#making a taglist

[creative-caramel-coffee]

JOIN MY TAGLIST

Ok so a lot of you have been requesting a taglist for my series “the spiders sister” and I have decided to make one so if you want to be added to the taglist for the spiders sister drop a comment on this post and I’ll add you to it for the next chapter :) (make sure you tell me that it’s for the spiders sister)

Eg. Can you add me to the spiders sister tag list please

If you want to be added to my general tag list drop a comment here as well and be sure to let me know it’s for everything.

Eg. Can you add me to your general tag list please

(I updated this post so it’s fine to everyone who’s already commented and hasn’t specified I know you wanted spiders sister taglist but comment again if you want the general taglist)

-ccc

[jetii]

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, that comes into play a lot in this part, reader is genuinely unfair to Cross here sorry, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone for your kind words and support on all my fics, it really means a lot to me! I loved writing the drama in this part, and it was hard to stop, so hopefully it doesn’t drag on too much. Enjoy!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment you enter the cockpit, Crosshair stiffens, staring out of the viewport with wide eyes. The smoggy grey atmosphere of Bracca, pocked with smears of red rust and the glimmer of steel, stares back.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, and you know he’s remembering what happened the last time the two of you were here.

You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw and curls his lip. You know he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to set foot on this planet ever again, and you’re surprised at how guilty you feel. You thought a part of you would relish the pain he was feeling, would be glad to see him squirm.

But you aren’t.

"Are you alright?" you ask. You hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized you were thinking it until the words slip past your lips.

He looks at you, startled, as though he didn't think you'd notice.

"I'm fine," he snarls, and the bite in his words catches you off guard. You recoil, turning back to the control panel.

"We're landing in twenty," you mutter, and that's the end of the conversation.

The rest of the flight is silent, and it's not until the Marauder is descending into the atmosphere that he speaks again.

"What's the plan?" Crosshair asks, standing behind the copilot's chair. You can hear the creak of the leather as he grips the backrest, can feel his eyes on the top of your head.

"There is no plan," you say. You look back up at him, and there's a furrow between his brows. "We're not here for a job."

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

"We're landing, and we're meeting my contact." You turn back to the control panel, watching the ship descend through the viewport. “She’ll give us the coordinates, we’ll get what I came for, and then we’ll leave.”

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

“Were you expecting something more thrilling? A daring chase? A firefight?” you tease. He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was just an exchange. There won't be any trouble."

The Marauder touches down, the landing ramp dropping a moment later. You stand, stretching.

"Besides," you say, grabbing your bag, "you've had your fair share of trouble for one lifetime."

He watches you closely as you sling the bag over your shoulder, and when you look up, you catch him staring. You don't understand the intensity in his eyes, or the way his expression seems to shift, the frustration replaced with something softer. He averts his gaze, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smirk. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"Of course you don't, dear." You pat his shoulder as you pass, and he scowls.

He's still glaring when you glance over your shoulder, and you have to hold back a laugh. You don't miss the way the corners of his lips twitch upward as he follows behind, and for a moment, the tension lifts.

It's raining when you exit the ship, and the cold droplets soak through your jacket almost immediately. Crosshair tugs on his helmet as you step out of cover, and you ignore your flash of jealousy as you pull your hood up over your head.

You don't waste time, hurrying toward the abandoned building you're meeting your contact in. Puddles splash under your feet, soaking through your boots, and your clothes cling to your skin. Your hood is doing little to protect you, the water dripping from the edges and onto your face, and you try to focus on anything other than the chill that's settling into your bones.

Crosshair stays a few steps behind, keeping pace. He looms behind you like a shadow. His presence is both comforting and unnerving, and you find yourself constantly checking over your shoulder.

"I hate this place," Crosshair grumbles. The modulator on his helmet makes him sound even more irritated. "Stay close to me."

You turn to see his head on a swivel, his posture stiff, and his hand on the blaster at his side. You can’t help but scoff, and his head snaps towards you.

"What?” he growls.

"Nothing,” you mutter back. “Just nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

You can hear the annoyance in his tone, the barely concealed frustration, and it makes you smile.

