released on April 21, 1986. As we're all aware, Eddie was wearing an Accept pin on his battle vest during S4.

[kings-highway]

haikyuu ships but its ways they said "i love you" before they had the courage to say "i love you."

daisuga: Suga's favourite movie of all time doesn't really mesh with Daichi. He thinks it's confusing and weird, and the gore is way over the top. But Suga loves it, and the comfort it provides, especially when he's sick, so Daichi always watches it with him even if he hates it. "Why do you always agree to this?" Suga asks, as Daichi's settling in to ride out another viewing. "Because it's something you love," he replies, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

iwaoi: Iwaizumi doesn't think he's ever going to convince Oikawa that he's the best setter, or that he's worked hard enough, or that he doesn't need to compare himself to everyone else. But he hates the way Oikawa can't seem to find value in himself outside of some seemingly fickle ranking system in his mind. So when they're fighting, and Oikawa keeps saying that it's just "objective fact" that Tobio is better than him, Iwa has to grab him by the face and tell him: "I won't let you slander things I care about."

ushiten: Tendou had often made the joke about being Ushijima's best friend, because it was funny. All their team, their classmates, always laughed. "He's my bestest bud," Tendou would say, because the whole school knew they made a funny pair, and it was laughable to think Ushijima would ever articulate a sentiment as juvinile as "best friends." Of course, when Ushijima realizes that people find this joke funny, he's very confused. "If it is a matter of not being good enough for you," Ushijima says, because he cannot think of a reason anyone would disparage Tendou, so it must be joke at his own expense, "then I will earn it."

kagehina: Hinata gets injured late in their second year. Its not the worst injury in the world and will heal just fine, but it takes him out of practice for a few weeks at the beginning of summer. He expects Kageyama to forget about him during this time. What good is a spiker who can't jump, can't even practice? But that doesn't happen. Kageyama seems to, if Hinata's not mistaken, dote on him. Carries his stuff, scolds him for not elevating the offended ankle properly, tells him to be careful. "Why are you being so fussy?" hinata asks. "Because I can't stand the idea of you not making a perfect recovery," Kageyama replies. "Who else could keep up with me?"

tsukkiyama: Yamaguchi likes to tease Tsukki over his lack of other friends. "You're too mean, you scare them away!" and "You're gonna have one lonely birthday if the only person who bothers to show up is me!" The last time he said this, though, Tsukki had replied with: "You're enough." and Yamaguchi still hasn't quite gotten over it yet. They celebrate his birthday just the two of them that year.

arankita: Aran came over to help on the farm over spring break. He didn't have to - between you and me, he hated that kind of physical labour anyway - but it was a way to spend a little more time with Kita before they graduated. At the end of the break, Kita surprises him by giving him a key to the house, "for emergencies," just in case. When Aran blusters and tries to ask why, Kita says: "I trust you." Considering Kita has never trusted anything except for himself and his own actions, Aran isn't sure any spoken sentiment could have meant more in that moment.

[cryptfly]

All I ever want to do is play dress up with my dollies. Here’s Rinsea, my ESO main, in some various ceremonial garbs she’s picked up during her adventures. More info under the cut.

Champion of Vivec

She would rather you think of her being the City’s champion than the God-King’s, but here we are. I obviously based it on the Buoyant Armiger’s glass armor. She’s not officially a Buoyant Armiger or anything, but she does get some fancy glass armor pieces for official occasions which she does not attend. This is also partially based on Bajoran liturgical wear because I like it very much.

Champion of Sotha Sil

Technically she’s the champion of the Clockwork City but that was very long to put on her picture lmao. I don’t think Seht would have gotten her any ceremonial wear honestly, but since it’s basically a standard Clockwork Apostle outfit, I like to think that one of that order got her this, something fine and suited to the environment as a thanks for saving their sadboi God. Drawing the armor pieces was really fun and satisfying and they turned out way better than I was expecting.

Champion of Almalexia

Once again I changed the actual title given to fit the picture. Almalexia actually named her a Hand! However as we all know, a Hand of Almalexia is a specific kind of Ordinator and Rin is not actually inducted into that order. She’s a Hand because Ayem says so but that doesn’t actually give her any rank or anything. Instead of giving her Ordinator armor, I gave her a fancy gown. I think Ayem did this with a touch of vanity-isn’t my Hero so beautiful, a true Daughter of Morrowind I am such a proud Mother. Also, I really wanted to draw a pretty dress and no one can stop me. I based some of the details off Kirkbride drawings of Almalexia herself.

Urshilaku Clanfriend

In my personal canon of the story, the Vvardenfell quest happened first for Rin and took around little over a year and in that time she became a Clanfriend among Ashlanders. Her father, Gares, had been an Ashlander until he was forced to flee with his infant daughter and when she returned on what seemed to be Temple business, they were wary of her. But she made herself useful and was unfailingly polite and she was folded into much of their life. I like that while the other outfits look designed and tailored to suit her, her Ashlander gear almost looks like hand me downs and mended pieces. She wasn’t given new and special clothes, she was trusted with clothes worn by the tribe, inviting her into the family itself. These clothes look nice but also like something she work in side by side with the Ashlanders.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. ix: Protector

Chapter Summary: Riddled with regret, Aemond searches for Valeana after what had happened in the library.

Word Count: 3843

Sneak Peak: “Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.” “But what if I fall–” “You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

Warnings: Active anxiety attack due to ptsd.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aegon never held a strong friendship with his sister, Helaena. They had nothing in common and having a conversation with her felt like navigating a labyrinth. A labyrinth full of riddles that he needed to solve in order to pass through doorways. His love for Helaena only ever extended as much as a brother’s love for his sister could in normal families. He was equally as protective of her as he was annoyed by her. 

He would get annoyed at her hyperfixation of insects and other vermin. He would get annoyed when she moved at her own pace, or flat out didn’t listen when being commanded to do something by him or literally anyone else. He’d get annoyed when she didn’t look at him when he talked to her, or derailed the conversation to talk about something unimportant. Most of all it annoyed him how much his mother ran to her and coddled her whenever Helaena was slightly uncomfortable. However, when Helaena was uncomfortable, even by small things by the standards of everyone else, it was like the world was ending. 

That was when Aegon’s protectiveness would come through. Helaena’s fits would be explosive, sometimes destructive. It had gotten better as she got older, but that only meant that if something was happening, it was much worse than rearranged furniture, or a stain on her sleeve that she was convinced was an omen of death. From the day they were betrothed, Aegon was forced to spend more time with her (to establish some sort of romantic bond with her. Really, his mother asked for the impossible), and over time he recognized the warning signs and learned through trial and error how to calm her down. These fits had started to become fewer over the years, and eventually the possibility of them being married dwindled with his father’s growing health and dislike of the match. Despite all that time wasted, Aegon was still the first to be summoned to calm his sister when she needed it. 

That night, Aegon returned from Flea Bottom from a failed quest to find a new platinum blonde to conquer in his usual preferred whore houses. He was drunk, blue balled, and a bit frustrated when they only offered brunettes that he’s had dozens of times. By the time he reached Maegor’s Holdfast, he was tired beyond belief. He silently cursed his ancestors for making the castle incredibly inconvenient to navigate, particularly for drunkards such as himself. 

Aegon rounded the corner, just in time to see her stumbling and groaning in pain, hands grasping at her leg. He quickly sobered and went over to her, hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed over by thick tears and a fog that reminded him of his sister. 

Something happened, something terrible had happened. But a quick glance of her form showed him no physical wounds. She wasn’t bleeding, but her leg seemed to pain her a great deal. Valeana was a disheveled, and the thought that someone raped her had immediately crossed his mind. 

“I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

Aemond? Would his brother actually be capable of such a thing?

Fear and doubt flushed out the alcohol from his veins. He wouldn’t get straight answers from her, not when she is in this mind set. Brushing her tears from her face, Aegon concluded that a distressed Valeana Celtigar was almost as bad as a distressed Helaena. Perhaps it was divine intervention that he happened upon her in this state before anyone else. 

The apartments he shared with his siblings weren’t that far from there, so he guided her to his quarters. When the guards posted at the doors looked at him curiously, veiled with concern and assumptions on their minds, Aegon gave them a pointed look.

“It is not what it looks like. Something’s happened, but I do not want you to alert a Maester until I figure out what it is. Swear to me your silence?”

The knights bowed their heads, then replied in unison, “I swear it, my Prince.” 

With a stiff nod, Aegon helped Valeana enter the apartments and into his private solar. He would not be able to keep her there until dawn, he knew. If people saw her exiting in the morning, the gossip would be like wildfire and before he could even blink, they would be at the altar in front of a Septon, swearing their vows and exchanging cloaks. First, he needed to get her to calm down, then he would summon his sister.

They entered his bedchamber, and he nudged the door closed with his foot to give them privacy. Then, Aegon helped her onto the edge of his bed after he pried her arms from his neck. Her entire body was shaking; her trembling fingers grasped at her leg, as she gasped in pain. 