"Probably," you reply, turning down a side street.

Crosshair makes an irritated noise. It only encourages you, putting a spring in your step in an otherwise miserable situation. Maybe it's a good thing he came after all. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth, and it's hard to contain your amusement.

"I don't get it," he mutters.

"Get what?"

"This. You." He gestures vaguely, the hand not on his weapon flapping in your direction. "You're being..."

"Nice?" you suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

"Fucking obnoxious."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the empty alley. Crosshair groans, and you can see his shoulders droop in exasperation. "That's my default setting. You should know that."

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice low and rough, "I forgot."

The admission hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of... something. It's not quite guilt, or sadness, but it's not happy, either. It's an uneasy combination, and you shove the feeling down.

"Maybe I've missed this," you tease. You slow your pace, falling into step beside him. "Maybe I've missed the sound of your voice."

"You're a liar," he replies, but you can hear the humor in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" You feign innocence, but there's a playful lilt to your voice that gives you away. "I'm an honest person."

"An honest pain in the ass."

You snicker. "Maybe I've missed having someone to bother."

"You've never had trouble finding a victim," he quips, and you nudge his arm with your elbow. He pushes back, and it's almost a joke, almost a friendly gesture, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here.

"True," you concede. "But nobody else puts up with me like you do."

His helmet tilts down, and you can feel his gaze on you. You look at him, and it's impossible to see his face, but you swear there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is almost fond. "Lucky me."

"Shut up."

You bump his arm again, and he chuckles, the sound barely audible through the filter on his helmet. It's a tender moment, a brief glimpse of the old Crosshair, the one who would banter and bicker with you for hours, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to a different time. You miss it, more than you thought possible.

"We're here," you say, interrupting the moment. You push the door open, and it swings inward, revealing a stairwell. You glance back at him, motioning him forward. He falls into step behind you, all trace of amusement gone.

"Let's get this over with," he says.

You descend into the building, the stairs creaking beneath your feet. You can see feel the tension rolling off Crosshair in waves, and he reaches over his shoulder to draw his rifle.

"Calm down, would you?" you say, and he bristles.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself," he mutters, scanning the shadows. "I've had my fair share of trouble for a lifetime."

"That's not what I—"

You're interrupted when you reach the bottom of the stairs, and a tan Abednedo steps from the shadows, a blaster pointed in your direction. She lowers the weapon when she sees you, and a small smile crosses her lips.

“Master Jedi. Pleasure to see you again," the Abednedo drawls, holstering her blaster.

"Saaba," you nod. You nudge Crosshair hard with your elbow, and he grunts before slowly lowering his rifle. You can see his fingers flex, as if he's not sure he should put it away, and you hope he listens.

Saaba gives him a once over, the tendrils that frame her mouth twitching. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Crosshair. Cross, this is my friend, Saaba," you explain.

"A pleasure," Crosshair says, his tone dry.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised to see you've brought company." She squints, her large goggles emphasizing how she sizes him up. “And a trooper, no less. I thought they were your enemies now."

Crosshair tenses, and you can feel his anger flare. You reach for him, touching his wrist. He looks at you, and even with his helmet on, you can tell he's glaring. You shake your head, and he sighs, relaxing a little under your touch. 

You hadn't told her about Crosshair, or about the rest of the Batch. It hadn't seemed important, and you weren't sure how she'd react to knowing the man standing beside you had more than once tried to kill you.

"Things change," you say, your tone light. "He's one of the good guys now."

"Well," Saaba hums, "that's a relief. I'd hate to have to kill a friend of yours."

Crosshair shifts his weight, and he takes a step closer. "You could try."

"Easy," you say, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping your hand.

Saaba laughs. "Oh, I like this one."

"Me too," you agree, and you can't help but grin. Crosshair's helmet swivels towards you, and you can imagine the bewildered look on his face. You shrug.

"Anyway," you say, ignoring the way he's staring at you. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course." Saaba smiles. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small data disk. "The coordinates you need. As promised."

"Thank you."

You reach for the data, but she doesn't let go, pulling you closer.

"Don't get caught." Her voice is low, and her expression is serious.

"You know me."

"Which is exactly why I'm telling you not to get caught," she says. “I told the Guild I was stripping the place for copper, and I need to report back soon, or they’ll send their own crew. But I can’t guarantee they won’t go poking around on their own.”

"Understood."

She lets go, and you step back, putting the disk in your bag. You grab a pouch, holding it out to her. "For your trouble."

She shakes her head, pushing the credits away. “I owed you one.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

"Just don't let me regret it," she warns, but her tone is soft. You always liked Saaba, even if she could be a bit of a handful. But she was reliable, and she didn't ask questions.

"Never."

You turn, heading towards the stairs, and Crosshair follows. You don't look back, and Saaba doesn't stop you. Once you're back outside, the door swinging shut behind you, you let out a sigh.

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

"Don't jinx it," you grumble. You shiver, tugging your soaked jacket tighter around yourself. The rain hasn't stopped, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think the weather through.

There's a rumble of thunder, and Crosshair looks up.

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the sound warms you. You can't remember the last time you'd heard him laugh like that. It makes you smile, even if he is laughing at your expense.

"It's not over yet," you continue, ignoring the way your stomach flutters. "We still have to find what we're looking for, and get off planet."

"I thought you said it was going to be simple," he teases, his tone smug. It's so strange, to hear his voice sound like that again, and it feels... good.

You huff.

"It should be." You glance around the alley, noting how the rain had driven the locals inside. "It's just the retrieval that might be difficult."

He hums, and the two of you walk in silence. The rain hasn't let up, and by the time you reach the Marauder, your hair is plastered to your face. You push it aside, wringing out the water.

"Now, let's see where we're going," you say, climbing the landing ramp.

You settle in the pilot's seat, Crosshair leaning against the doorframe, and you pull the data disk from your bag. You slide the disk into the control panel, waiting as the computer loads the coordinates.

You frown, leaning forward.

“The coordinates are a few clicks south of here," you say, zooming in. “But we can’t take the Marauder there, the terrain is too rough. We'll have to go on foot.”

"On foot?" Crosshair repeats. "Through the scrapyards?"

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

"Well," you say, grabbing your bag and heading towards the exit, "I'm glad to hear it."

Crosshair grumbles, and when he passes you, he knocks his shoulder into yours. You laugh, shoving him back.

"Come on, you big baby. It's not so bad," you tease, closing the ramp behind the two of you.

He scoffs, and the sound is distorted by the rain and his helmet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as the Marauder disappears from view, the rain goes from bad to worse. The cold droplets sting your face as you trudge through the mud, and the wind whips at your clothing.

The scrapyard is a dangerous place. Thousands of broken starships litter the area, stacked on top of each other in tall piles. Some of them are old, rusted from years of exposure, while others are relatively new, their hulls dented from the harsh winds. Even though you’re cold and miserable, you’re grateful for Saaba's work. If you’d gone searching yourself, it would’ve taken you years to find what you were looking for.

As you climb over a particularly large piece of debris, you glance at Crosshair. The rain is pouring, and it's put both of you in a sour mood, your prior banter forgotten.

You can feel his eyes on you as he walks behind you, and it makes you nervous.

"I'm not gonna fall," you snap, reaching the top.

"Didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to."

"What am I supposed to look at?" he asks, his tone sharp.

You glance around. There's nothing but rain and rust, and the looming shadows of the ships stacked around you. It's an eerie sight, the remains of war and violence, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Anything else," you grumble. You slide down the other side, and he's quick to follow.

"How much farther is this thing?"

"I don't know. Not far," you say, but the truth is, you have no idea.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

You push your hair from your face for the thousandth time, and you can’t decide if the rain or the wind is the worst. Both make your clothing cling to your skin, and you're pretty sure you're never going to feel warm again.

"Real mature," he mutters, and you can practically feel the eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Guessing could be fun,” you tease, trying to distract yourself. But his patience is wearing thin, and you know it as well as you know that yours is fraying too.

"I’m not in the mood for games," he growls back. 