“Let me see,” he bent down, but when he tried to lift her robe and nightgown, she panicked and shrieked. Immediately Aegon lifted his hands and stepped back. 

Valeana folded into her body, her forehead nearly touching her knee, and both of her hands grasped at her calf as long groans emitted from deep in her chest. She was starting to gasp for breath, allerting Aegon immediately. Bending down to a knee, he grabbed her hands, forcing his fingers under her grip. 

“Valeana, look at me,” He craned his neck down to her knees to try to catch her eyes, “I need you to breathe.” With his free hand, he cupped her cheek and gently forced her to look up so he could anchor her stare to his. Her pupils were completely dilated, like how Helaena’s got when she had lost her grip on reality. Aegon’s grip on her cheek was firm as she tried to pull away from it. 

“Eh-eh, it’s just me, Egg. Just silly ol’ Aegon, remember? Darling, I need you to breathe, like this—” He took a deep inhale through his nose and exhaled through his lips. 

She blinked at him, which allowed a rogue tear fall over the apple of her cheek down to her dry lips. With shaky shoulders and a constricted throat, Valeana took in an uneven breath. When she exhaled it came out stuttering through pouted lips. 

“That’s it, that’s it, now again,” He inhaled the same time as she did, and then exhaled.

They stayed like that, breathing in and out for a few minutes until her body stopped shivering and her shoulders relaxed. Every few moments she would moan or groan from a wound that the prince still could not identify. Through the pain, he would gently encourage her with a soft, “That’s it, Val, keep going.” Eventually, Aegon felt his efforts working when the full weight of her head dropped in his hands, and the muscles in her limbs loosened.

He grinned, tapping his fingers gingerly on her cheeks, “There you go, Crab Cake. You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined you in my bed. The breathing hard part, yes–” 

“Shut up, Egg,” her eyes fluttered closed, chest heaving heavily as she continued to level her breathing. 

He gave a soft laugh, “There’s my girl.” 

Valeana’s eyes gently opened, her mind still in a fog, but if she had to relate it to anything now, it was more like a dense humidity. The kind of humidity that makes every part of you exhausted. Her tongue ran over her dry bottom lip, “I’m sorry. It must be so late.” 

Aegon gave a shrug, “I should be thanking you. I’ve never felt more sober.” 

From a mixture of exhaustion and delirium, a chuckle shook her shoulders. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to control her giggles. Aegon, still on his knees before her, remained silent, a small, kind smile upon his face as he watched her. He decided he quite liked her like that – laughing, that is. But then he was reminded of the distress she was in only ten minutes ago, and that smile fell. 

“Valeana,” his hand crept onto her right knee, palm facing up in an invitation for her to hold his hand. “What happened?” 

She stopped laughing to take in a sharp inhale, the butt of her palms reached up to press firmly in her eyes. When she finally pulled away, she blinked rapidly and looked down at his hand on her knee. Surprising herself, she dropped hers onto her thigh and allowed the tips of her fingers to curl around Aegon’s.

“He pushed me,” the words came out painfully. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed, “In the library. I just-I just touched his arm and—” a stuttered sigh released through her lips. “It just felt–it just… everything all over again. I thought– fuck, I’m sorry, I cant–” Her hands were back on her face, fingers digging into her skin before combing through her hairline. 

“No, no, shh, it is fine,” Aegon took her wrists and pulled them away from her face. “It’s fine…. Are you hurt? Do you need a Maester? What about your leg…” He looked down at the one she was holding earlier. 

She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, please… don’t call the Maester. I don’t want my dad to know. He’ll make it worse, please, just… I’m just so tired.” 

“Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

Valeana shook her head again, a little softer this time, “I’m fine, really – it does that sometimes… It feels like something is there, but there isn't.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a clear hesitation. Her eyes didn’t meet his curious gaze, but eventually her hands moved down to the length of her robe as she pulled up the fabric and then her nightgown underneath. Aegon watched intently in slow anticipation, until he realized what he was looking at. There was polished oak wood where her calf and foot should have been and a sophisticated and complex ball joint for an ankle. His eyes roamed higher, where he could see the wood cutting off at the knee, before continuing around her thigh where it was secured by various straps and buckles. 

This was beyond surprising for multiple reasons. He had no idea that she had lost her leg – he had clear memories of the Maesters at the time righting it properly, and putting her in a split. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know anything about infections or anatomy, but there had to be a reason for it to be amputated. The other surprising reason was that he had not seen this the other day when he was hiding under her dress. Then again, she was wearing very tall, thick red stockings. Now that he thought about it longer, he did see a strap around her thigh, but he had assumed it was a garter that was holding up her stocking.

Valeana put her skirts back down and wrapped her arms around her legs, “Sometimes I feel things there… But there is nothing, because there is nothing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Aegon nodded stiffly, eyes still on her left leg, now hidden under the curtains of her robe. Finally he pulled his gaze away and returned it to her, “I’m going to get Helaena.” 

T H E  P A S T

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“We’re lost, Aemond!”

“We’re not lost, we’re just…” Aemond stopped walking as he craned his neck up to look at the leafy ceiling of the Godswood. “A little off track.” 

A simple picnic in the woods had gone amiss when Aemond insisted on going deeper into the thicket, away from the judging eyes of his brother and nephews. They were aware of his friendship with Valeana, but not the extent of how close they were. And while Aemond did not want to give up his companion, he did not want to give his brother more arrows for his quiver. 

Aemond also simply wanted a peaceful moment between him and his friend… quite frankly, his only friend if he thought too closely on it. No interruptions, no curious or amused stares by the kingsguard or other adults. Typically they remained around the fringes of the forest, near the Heart Tree, since Valeana wasn’t good with steep hills and long treks. But, he had a plan; there was a clearing near the bubbling brook that would only take them twenty minutes to get to. There was a large weeping mulberry tree that he wanted her to see. Valeana loved the berries, but he also thought a picnic underneath its protective canopy would be the perfect setting for… 

And he blushed at the thought. 

His first kiss…

Unfortunately, it did not go as planned, and he had no one else but himself to blame. Valeana sat on a rock, breathing heavy, face flushed and hair slightly wet from the sweat building up on her brow and upper lip. He could tell she was self conscious about it, the way she kept on dabbing a handkerchief on her face and looking away from him. Valeana was always hot, always sweating. He remembered she used to wear lighter colours, but her stepsister would scold her for having sweat stains under her pits. Then, Valeana started to wear darker colours, which did not help with the glare of the sun. 

Still, he always found her flushed appearance enduring. She looked like a porcelain doll with a red button nose, and peridot gems for eyes. 

They conversed, like they usually did. All the while Aemond tried to inch his way closer to her, but always found something in the way. A twig holding his tunic, or a rock prodding his backside. Val was blissfully unaware, too busy gazing up at the natural umbrella of the mulberry tree and the light that peaked through. 

Once he managed to worm his way to her side as subtly as possible, he found himself fidgeting with his hands nervously, barely listening to a thing she was saying. Something about how a specific berry looked like a mole on Floris’ back. Aemond turned to her just as she was munching on a particularly large one, with her tongue flicking out and licking up the juices that stained her lips. Subconsciously he mimicked the movement. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked when she noticed him zoning out. 

He chickened out. Once he realized he was staring, Aemond flushed and moved away from her.  

Now they were lost in the Godswood, and they were losing daylight. The bright blue sky was now becoming duller and grey as the clouds gathered for a possible light rain for the evening. 

“A little off track?” She repeated his words as she looked down at a steep hill they were expected to climb down. Valeana turned to him, face wholly unamused, “Aemond, my prince, my friend. We are practically in the Vale.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh, at both the overstatement and the look on her face. “We are still in the Red Keep, Val. We can walk in any direction, and eventually we will find a castle wall.” 

“And what will we do when we find the wall, Aem? Grow wings and fly over it? Will you launch me over it like a scorpion or katapult?” 

It was difficult to wipe the smile from his face, but he managed to suppress the chuckle. Instead, he started to scale down the hill, then waved for her to follow, “C’mon, if we go down here, it will save us time…” 

When he didn’t feel her presence next to him, he turned sharply to see her looking down the hill with a visible frown and worry in her eyes. 

“Aemond, that’s too steep, I’ll … I’ll go around. I’ll meet you there.”

“Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I fall–”

“You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

She looked at him skeptically, “Well, you can’t say ever–”

“Valeana!” 

With a huff, she took his hand, “Fine.” 

It took time, but the two managed to scale the steep hill with only a few close calls. When they made it to the bottom, Valeana heaved a long sigh of exhaustion and victory. 

“See? It was not so bad,” Aemond watched in mild amusement as she bent, hand on her knee – the other still in his – as she tried to catch her breath. 

She sent him a withering glare, “Oh, yes, string bean. Piece of pigeon pie.” Valeana straightened up, brushing the wrinkles of her dress – of all the good that’ll do – and looked about where they ended up. She could vaguely see the white spidery branches of the Heart Tree and its blood red leaves in the distance. 

“We’re almost there,” he confirmed her speculation, but there is still a great distance, even if they could see their destination from there.

“Uh huh,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now we just need to survive an impending storm, and wolves and bears and hellhounds–”

“Hellhounds?” He snorted, “What do you think we keep in here, Valeana?”

“My imagination is wild,” She replied with a sigh. They started to walk onward, towards the direction of the weirwood tree. “It is especially vivid when I’m afraid.”

Aemond still had her hand in his. With her confession, he gave it a little squeeze, “I’ll protect you, Val. From whatever beasts that lurk around us.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “And what of the beasts that lurk in my mind? Would you protect me from those as well, Aemond?”

His grip on her hand tightened, “Even those. Especially those.”

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Another regrettable, regrettable mistake. 

But Aemond doesn’t make mistakes. Not anymore. And yet there he was, staring at his hand like it was a foreign appendage; like it had moved on its own accord. 

When he entered the library, he was tightly wound up after the bath. It had the complete opposite desired effect, and he blamed his cock for that. He was no better than Aegon in that regard, allowing depraved fantasies to weaken his will of mind. He wagered the celibate Cole didn’t have any words of wisdom for him to keep his loins protected from his own sinful thoughts, did he? 

Aemond convinced himself that in the throes of lust, his mind simply grasped at the first faces that came to mind. Much like the dreams of his own mother and step sister he used to have – those, he was sure, meant absolutely nothing. And what happened in the bath was exactly the same. It meant nothing.

Aside from the comfort of his own bedchamber, or on the back of Vhagar amidst clouds and sky, the library was his place of peace. In the dead of night, no one was there, not even the overseeing Maester. However, when he entered and saw that his sanctuary had already been breached by none other than the object of his ire, Aemond bristled like an overstimulated cat.

He didn’t realize how tightly strung up he was until it became hindsight. 

The heat of her hand, even through the fabric of his tunic, felt like hot iron. His body reacted impulsively, instinctually, and out of survival, like she was an enemy approaching from behind. Aemond immediately realized his mistake when his hands felt soft skin, familiar to him like a forgotten memory. 

He froze, embarrassingly. Standing, staring at his hand as if it was not his, and before he finally registered what he had done, it was too late. 

“Valeana–”

Aemond barely saw her in his panicked tunnelled vision. He saw the flurry of her robes and nightgown fall over her knees as she got to her feet, and a glimpse of the furrow on her brow just before she turned away and fled the library. He found himself taking strides toward her, but he stopped midway. 

This is for the best, a voice of reason told him. It sounded a lot like Ser Criston. Was this his mind protecting his heart? If it was, then why did it feel like he had stabbed it himself? 

He turned back to the book of his ancestors propped on the pedestal, and then back to the door. Remaining here would be easy, and probably the smartest thing he could do. But then came a second voice, more nagging the first, and it came to him in the form of his mother. 

She is a lady in distress, Aemond. It is not safe.

He shut his eye and sighed heavily through his flared nose. If Alicent learned of what he had done, and then allowed Valeana to run out of the Library during the hour of the owl, she would whip him herself. 

In the end, and as always, his mother won his eternal struggles. With stiff strides, he left the comfort of the library and stepped into the corridor, only to find it void of life. Looking left and right, and then ahead of him, he could hear nor see a living soul. Hedging his bets, he decided to walk ahead, and after a few strides he saw something on the ground: a woman’s red slipper. 

Aemond bent to snatch it up and examine it. He didn’t get a good look at her feet when she had pushed herself off the ground, but he doubted many women would leave their footwear behind unless they were running away. At least he knew now that he was on the right track. 

His steps became a little faster, though as he continued on for another minute or two, he realized he was getting closer to the apartments. When he reached the grand door that led to the wing he shared with his siblings, he paused to face the two knights guarding it. 

“Have you seen the Celtigar girl in these halls?”

The two men exchanged a look, one Aemond immediately caught with suspicion. He gritted his jaw and took a step towards them, “Where is she?”

The knight bit his bottom lip before speaking, “We were told–”

Aemond pushed passed through them into the doors. The vestibule between each private quarters was grand, giving room for a dining table, and a lounge in the balcony that faced the small courtyard. Aegon’s quarters were on the far left, to which he confidently strode to, sweeping through his solar until he got to his brother’s bedchamber door. That is when he stopped himself. 

He could hear heavy breathing through the wood, coupled by soft moaning and groaning. Then he heard his damnable brother’s voice: 

“That’s it, Val, keep going.”

That was it.

That was when winter claimed Aemond’s heart, and turned his blood into rivers of ice.

Note: I know you're wondering.... "Celt... this looks like an Aegon x ofc in disguise." I promise you it isn't. I am a slow burn novella writer. SIT TIGHT, BESTIES, IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[mgu-h]

the way some people will bend over backward to find ways to dismiss lando's performance is honestly impressive to me, like the youtuber tommo just spent 12 minutes telling his 322k subscribers that we should not take the fact that lando has outqualified oscar 13-4 this year as truly representative, because oscar's pace was often quicker in q1 and q2 of quali and so obviously he's really secretly got the pace to be better. the entire exercise is so dumb because all that matters is the outcome of q3. like that's when you need to put a lap together, when you need to perform, when you need to deliver. lando obviously has the experience and skill to do that when it matters, and oscar hasn't gotten there yet. he will in time! i'm sure. but the results aren't lying or obfuscating the truth about who is 'really' better right now. the results are all that matters. fucking.. scoreboard, you know?

[rosyhoneydew]

Against his better judgment, Tommy had actually been excited for the visit.

It had been over a year since he last saw Ron, longer since he'd seen his nieces and sister-in-law. They got along fine and all, they just got older and busier and life gets in the way, doesn't it? So when his big brother floated the idea of a stopover in LA on his way back from a business trip overseas, Tommy had looked forward to it.

Two full days to take him around, show him his city, let him see a little bit of what his life looked like these days. He'd definitely gotten overeager. He'd packed their weekend with stops in Hollywood, a proper tour of the city from the bird, and a few drinks with their friends, and Evan, of course. It'd been a while since anybody came to visit, in his defense.

They're at one of Evan's favorite breakfast spots when he starts to pick up on it.

Ron knows he's gay, Tommy had come out to his whole family a few years back, not really expecting much. A cursory this is who I am, take it or leave it was all that really needed to be said. He had been pleasantly surprised when his brother didn't so much as bat an eye. Sure, they didn't talk about it, but they never really talked about anything in his family. Par for the course on that one.

So it twisted in his gut when he noticed.

Tommy and I actually thought about taking a trip to Yosemite this fall. Maybe make a vacation out of our anniversary, Evan said. Ron had just grunted.

You should see Evan's place, Tommy had rolled his eyes, not without affection, I swear I should just move in there. Ron had cleared his throat and asked 'where the hell a guy could take a leak in this place.'

It's not a big deal, but Tommy feels his face growing hot. He feels stupid. Evan rests a hand on his back while Ron's away, but Tommy can't tamp down the impulse to shake him off when his brother makes his way back to the table.

The ride home is quiet, each of them unsure of what to say. Tommy invites Ron inside for a last coffee before his flight, but he declines. Gotta see what that LA traffic is about, don't I? Tommy nods, claps a hand on his brother's shoulder. See ya later, man. Ron's mouth tightens into something like a smile, nods once at Evan, and drives off.

He's quiet when they enter the kitchen, hands resting on the cool countertop. He feels Evan come up behind him, rest his forehead on Tommy's shoulder, wrap his arms tight around Tommy's chest.

I'm sorry.

Tommy sighs and fits his hand over Evan's. He lets himself wallow, just for a little while in his partner's arms. He's not okay today, but tomorrow he'll wake up in those same arms, he'll tell his friends at work about the docuseries Evan's been loving lately, he'll spend guy's night at Eddie's with his partner like they do every other week now. And he'll be okay.

[britcision]

Technically it’s not Wednesday anymore and technically I should only be writing the next chapter, not several chapters down the line, but Jazz grabbed me by the throat so y’all get a rough draft on something that’s gonna be like, 2-3 chapters away 👀

Maybe 👀

Enjoy!

———————

Dan’s lips curled into an unpleasant snarl, pointed fangs suddenly more prominent.

“Oh, really, Danny. Did you think this was going to work? Some stupid illusion and I’d fall to my knees, sobbing for reconcilliation? Or did you bring me the real thing so you could watch me kill her in front of you this time? It might not stick but I’m sure I can try.”

Part of Danny nearly lunged forward, Obsession throbbing down to his core… but he held it in check. After all, this wasn’t the Jazz Dan had known; she wasn’t just a teenager anymore.

And she certainly wasn’t impressed.