The taught threads of your sanity finally snap, and you stop in your tracks, your patience evaporating like the mist. Crosshair slams into you, and you stumble, barely managing to keep your footing.

"Would you watch where you're going?" he hisses, and you whirl around.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The venom in your voice catches you both off guard. He falls onto his back foot, taking a step away from you. You don't let it stop you. Your anger rises, the floodgates open, and your emotions come pouring out.

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

The question comes out harsher than you intended, and Crosshair recoils, his head jerking backwards. You can't see his face, but the tension in his frame is clear. You're not sure why you're asking, not sure if you even want an answer, but the words spill from your lips regardless.

He doesn't say anything.

You cross your arms, waiting. The wind howls, the rain hammering down around you, and his silence drags on. He stands there, the rain pinging off his armor, his shoulders hunched.

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

“I told you. It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," he says, taking a step closer. "Why else would I be here? Do you think I enjoy freezing my ass off, traipsing around in the mud?"

"No," you reply flatly. "But I don't believe you, either."

Crosshair sighs, and his helmet tilts skyward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Something true, for once," you say, stepping into his space. "Because if protecting me is your job, you're fucking awful at it."

He flinches, and the movement is so slight you almost miss it. You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, but you can't help but double down. You've been holding it back, all this anger and hurt, and the dam breaks.

“I’ve been hurt dozens of times since you left, at least once by your hand." Your voice rises, and he's motionless, his entire body stiff.

Your hands shake, and you clench them into fists, the ache in your knuckles a welcome distraction. He's still staring at the ground, and your temper flares. Something within you snaps.

"You left, and you didn’t come back. And now, what, you show up here, with some bullshit excuse, and act like nothing ever happened?"

"I can't—"

"I don't care," you cut him off, and your voice is cold. "I don't care what you have to say. You had your chance. You should've stayed away."

Crosshair recoils as though he's been slapped, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

You're frozen, too, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say any of it, but you were tired.

Tired of his excuses, of his lies, and his refusal to acknowledge what had happened.

You were tired of hurting.

And in that moment, you didn't care if he knew it.

You can't see his face, but you don't need to. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, can feel his rage, and it mirrors your own.

You stand there, staring at each other, your anger a palpable thing, and a part of you is relieved. It's the first real emotion he's shown, the first real indication he's been anything other than indifferent, and you're glad. You wanted a reaction, and you got one.

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

"Maybe I should've," he growls. The pain in his voice underneath the anger takes you by surprise. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with your fucking mess."

His words sting, more than they should, and you hate yourself for it. He's always been good at that, cutting deep with his words, and it's something you'd hoped would change.

You should've known better.

"Well, then," you begin, and your voice is quiet, a contrast to the anger simmering below the surface. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

You turn, and he grabs your arm, stopping you.

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" you ask, whirling around. You yank your arm from his grasp, and his hand drops.

He doesn't reply. You don't move, the rain pelting the ground around you, and the wind whipping at your clothing. Crosshair doesn't say anything, doesn't try to explain himself, and you can't stop the anger from boiling over again.

"Don't go? Don't leave? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care? It's not like you cared about me when—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts sharply.

"No!" you shout. Lightning cracks in the distance, the flash illuminating the metal around you. "You're the one who doesn't know."

"You think I don't know what happened?" His tone is hard, his words clipped. "You think I haven't had to live with that? With knowing what I did to you?"

"Don't you dare." You jab a finger into his chest, and he takes a step back. His shoulders tense, and you can tell he's furious, but you can't stop.

"You don't get to act like that's some big burden you've been carrying around."

"I have!"

"So have I!"

Crosshair is silent, and you can tell he's taken aback by your admission. He shifts, his weight moving from foot to foot, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't say anything, his attention shifting from the ground, to the sky, and back again.

The wind blows, and you shiver. You tug your jacket tighter around yourself as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You don't speak, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm trying," he says after a beat, his tone sharp. "I'm trying, and I don't know what else you want from me."

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"You're not," you interrupt. "Not anymore."

He goes still, his entire body rigid. For a moment, the rain is the only sound, battering against the scrap metal and his helmet. His fists clench, and he shakes his head. He lets out a long, slow breath, and the mist from his vocoder obscures your vision.