“Daniel James Fenton, you know better than to talk about someone when they’re standing right in front of you,” she snapped, her hip cocked out and arms folded in an entirely done big-sister posture that only got scarier with age. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

And Dan… froze, for a moment. And Danny knew he’d been right in that second, that microsecond of hesitation. Of inactivity.

Sure, Jazz might be well past six feet tall herself now, but she looked like their mom enough to make his Vlad severely uncomfortable. More than that though… Danny had never gotten over the thought of her dying. Dan had broken the world about it.

And he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

It was covered up a moment later, in bluff and bluster as he scoffed and glared in her general direction.

“What, are you going to psychoanalyze me? Tell me how sad and tragic I am too? Give me a break, I’ve got some lovely coping mechanisms,” he snapped, aura flaring in a burst of green fire.

But Jazz had never been scared of Danny’s aura, and frankly? He was the Ghost King. Dan’s was a drip in the bucket by comparison.

She marched straight up to him, ignoring the flames completely, and grabbed him by the chin. Forced him to face her, even as his eyes widened, face freezing.

Danny had never heard her voice so cold.

“Is that supposed to be scary? Am I supposed to be impressed, Danny? Honestly, I’d like to say that must be the Fruit Loop’s influence, but you’ve always been a drama queen.”

And then she twisted him into a headlock, all 6’9 mountain of muscle like he was still a ninety-pound twink, and noogied him.

“You’re such a fucking dork, Danny.” She sounded almost fond now, exasperated, a tone Danny was painfully familiar with. Even knowing she wasn’t talking to him-him, the cringe was automatic.

Dan sure as hell had no idea what to do about it, panic flaring madly across his face and his aura, trailed by a lacklustre attempt at anger.

“Get your hands off me,” he roared, turning intangible and going to jerk himself away… and then Jazz’s eyes flashed teal and she reached after him, her own hand changing to pull him straight back into the noogie.

Something about that broke Dan completely, his entire body suddenly limp and held up only by Jazz’s continued grip on his head. He seemed almost catatonic, completely zoned out… which Jazz completely ignored, grinding her knuckles into the top of his head.

Danny was pretty sure he knew why though; it was the one thing which had always been able to calm him down, back when he was approaching his twenties and the possibility of Dan started giving him panic attacks. Jazz had snapped him out of it in a much gentler way, but it amounted to the same reminder.

Jazz was his big sister. His beloved mentor, his voice of reason, his rock. And after living in Amity Park for almost twenty years, directly on top of the Fenton Portal, she was liminal as hell and about one near-death experience from a halfa herself.

There was just no way he was ever going to lose her, until she decided she was good and ready to move on. It wasn’t possible, and a little thing like dying wasn’t going to slow Jasmine Fenton down.

If it happened before she graduated, Danny was pretty sure she’d rise before Finals Week even if she died the night before.

(And given her self-care habits, he did occasionally worry about it actually happening… but she promised her ghost-envy days were long behind her and she’d never get that bad.

Belief: pending.)

Danny wasn’t actually fully sure if her ghost-grabbing abilities extended to anyone else or if she could just always wrangle him, but he and Dan were the same person; enough so that it sure as hell worked on him.

Dan wasn’t going down without a fight though - Danny was almost a little impressed with how quickly he fought past the blue screen (it might have been Vlad’s influence, given the sudden haughty tone) as he began to shove at her arms, quickly working up to a shout.

“Get your hands off me! Do you have any idea who I am! I am the great destroyer, breaker of worlds, and you will not treat me like a small child!” He bellowed, struggling viciously against her grip.

If they were in the real world, it’d probably have worked. If he had access to any of his ghost powers, it wasn’t a fight Jazz could possibly have won.

But this was a dream, and either Nocturn had a damn good idea what’d happen to him if anything happened to Danny’s big sister in his realm… or he just plain liked Jazz better.

(Most people did. Danny was fine with it.)

Because the more Dan struggled, the more Jazz began slowly increasing in size, getting bigger and bigger until she entirely dwarfed him and had him cuddled like a doll under her arm. Watching him struggle at this point was just a little embarrassing, actually, and Jazz finally took pity on him.

And settled him on her hip like an unruly toddler, grinning down at him.

“Now, do you think you’re ready to actually talk to me?” She asked him gently - and if she found the sight of this full sized man so relatively tiny as funny as Danny did, it didn’t even show.

Dan glowered up at her.

“You may be favoured by the fool who runs this domain, but you will never be my equal in anything but dreams,” his snarled viciously, his anger apparently stoked by indignation.

(Danny made a note. Still definitely some Vlad tendencies.)

Jazz just chuckled softly, bumping him up to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Oh, baby brother, you know that’s never going to be how it works,” she said brightly, then paused, glancing around. “Uh… Danny, we never talk about this again, alright?” She asked, squinting down at him.

Mildly offended that he was about the height of her ankles, Danny raised both hands in immediate surrender.

“Dude, I am not letting anyone try and get freudian on me for Jumbo-Jazz. My lips are sealed from self preservation alone.” And he’d have to make sure to emphasize to Nocturn just how valuable his own silence would be. Vital to survival, even.

Apparently satisfied, Jazz nodded, sitting carefully cross legged and settling Dan in her lap, her chin on top of his head.

“So… you told me about your future once, y’know?” She said slowly, while Dan struggled and once more surrendered to the indignity. “And Danny told me some more later. And, obviously, we all actually know that taking over and destroying the entire world isn’t actually a healthy way to process grief…”

“Fucking spare me,” Dan growled, looking about a minute away from taking a bite out of her hand.

Jazz ignored him.

“But… in spite of all of that…” she paused for a moment, leaning back and smiling down at Dan, who couldn’t quite help craning back to look at her… if only to know where the next attack was coming from. “It’s… really sweet to know that you’d break the world for me, Danny. I just really wish it hadn’t broken you, too.”

And once again, Dan froze… and for the first time, Danny could feel a crack in the impenetrable wall around his core. Between all of the performative rage and theatrics and what he really, truly felt.

Even his rally only managed to produce a vaguely sulky “I’m not broken!”

Jazz sighed softly and turned him gently in her arms, lifting him to hug tightly to her chest. She might have been shrinking now, either by Nocturn’s will or her own, but she held him close anyway.

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

Could you make a fic where Sam and Fem!Reader finally get a motel room alone without Dean and enjoy the night?

𝙁𝙄𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙔 𝘼𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙀

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙋𝙐𝙍𝙀 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔 𝘼𝙎𝙁

• 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐.

• 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆, 𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝙔/𝙉, 𝙋 𝙄𝙉 𝙑, 𝘼 𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙇𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁, 𝙈𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙇𝙔 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏.

𝙎. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙭 𝙔/𝙉

• 🎀 • • • • 🤍 • • • ✨ • • ✨ • • • 🤍 • • • • 🎀 •

Sam and Y/N had to get a room together because of the fact that Dean, wanted to bring a woman over to the room. So that left her and Sam alone in the room. It’s not that they minded. They had slept in the same bed. But lately. Sam and Y/N had, had some kind of attraction towards each other. She just couldn’t help the fact that he was handsome. She had eyes, she could clearly see how attractive the Winchester Boys are. But something about Sam’s personality draw her in. Y/N had known the boys since they were all kids.

Sam and Y/N were always best friends including Dean. But it was mostly both of them, since they were around the same age range. Dean is six years older than them. He was always with other girls as the best friends were left alone to be there for each other. Even though they were the bestest of friends. They shared their first kiss together to get it out of the way. That wasn’t the only thing they both had shared. They also lost their virginity’s to each other.

They were each other’s first in everything, but there was no kind of feelings that came from all of that. They had both thought it was better to be each other’s first. Then to be other people’s first, strangers at that. Both of them still remember that day like it was yesterday. After that day. They had done it a few more times. That was until Y/N had gotten her first boyfriend at the age of 16. They had to stop what they were doing. But that relationship lasted a week.

She placed her bag in the only bed in the room and she sighed. “They didn’t have another room with another bed?” She asked the tall hunter as he rolled his eyes. “What? You kick hard in your sleep.” She told him as he puts his duffle on the bed same as her. “Well, then I’ll sleep on the couch.” He shrugged his shoulders and she shook her head. “No way I’m going to let you do that.” She told him as she grabs her bag and walked into the bathroom to take a good shower after the hunt they had. She got undressed and stepped into the hot shower letting it hit her body as she sighs letting the stress from the hunt melt away from her body. After she was done. She dried herself and changed into her night clothes.

Which consisted of a very short pink satin nightgown with nothing underneath. She hated sleeping with anything that consisted of undergarments. Hated the feeling of not feeling comfortable when she slept. “You going to shower?” She asked him as he snaps out of his thoughts. Unbeknownst to her. His dirty thoughts about what’s underneath the nightgown.