"I never thought you would forgive me." His voice is low, barely audible over the howling wind. "I just hoped you wouldn't hate me forever."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. There's a lump in your throat, and you can't swallow. Your chest aches, and your fingers tingle, and it takes everything in you to remain upright.

"I don't hate you," you say, and your voice is a whisper. "But I wish I did."

The words are painful to admit, and you're not sure what's worse: saying them out loud, or knowing they're true.

His hand lifts, as though he's going to touch your face, and the movement is so gentle, so careful, that it makes you ache. Then, his hand drops, and his fingers curl into a fist, and he lets out a frustrated huff. 

You can see his hand shake, a reminder that the Empire took something from him, too, and you feel a sudden surge of guilt. But you can’t bring yourself to apologize, can't force the words past your lips, and so you just stand there, watching him. 

The silence stretches on, and you can feel the cold steep into your bones, and you’re tired of waiting for Crosshair, so you turn and start to walk away.

You barely take a step when he speaks, and his voice is pained.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible in the wind.

You stop, your feet sinking into the mud, and your breath catches. The apology is so unexpected, so raw, you feel it in your chest.

You want to look at him, but you can't.

You're afraid that if you do, he'll see right through you, and you'll have to acknowledge that despite your best efforts, your anger has faded, replaced by something else.

So you don't look at him. Instead, you stare at the ground, at the way the mud oozes around your boots.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and his voice cracks. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I didn't— I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry."

He takes a deep breath, and you can hear it, the way his lungs stutter. It catches on something inside of you, and your eyes burn.

"I don't want you to hate me," he says. The words are so soft, so quiet, that you almost miss them. "And I know I deserve it. But don't. Please."

"You should've thought about that before you shot me."

He's quiet, the only sound the rain and the wind, and it's obvious the words hit him hard. A part of you regrets it, regrets being so cruel, but another part, a darker part, wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel the pain you've felt since the day he left.

"I know," he says, and there's a note of resignation in his tone. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."

You turn, and his helmet is pointed at the ground.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the only thing I could do. But I was wrong, and I made a mistake, and I have to live with that." His voice is low, his words heavy, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "If I could take it back, I would. In a heartbeat."

You blink, the tears burning the back of your eyes, and you fight the urge to turn away. You swallow hard, the pressure behind your eyes so intense that it hurts, before you ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. "Because you deserve to know."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

It's immediate, so assured and without hesitation that you nearly stumble back.

"I deserve nothing," he continues, and his tone is so self-loathing, so full of hatred, that it makes your chest tighten. 

Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come, and you can't think. You want to scream, want to shout, want to hit him, to comfort him, to apologize, and it's too much, and you don't know what to do.

His words hang between you, the gravity of the situation dawning on you.

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

That he deserves no forgiveness, no mercy, no sympathy, no second chance.

And as much as you want to be angry, as much as you want to hate him, it hurts to see him like this. To see him so resigned, so accepting, that he's willing to take whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your anger fades, and you can feel the fight draining out of you. You let out a long sigh, and the tension in your frame eases. "Cross—"

"Don't." He raises a hand, cutting you off. "Just...don't."

Your mouth closes. The rain batters the metal around you, the wind whips your hair around your face, and it's impossible to keep the tears from spilling over. They mix with the rain, and you wipe them away.

He lowers his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

Crosshair pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. He starts to walk, his strides long and purposeful, and the space where his armor touched your arm tingles.

You hesitate before you follow him, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence. Your boots sink into the mud, and the rain beats against your hood. By the time you reach the coordinates, you're shivering, and the rain has started to sleet.

Your feet slip on the icy ground, and you stumble. Crosshair catches your arm, steadying you. You look up, meeting his gaze through the visor of his helmet, and your heart twists in your chest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

He says nothing, turning his attention back to the ruins. The star destroyer is huge, the metal hull jutting up from the mud. The bridge has long since broken away, but the main section remains intact. You make your way to the hull, searching for an entrance.

You can feel him watching you, and you wonder if he's thinking about what you said, if he regrets his words, and your stomach twists.