Sam hasn’t gotten laid in a while and being alone with the woman he’s been in love with since he was a child. Where doing things to him. He just wanted to grab her and bend her over the table and fuck her until all the people in the motel knew his Sam and the way she screamed it. Sam shifted uncomfortably as he imagined that. So, he grabbed his bag and quickly walked into the bathroom as he hid the problem he had going on in his pants. Closing the door he groans

Y/N and Sam laid on the bed with the lights off, but they weren’t able to fall asleep.

After a while Sam and Y/N turn to face each other and they sighed. “This is this suddenly weird for us?” She asked Sam as he lightly chuckled. Sam reached over and pulled her hair behind her ear as she closed her eyes. Y/N felt the bed rustling and she opened her eyes watching as Sam got closer to her, she did nothing to move. Sam closed the gap between them and places his soft lips on hers as he softly had his hand on her cheek. Y/N reached behind Sam and she ran her hands through his hair giving it a light pull as he moaned softly into the kiss as it started to get heated. Sam got in between her legs not breaking the kiss as his hands ran up her thigh up her nightgown. Sam pulled away from the kiss and he kissed down her neck slowly pulling the straps on her gown down as he softly, gently kissed her shoulders.

Y/N buckled her hips up rolling her own with him as he hissed. She moaned as she felt how hard he was, and how big he felt under his boxer shorts. She had forgotten that he had always been on the bigger side. Her nails drags along his body as she gets to the waist band of his boxer shorts and reached inside of him lightly touching his long, thick cock. “Fuck.” Sam softly whispered as he felt the pad of her fingers on the tip of his dick. Sam pulled her nightgown up to her body and looked at her body sitting back so he could get a view of that glistening pink pussy. He bites his lip as the pad on his fingers run through her folds making her gasp and arch her back off the bed.

“So wet for me.” Sam said as he lightly touched her clit. “So good for me.” He said as his finger went to her entrance teasing it making Y/N whimper as the feeling of his fingers touching her hole. Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but instead her head fell back into the pillow as Sam’s middle finger enters her. “Aah!” Her back arched as Sam went in and out of her. “Fuck, Sam. So good.” She moaned as Sam curled and finger fucked her in a steady. “Faster!” She said and gasped louder as Sam decided to add another finger into her pussy. “So tight.” He groaned.

Sam has his middle finger and his ring finger inside of her as he went so fast. His jaw clenched as she moaned louder. “God! I’m cumming, fuck!” She shook violently. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as a wave of her orgasm hits her as Sam curled his fingers. Wave after wave of pure pleasure hitting her all at once. Sam lightly moaned as he felt how her walls fluttered on his fingers. He could imagine how it felt with her around his cock as he fucked her hard.

Y/N slumped against the mattress breathing heavy as Sam slowed down taking out his fingers. She look up at him as he licked them clean making her close her legs at how sexy he looked licking her orgasm off his fingers. Y/N pulled the rest of her nightgown off tossing it to the side as Sam went and took off his boxer shorts throwing them aside getting in between her legs. He looked over at her body as he had, had dreams about her. His hands ran down her body, as it grazed her hardened nipples making her moan lightly as her back arched as chills erupted all over her body.

His hand reached her clit. The pad on his thumb rubbing it gently as she lets out a moan. He grabbed his dick pumping himself as he looked at her pretty pink pussy. He loved to her how her legs were spread open for him. He took his cock, his tip, gliding it from her entrance to her clit making her into a whimpering mess. “Sam, please.” She whined. “Beg.” He told her as she whined more. “Sam, I need you please.” She said to him gasping as his dick kept on gliding up and down on her, her legs slightly shaking as he as she clenched over nothing, breathing heavy moaning

Sam looked at her falling apart before his eyes. He looked at her and slides inside making them both gasp in pleasure. Her walls stretching as he fills her up. “Fuck! Aah!” She moaned loudly as he slowly rolled his hips into hers as he, himself groaned. “You’re so fucking tight.” Sam groaned as he pants.

“Faster, Sam!” She said. He held her hips and started to pick up his pace making her gasp and moan. Her hand shoots out to his hard abs as she gasped louder as he slammed into her. Her head rolled back as her mouth dropped open. His eyes solely on her as she was falling apart. Sam grunted as he looked down to where they both connected. His thumb going to her clit rubbing fast circles on it making her scream out his name over and over again as her hips buckled up.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Sam’s moaning was bringing her to the edge of her climax. “God, Sam! Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” She shook as he pressed her down onto the bed as the coil in her stomach exploded. “Ooh god!!” She shook her whole body in a euphoric state, she was seeing stars. Sam was moaning as his hips slammed into her hips his dick twitching hissing as she clenched around him. “Sam, cum.” She said as she looked at him. “Cum for me.” She told him. Sam grunts loudly as he released his seed inside of her halting his movements as he fell forward panting her walls white

Sam groaned his eyes screwed as he grunted in her ear. “Fuck, baby.” He whispered kissing her neck softly as Y/N hugged his sweaty body against hers. Letting out a breath Sam pulled out and rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breathing, his heart pounding in his chest from his orgasm. Y/N had her eyes closed with a smile on her face her body relaxed

Sam opened his eyes and looked at her. “I love you.” He said making her snap her eyes open.

She slowly sat up and looked over at him. Her eyes were wide open as she looked at him. “I have for a very long time.” He said as he also sat up. “Since we were kids.” He said as her eyes softened looking at him. Her fingers reached over and softly puts his messy sex hair behind his ear as she lovingly looks at him. “It’s so crazy, because, I think I love you, too.” She whispered to him making smile widely at her.

She leaned forward and placed her lips on his. Sam grabbed her hips putting her on top of him. “So, you’re mine?” He asked her softly with a small smirk on his face. “I don’t know, am I?” She said back with an even bigger smirk. “I think you are.” He said to her.

“Well, then.” She said lifting his chin up with her finger so he could look at her. “Show me.” She said.

Sam grabbed her from her waist flipping her on her back making her laugh out loud and they immersed themselves into another hot love making moment.

• 🤍 • • • • 🎀 • • • ✨ • • ✨ • • • 🎀 • • • • 🤍 •

𝙎. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

If you have any requests lmk. I’ll see what I can do. Since I don’t really do stuff like this. I can try. The only things I don’t do. Are daddy kinks or wincest, or age gap or peeing kink. But other than that feel free. I☺️ ps. I’m a destiel shipper but I don’t write destiel smut sorry.

[peaches2217]

My first therapy appointment in several months went really well! I’m returning to the councilor I’ve had for a couple years now. I updated her on my transition journey because the last time I saw her was a couple weeks before I started on T; I told her about coming out to my dad last night, and how disappointing it was.

The ensuing conversation was both productive, and so fucking validating.

My recent depressive episode? Complicated by an event with a former friend, but set into motion, and dragged out for so long, because of the stress of what was to come. My voice has gotten too low to even PRETEND it’s just a holdover from being sick or part of allergies or what have you. I’ve known for the past month that the time to tell my dad was coming. The fear of his reaction and the consequences it could bring since I’m currently in a financially vulnerable place was killing me.

And as we talked, I figured out that the unpredictability is still my only real, big fear: my dad promised me he wouldn’t kick me out, but there’s that lingering fear that he could change his mind, and even if he doesn’t, he could start draining my paychecks — I told him my GAC, insurance copays and all, has been coming exclusively out of my pocket, so I get the sneaking suspicion he’s gonna take advantage of us sharing a bank account and deepen that financial dependency. And above all, I’m afraid of losing our relationship. I’m okay with him not accepting my identity so long as he doesn’t treat me any differently in spite of it. But if he starts pulling away or pushing me away or withholding love as punishment for following down a path he disapproves of, what then?

My counselor told me that, sad as it is, I can’t control how he chooses to react. But I have my mom and brother’s support, my girlfriend’s support, and an online community of friends; if I lose my relationship with him, that’s ultimately his decision and his loss, and no matter what he does, I won’t face it alone.

I had hoped that assuring him I felt God’s peace in my choices and that I’d spent years praying over the situation would at least sorta put him at ease, but all he did was infantilize and illegitimize my entire experience as guided by evil and selfishness. I can’t reason with him or come to a happy medium with him like I did with my mom. The faith he’s praised me for sticking close to he’s now decided is all lies and self-delusion simply because he doesn’t like the conclusions I’ve come to. Nothing I do will satisfy or convince him… so why waste energy trying?

I just have to live with his disappointment, and as much as it hurts, it’s also freeing. I’ve done all I can do. I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t have to live with the stress of what will happen once he knows, because for better or worse, he knows now. If he doesn’t like it, so be it. I’ve laid my cards down, and how things progress between us is entirely up to him. When I put aside my stress over our relationship, I feel nothing but confidence and happiness and certainty. If he thinks this is a mistake… well, he’s gotta let me make my mistakes. I spent 20+ years not doing anything for fear of what bad might happen, and that left me a suicidal wreck by age 18. I won’t sit by and let ominous warnings and premonitions hold me back any longer. It COULD be a mistake, or it COULD be the best decision I’ve ever made. How will I know if I freeze up in fear?

My counselor noted several times that I look, sound, and act more confident than she’s ever seen from me. Without the pressure of keeping secrets, I’m able to more easily sort between what thoughts are mind and what thoughts my dad, my trauma, or both have planted in my head. I can say with my whole chest that I feel I’m going in the right direction. I can even say “Fuck it, my dad’s approval or disapproval is on him, not me” with greater conviction. I’m acting on things I’ve wanted from the moment we first spoke, and she says the positive change it’s made radiates off of me. She said she’s extremely proud of the progress I’ve made.

I’ll be seeing her again next week, then dropping down to seeing her every other week. In spite of how relatively poorly last night went, I feel empowered. God I’m so glad to be back.

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

PREV || NEXT

Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that. 

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance. 

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction. 

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

[chatterbox-73]

Simptember 2024.

Day 18 - Studious girl.

Kento Nanami x fem!Reader

This story is a smut story for simptember, I’ll be writing more characters x reader one shots for simptember and if you want to see a character please let me know...

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

Summary: Nanami catches you doing something you shouldn’t so he takes it upon himself you teach you a lesson.

Word count: 900

CW: NSFW and adult content, voyeurism, taking pictures, masturbating, bondage, sex toys, oral/deep throating/face fucking (m!receiving), swearing, mention of spanking, mention of orgasm denial, unprotected sex,

“Lower yourself more” Nanami’s voice spoke calmly as he sat in a chair facing the bed, his hand pumping his thick veiny cock, you shifted your hips and took less then an inch more inside you, “I can’t anymore, it’s too hard like this” you whine pulling slightly on the restrains that tied your wrist to the bed’s headboard. “You can and you will… now deeper” Nanami scolded and you flinch at his tone, before you begin to shift and force your hips down, soon enough you were fully wrapped around the large dildo Nanami had given you, crying and whining you begged desperately to start bouncing however Nanami had pulled his phone of and took a few pictures of you, “smile baby… I’m teaching you so much, you should happy” he chuckled and watched in amusement as you forced a bright smile, “so cute… tell me, when should you play with yourself?” He hummed and you took a shallow breath before looking away in shame.

Nanami wasn’t normally like this, he was normally a very caring and attentive lover, thinking about nothing else be him and his partner while they made love, however today was different as he had to teach you a lesson. Nanami had gotten home early this day and he had hoped when he got home the both of you would go out to do something, however when he stepped inside he was met with the sound of loud shameless moans, the man had feared the worst and began to walk slowly down to your shared bedroom and quietly opened the door, to find you on your hands and knees grind back on a small dildo that was suction to the headboard of the bed, “fuck fuck fuck” you cried as you reached between your legs and began rubbing your clit, “oh yes, fuck I’m cumming” your hips moved faster but just before you could reach your peak Nanami grabbed a fistful of your hair and the sudden contact made you jump and pulled away for both the headboard and Nanami, “what are you doing home?!” You gasped and your boyfriend frowned, “apparently I’m teaching how to fuck yourself probably, go get the damn toy box” he hummed and you quickly got off the bed and ran out the room and to where you keep the toys. It started easy but quickly escalated until you reached the point now.

“Only when I ask permission” You state and Nanami smiled before nodding, “and what’ll I do, if I find you like that again?” He asked and you felt your throat go dry, “you’ll spank me and ban me from releasing” your voice shook as the need to bounce became almost too great, “for how long?” Nanami asked as he stood and walked over to you, his heavy memory swinging with each step he took, your eyes glued to it like as moth attracted to a bright light, “two day at the very least or two weeks at most…” you whispered before taking a deep breath “but that depends on what I’ve done” you sighed and he chuckled grabbing the base of his cock, he gave it a small shake before climbing on the bed, “start bouncing” he command and you instantly began moving your hip, you struggled to keep your back straight but it felt so good to finally to have something moving inside you again.

Nanami laughed as he watched a expression of pure bliss adorn your face while you bounce, “you see this, you better take responsibility for what you’ve done” Nanami smiled as held his throbbing thickness and pumped it a few time, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, to which Nanami didn’t need to be told what to do, he stood on the bed and suddenly thrust into your mouth.

Nanami had the sides of your face as his hips thrusted vigorously, you continued bouncing as you moaned loudly around him, you whimpered and Nanami groaned, this was probably the quickest Nanami had ever gotten off, as before you knew it he as pulled out of your mouth and suddenly came all on your neck and chest, you cried and felt that precious relief come over you.

You came hard, body shaking and horse screaming kind of orgasm, what you finally came down from your high your body tried to fall forward however the restraint on your wrist made that impossible, Nanami grabbed you as a way to support your body before he undid the restraint, he then pulled you in turned you around and held you upright with one hand by the elbows, while his free hand moved down your back before reaching for the dildo and pulling it out of you slowly, you groaned at the emptiness however it was like that for much longer as Nanami slipped himself inside of you.

You moaned and leant back into Nanami’s shoulder while his hips moved at a steady rhythm, with his hand holding your arms he began to pull you back onto him while his rolled his hips up into you, you were in heaven, even while he punished you, Nanami was considerate of your pleasure, but he could still be strict and unforgiving towards you, though that was the appeal of it all.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson you won’t forget, my studious girl”.

Simptember Masterlist (Coming soon)

Day 17 - Erwin Smith: Not that noble

Day 19 - Katsuki Bakugou: Outside Delight

[luke-hughes43]

Stella Gets Hurt

(disclaimer, the injury aspect of this is not fully true. the how and nature of the injury is accurate but the diagnosis and treatment stuff is totally not accurate.)

(also, I used to play softball so I might’ve gotten a little carried away with the in game detail.)

~

stella’s pov

so today is Ohio state at home. it’s the last game before big ten’s start. luke and the boys lost in Boston at the frozen four which was devastating but him and the other freshman have been at every home game since they got back. 

I’m batting 3rd and playing center field like every other game this year. I’m one homerun away from the ncaa single season homerun record by a freshman. I’m at 30 and I just need one more.

it’s the 4th inning, osu had a homerun in the first to get them on the board with the lead. I lead off the inning and on the third pitch, which is in my sweet spot, I swing and crush the ball. 

the ball lands over the fence in center field as I go to round 1st base and I smile. the michigan fans are going wild, and I can make out Luke’s voice in the crowd cheering for me. as my foot makes contact with first base, my right knee gives out.

there’s a pop and I clutch my knee in pain. 

the tears start flowing from the pain, but I’m trying to force myself to stand so that I can make my way around the bases. at this point the whole stadium has gone quiet and I can hear luke say, “stel?” somehow I force myself up but I fall as soon as I try to walk to second.

eventually I make it to 2nd base but I can’t force myself to keep going anymore. it hurts too much. I just end up holding my knee at 2nd while the trainer comes out to see me. he asks, “what happened? where does it hurt?”

I explain, “there was a pop in my right knee as I round first. I tried to keep going because if I didn’t then the run doesn’t count but it hurts so much.”

“ok, just breathe for a second z. I’ll have a better picture of what’s going on once I get you to the training room, how does that sound?”

“I need to touch the bases first. my season is over, touching home is 31 and the record will be mine. I need this. please.” I explain to him. he nods and goes to talk to the umpire. he comes back and says, “you would have to touch all the bases yourself for it to count.”

I nod and he helps me stand. I take a few deep breathes and start slowly walking towards 3rd. I hear luke say, “come on baby. you got it.” I make it half way to 3rd before I have to stop because it hurts too much. two girls from osu ask the umpire, “blue, if we help her touch the bases, will it count?”

“I don’t see why not.” he responds, and so the two girls come over and help me up. we start the journey to home plate and the girl wearing number 3 says, “I’m ashley by the way.”

I give a faint smile, “stella.” the girl wearing number 7 adds, “sarah. that was a great hit. we know it was for the ncaa freshman record.”

 as we round third, ashley then says, “our schools may have a long hatred for each other but you earned this record so we wanna give it to you. especially since your season is probably over.”

I smile, “this means more than I’ll ever be able to tell you both.” I make eye contact with luke and I can tell that he’s worried. I don’t really change my facial expression because I don’t know what to say. sarah says, “it’s the least we can do.”

ashley asks, “that your boyfriend?”

I nod and say, “we’ve been together almost two years. he’s my whole world.”

they both smile and when we get one step away from the plate, we stop. They let go and say, “you deserve to touch home on your own volition.” I nod and thank the both again before stepping out and making contact with the plate. the crowd claps and cheers for me reaching home and emerson and lauren immediately wrap their arms around me so I don’t fall.

as emerson and lauren guide me to the dugout and trainers room, I see bella waving Luke to come down and he does. he meets me at the trainers room. when I get in the trainers room and finally sit down, I start sobbing from the pain. luke comes over and holds me while I cry, “shhh, you’re ok baby. just take breath sweet girl. it’s gonna be ok baby.”

I bury my head in his chest and grip him tight. he holds me tight to him and I cry my pain out. I sob, “it hurts so much.”

“I know stel, I know. just breath. it’ll be ok. we’ll get through this together.” luke says and tightens his hold on me. he softly scratches my scalp to try and relax me. the training staff walks in and the trainer says, “oh sorry, I can come back and give you some time.”

I shake my head, “no, you don’t have to.” I wipe my tears as they come over and I hold luke’s hand tight while they evaluate my knee. after about 10 minutes, the trainer says to me, “I got bad news kiddo.”

“it’s my acl isn’t? I felt the pop, and I know the look on your face.” I ask and he just nods. I feel the tears streaming down my face and I just lean my head on Luke’s arm and let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. the trainer says, “we’ll still need an MRI to confirm but everything is looking like an ACL tear. I’m sorry kid. I already scheduled the MRI, it’s tonight at 8:30 at the hospital. we’ll have the results on monday.”

I nod and just try to focus on anything but the pain and a season ending injury. the trainer has me put a brace on and hands me crutches to use for the time being. he gives me space to do what I need to and I say to Luke, “can you help me to the locker room? I need to get my phone to call my mom.”

he nods, “of course stel.” just as we go to leave the training room, bella walks in with my bag, phone, and ethan. she says, “how you doing baby girl? what’s the diagnosis?”

“acl. I have the MRI tonight to confirm but it’s the acl. I’ll be out until next season. and oh my fucking god does it hurt.” I say. bella’s face drops and forms a frown on it. she takes my free hand and gives it a soft squeeze. ethan gives me a fist bump and says, “sorry about your knee dude. but you got the record, and no one can ever take that away from you.”

I smile softly at ethan and do my best to curl into luke. he wraps an arm around me and says, "I’m gonna take her back to the dorms so she can call her mom. and then I’m going with her to the MRI. well catch up later with you guys.”

they both nod and luke helps me down and then back to my dorm. Luke helps me change and then gets me settled in bed. he hands me my phone so I can call my mom. she picks up on the first ring, “stel?”

“momma, it’s bad.” I choke out. she says, “what happened honey? we saw you go down but they cut the feed after that.”

“it’s my acl. and it hurts so much. but I got the record. today was 31.” I say and force a smile. she also smiles, “I’m so proud of you baby. is there a plan for the knee?”

“MRI tonight and then on monday I’ll find out the official word and then the plan. I don’t need you to fly out so stop looking for flights. I’m ok for now, I have luke and Bella.”

“I know but your still my daughter and you need your mom sometimes.” she tries to reason with me. I shake my head, “I just want you to come out for surgery. I wanna have the surgery out here.”

“ok, we can figure that out. Call me again monday when you know more information ok?” she asks. I nod and she says, “I love you honey, get some rest please.”

“I will. bye mom.”

after that, she hangs up and I cuddle into Luke until I have to go for the mri. I ask quietly, “lukey?”

“yea?”

“can I get a kiss please?” I say almost whispering. he smiles and then leans down to kiss me softly. when he pulls away he says, “you never have to ask stel.” he kisses me again, “I love you stella.”

“I love you too.”

he then climbs into bed to cuddle with me. he pulls me close to him and says, “get some rest sweet girl. I’ll wake you when it’s time for your MRI. just get some rest baby.”

he rubs my back and right before I drift off to sleep I hear him whisper, “god I love you Stella. forever my best girl.”

[blue-mood-blue]

Danmei Faves Meet Chopped: The Thought Experiment

(with the caveat that I have not read All The Danmei so actually this is “a limited selection of danmei faves” meet chopped) (also as of their official translations, no spoilers pls)

The Contestants:

1) Xie Lian

Pros: There is not one single thing that you could put into a basket that this man would be intimidated by. Not a single thing. He will cook anything that you hand to him, and be delighted to do so. You cannot phase him with unlikely ingredients or conflicting flavor profiles, he has risen above these concerns. He is smiling at everything he pulls out of the basket and probably scaring the other contestants in the process.

Cons: He might kill someone. Not on purpose. He will be out after round one, guaranteed, once the medics standing by in case of cuts intervene for a severe case of “all the judges are now poisoned.” Filming will probably have to stop so ambulances can be called. The crew generously allows him to take his leftovers with him.

2) Wei Wuxian

Pros: He is going to pack so much flavor in every bite! Every single bite! This man knows and embraces spice, and no one will be able to tell him that his meal is bland or underseasoned! Chili oil all over the damn plate!

Cons: The flavor is pain, he’s used every pepper the pantry has, and if he makes it to round two it’s only because of Xie Lian accidentally unleashing the horrors in round one.

3) Mo Ran

Pros: He’s a good cook! He makes a variety of dishes, and he’s gotten used to adjusting recipes for specific preferences. He’s well-traveled so it’s likely he’s encountered many ingredients and had practice in a variety of conditions, which is good experience to have in this competition. He’s been doing his best to be on his best behavior, but heaven help anyone who monopolizes the fryer.

Cons: Again - he’s been on his best behavior, but that’s really for one person who is not currently in the kitchen. He also only really cooks for one person, who has particular tastes.

4) Luo Binghe

Pros: Also a good cook! He, too, has a range of dishes he knows how to prepare, with years of practice going back (probably) as far as his adoption in his early childhood. He is well-traveled as well, with such exciting and… unique locales such as Hell Dimension (aka Endless Abyss) where he probably had to make… questionable culinary choices, so he probably won’t be thrown by whatever’s in the basket.

Cons: There’s a non-zero chance that there’s blood in the food.

(Of this particular line-up, I think it would come down to Mo Ran vs. Binghe for the dessert round, which will be a close call - they both have experience with desserts, I imagine, but I think Mo Ran might have a slight advantage considering Chu Wanning’s sweet tooth. He’s made a lot of sweets and more often. Also, can Binghe lean on a “protagonist halo” when Mo Ran is the protagonist of his own story?)

(Assuming the final round doesn’t devolve into chaos and sabotage, which… is very, very possible.)

The Non-Contestants:

Hua Cheng: Could he do well on chopped? Almost certainly. But why would he? He is here to cheer on gege.

Lan Wangji: Would probably actually do better than Wei Wuxian, if he cooks the meal to Wei Wuxian’s taste - I feel like he would be a little more sparing with the spice. Otherwise, his food is probably too bland for the judges.

Chu Wanning: He has one good dish, and it’s [redacted]. He could last a round but after that he’s probably out. He will do his best. He will not look like he is panicking (he is panicking).

Shen Qingqiu: A millennial who choked to death on bad food and rage. He probably has limited kitchen skills, but beyond the powers of having a microwave? Who knows.

Bonus Round:

Li Yu: He would try so hard. He would put every bit of skill he had on the table. He does not have any skill to put on the table. Do not put a fish in his basket, do not do this to him.

Mu Tianchi: Probably wouldn’t even compete. He’s going to steal Li Yu’s food from the judges. How dare they.

Chang Geng: He could probably do well in the competition, if he could be convinced to compete, but he probably couldn’t. He is smiling very politely at the producer, who is feeling a chill down their spine and backing away slowly.

Gu Yun: Do not let this man in the kitchen, he will cause problems on purpose.

[hcnnibal]

ask game: who’s the better story teller? i imagine it’s a1 mister aspiring author and improv comedian

and u would be right!

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[froschli96]

You know what, fuck it, I have to speak my truth! (this is gonna be a rant, so anyone who actually likes assassin's creed revelations and/or the secret crusade, be warned or maybe don't read this at all)

remember how altaïr talks to king richard at the end of ac1, and richard is like "[humans] come into the world kicking and screaming, violent and unstable. it is what we are. we cannot help ourselves."? and how altaïr answers "no. we are what we choose to be." and how that ACTUALLY has meaning bc he himself was "violent and unstable" at the beginning of the game but he has learned and is now CHOOSING to be a better person who cares about others and humanity at large? remember how his calmness and gentleness was something that he ACQUIRED over the course of the story?

and remember how in revelations they then suddenly had a PRE-AC1 altaïr say about the first of his targets "no man should pass from this world without knowing some kindness." and be all wise and calm and collected during a nice little chat with al mualim, who suddenly acts all fatherly? (like, this is suddenly supposed to be a positive relationship? what??)

also, during the confession the target says to altair: "you put too much faith in the hearts of men, altaïr. [...] humans are weak, base, and petty." and altaïr answers: "no. our creed is evidence to the contrary." KJASJFJDKL???? like, it’s almost insulting how close this exchange is to the one with richard. you know, the one that was actually earned after a whole game of character development. like WTF??? cool congrats now that development means nothing. like, apparently that was just altaïr reverting BACK to being the exemplary assassin who understands and believes in the creed that he was apparently just born as. (i also hate how having a young inexperienced altaïr saying this implies that altaïr's faith in humanity is a sign of naivete instead of a sign of the wisdom he has gained after being confronted with counter arguments for a whole game, and also something that distinguishes the assassins from the templars who use humanity's supposed wickedness to justify controlling them like in AC1, but whatever)

altaïr’s development in AC1 mattered BECAUSE he is not NATURALLY a good person, it actually said something about humanity's capacity for both bad AND good and how humans don't have to be forced to be good through mind control bc they can by their own free will choose to be better when taught how and when allowed the freedom to grow. but no. apparently altaïr has just always been calm, wise and gentle. and he just sort of forgot about that during AC1 bc…. ? bc of adha?? bc of abbas???

oh don’t get me started on the whole abbas thing. (it doesnt even make sense that abbas is so hung up about his father and "his family’s honor", like what about the whole point of al mualim not allowing parents to be close to their children bc it would make them weak? like, my dude, you’re not supposed to HAVE any family aside from the brotherhood)

they used the throwaway character that had like 5 lines and made him into altaïr’s main antagonist in revelations… like, abbas wasn’t supposed to be this ONE dude who had personal beef with altaïr, he was just supposed to show how while altaïr’s revered by many, a lot of his brothers also hate him, bc 1) altaïr is a shitty person at this point and 2) bc there’s no real feeling of community and family in this version of the brotherhood, but just a pervasive sense of competition and jealousy — these assassins don’t care about their goal of safeguarding humanity bc they’re too hung up on petty squabbles and divided by rivalries (you know, the things that made malik hate altaïr even before solomon’s temple and that he overcomes in the end which enables him to forgive and to reconcile with altaïr so they can work together and stop al mualim? (you ever just think about "we are one. as we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. in this way we grow closer. we grow stronger." and cry? bc i do. all the time. malik, the man that you are))

and now abbas is altaïr’s childhood best friend turned lifelong enemy?? like, bowden bent over backwards to come up with an explanation for why altaïr is an arrogant ass at the beginning of AC1, when the explanation is right there: he was raised to kill without asking questions and was constantly praised for how good he is at murder, which resulted in him becoming arrogant and disregarding human life. like, it doesn’t have to be some shakespearean family feud type shit. and guess what, this "simple" explanation actually plays into the story’s themes, who’da thunk!

(like, abbas might not have been a "fleshed out" character in AC1, but he had a specific function and now that function is gone. mr bowden, mr mcdevitt, you know characters are allowed to simply exist to tell us something about their worlds and the systems they live in and sometimes that’s more important and also more interesting than having every single character have a detailed backstory to explain all their behaviors, right?)

with all of this revelations loses all nuance in regards to the levantine brotherhood and also the creed in general. like, altaïr being a master assassin at the beginning despite being a terrible person and not actually understanding the creed is a criticism of the brotherhood and the creed itself. like, it said something about the order that someone like altaïr was able to get that high in rank, simply bc he's good at killing, which also tells us what is considered important in the al mualim era assassin order. when you make altaïr’s arrogance the result of his personal conflicts instead of how we was raised by a brotherhood that only valued one's ability to kill, you lose that characterization of the assassin order itself!

and by suddenly making al mualim a semi good "father figure" you also downplay his manipulation of not only altaïr but all those under his care. (altaïr says something about al mualim being "as a father" to him exactly twice in the codex, but he doesn’t mean by that that he WAS a father to him, what he means is that he was the CLOSEST THING he had bc HE DID NOT HAVE PARENTS, not because his mother died in childbirth and his father was executed when he was young btw, BUT BECAUSE IT WASN’T ALLOWED, like his parents actually lived but weren’t allowed to be close to him, he says he came to view al mualim’s "weak and dishonest" love as enough and even better BECAUSE HE HAD NOTHING ELSE, BECAUSE AL MUALIM ISOLATED HIS ASSASSINS FROM THEIR FAMILIES. al mualim "loved" him bc he was good at killing people for him! hm, i wonder if this could be trying to say anything about cults and indoctrination and the inherent contradiction in fighting for peace and free will by taking children away from their parents and raising them to become killers?? like, altaïr wasn't ~the special orphan boy~ taken in by al mualim bc his father died a hero's death, it was "the way of the order" to have al mualim be the closest thing to a parental figure for everyone to ensure absolute loyalty! altaïr saying al mualim was like his father is not supposed to make you go "oh, he must have actually been a good guy for altaïr to consider him a father", it should make you go "oh that's kinda fucked up that he considers the dude who made him into a killing machine and who manipulated him a sort of father figure"!)

and then in revelations they suddenly portray that relationship as positive and healthy??? like, it would be one thing to give it some nuance by delving into the psychology behind al mualim’s "love" and maybe showing how al mualim did care about altair in a complicated, fraught sort of way (like, you know, there’s a lot of interesting things you could say about al mualim at several points addressing altaïr as "my child" in AC1 and how that parallels Garnier referring to the people he drugged and abused as his "children", and what that says about how the templars view the people who they say they want to save and in whose best interests they supposedly act (in any case, al mualim doesn’t use that phrase because he has any real parental feelings but rather to patronize and to invalidate any objections, like in a "mother knows best" way))

but they even fucking DARE to parallel that relationship with that of altaïr and darim in revelations, by having the reflection in the puddle of darim hugging altaïr showing altaïr hugging al mualim…. like their relationship wasn’t inherently abusive but just tragically cut short because al mualim was just "corrupted by the apple"… like WHAT???? so it’s not the very real problems like grooming, manipulation and indoctrination and the hierarchical structure of the brotherhood itself (all of which are antithetical to the assassin ideology), it was just the evil apple all along. great. that’s DEFINITELY a lot more interesting.

god im sorry i really dont want to spread negativity but this is driving me INSANE. like, somebody please tell me im not crazy bc i feel like somehow most of the fandom is in agreement that revelations and the secret crusade have better storytelling and characterization than ac1.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, can we talk about how, even IF we completely ignore AC1 and treat revelations altaïr as his own character…. the narrative still doesn’t really work?

basically, the whole point of his story in rev is that "he gave his whole life to the brotherhood", this obsession led to him not using his time with his family which has him ending up dying alone in a dark library and this in turn makes ezio reevaluate his life choices…. except. he doesn’t? neglect? his family? or whatever? like, his devotion to the assassins is sort of painted as this tragic flaw that leads to a lonely death bc it supposedly comes at the cost of his family, but… his wife has joined the assassins, (at least) one of his sons is in the brotherhood and even when he goes to protect the assassins against the mongols, he takes his family with him (except for the son who stays behind bc he has a family of his own and who, ironically, ends up dying bc of that)… like, you can’t describe altaïr as a good husband and father in the database and have his son tell him that "everything that is good in me began with you, father" when they say goodbye, and then want to make us believe that he put his family behind the brotherhood and that that is a character flaw that leads to his tragedy.

because you HAVE to have a character’s tragedy be the result of a character flaw. like. that is how tragedies work. otherwise it just becomes tragedy for the sake of tragedy which is… boring bc it has no purpose. and we know it is SUPPOSED to have purpose bc ezIO FUCKING QUITS BEING AN ASSASSIN AFTER WITNESSING IT!

it’s like they want to have their cake and eat it, too — they didn’t want to actually make altaïr a bad husband/father, but still wanted to make his life a tragedy where he loses his family which is why instead they outsource all responsibility to abbas who now has to be the reason for ALL the deaths.

like, they try to make at least maria’s death kind of sort of the result of altaïr’s rashness or whatever but like… these guys KILLED THEIR SON and TOLD HIM THAT ALTAÏR HAD ORDERED HIS DEATH. like, altaïr losing it in response to that is not rash, it’s fucking logical and justified! if anything the scene made me angry at maria for trying to stop him. like, GIRL, he was YOUR son too??? but god forbid we give female characters actual real emotions, she has to fill the role of "voice of reason who dies for altaïr’s man pain" i fucking guess.

like, it’s this weird mix where his tragedy is simultaneously painted as his own fault but also not really bc abbas is the one responsible for all the shit that happens. it just… it just doesn’t really go together.

the only way to make his story make sense narratively and to give it actual purpose is by looking at it in the context of ezio’s story, bc the things he sees in altaïr’s memories are supposed to be a revelation (ha!) to ezio specifically. and i guess that’s maybe the crux of it all — altaïr’s story in revelations was conceived of first and foremost to support ezio’s story and development. which is probably also why many people maybe don’t notice bc, having skipped ac1 and started with ac2, the majority of people mostly care only about ezio and only really appreciate altaïr’s story in as far as it serves to push ezio forward. (tho i’ve also seen a few people say that ezio is also written kind of weird in rev, but i’ve never really been an ezio girly myself so i can’t speak to the truth of that)

like, altaïr dying alone in the library doesn’t really have to make sense for his character, i guess, bc it’s only really supposed to be a cautionary tale for ezio.

so, i guess, for once, they actually had a MAN dying for another man’s character development, which is pretty woke actually. ubisoft, i take everything back jksdsfjhgdsahfhsdhfghfdsgjhsdgjh