You shouldn't care, not after everything he's done, but the thought of him thinking he deserves nothing, nothing at all, makes you feel sick. You know he does, and it hurts, because there's a part of you that still cares about him.

A part of you that's always cared.

And no matter how many times he's hurt you, that won't change.

You've wanted nothing more than to put the past behind you, to forget the hurt and the pain and the loss. And here is Crosshair, finally willing to talk, to apologize, and all you've done is push him away.

And despite how angry you are, how hurt, you're tired of fighting. You're tired of running from the past, and tired of letting it define who you are.

You take a deep breath, and then another. It's not too late, you tell yourself.

"Here."

You find a service hatch, and you pull it open, slipping inside. The metal groans as your feet hit the ground, and you narrowly avoid a gap in the floor. The interior of the ship is dark, and the only light comes from the holes in the ceiling. Crosshair follows you, and his rifle scans the room.

"It's clear," he says, lowering the weapon.

"Good," you say, wiping the sleet from your jacket.

You start down the hallway, searching the rooms as you go. The ship is in disarray, the furniture overturned and the walls peppered with blaster fire.

There’s a scorched line carved into a wall, and you wince at the sight, your feet slowing to a stop to examine it. You don't have to touch it to know what happened here, and your eyes burn.

You turn, startled to find Crosshair directly behind you. He stares down at you, his posture stiff. "What is it?"

"I..." You're not sure how to respond. He must sense your hesitation, because his head tilts, and you can feel his eyes on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, and his words take you by surprise.

You cross your arms, looking away. The hallway is dark, and the silence between you stretches on. You're not sure what you expected, but you didn't think he'd call you out. "Cross..."

"No," he repeats, stepping closer. "Don't. Talk to me."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"Talk to me," he says again, more firmly.

Shaking your head, you turn and start walking. He trails behind, the metal creaking beneath his boots, and the sound echoes around the corridor. The hallway splits, and you go right. The lights flicker, the wiring exposed, and the darkness seems to seep in from the edges of your vision.

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part four)

(part one)(part two)(part three)

Eddie wakes from a thankfully dreamless sleep, his head on his pillow now, which is somehow far less comfortable than Steve’s solid chest. Speaking of… Eddie looks around; Steve isn’t there at all anymore, and Eddie is alone. He’s disappointed, though not entirely surprised, that Harrington’s left him again despite his promises. 

In fact, he’s honestly more surprised when less than two minutes into his wallowing in the empty room, the door is pushed open by none other than Steve Harrington carrying two trays of food, one balanced on each hand like a goddamn waiter. It’s kind of adorable, actually, Eddie thinks, and that thought surprises him a little too. 

“Oh, you’re awake! Good morning.” Steve sets one of the trays on Eddie’s lap. His smile is bright, though there’s a slight, uncertain wobble to it. “Shitty hospital food and shitty hospital TV, right?” 

“Right.” Eddie’s face breaks into a grin, something light unfurling in his chest. He glances at the plate of gross food on his lap then back up at Steve, and he admits, “You know, for a second there I thought you’d left again.” 

Steve shakes his head as he settles into the chair beside the bed with his own tray. “I promised you I’d hang out today. I’m a man of my word.”

“Good.” Eddie smiles and grabs a remote off the bedside table, turning on the TV. “Now for our mealtime entertainment, let’s see what’s on the shitty TV today.”

The television starts blaring some old black-and-white rerun of I Love Lucy. Eddie’s immediately about to change the channel, but then he notices the way Steve’s eyes have lit up. “Hey, that’s not shitty TV!” Steve says. “I used to watch this with my mom all the time when I was a kid.” 

Eddie snorts. “Of course you did.”  

Steve gives him an indignant look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” Eddie shakes his head evasively, shoveling a forkful of rubbery scrambled eggs into his mouth so he doesn’t have to say anything else. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, almost affectionately, like they’ve had conversations like this before. He chews on a flimsy piece of bacon and makes a face, nose scrunching up. “Ugh, you really weren’t kidding about the shitty food, though.” 

“Nope,” Eddie laughs, “I really wasn’t. Thanks for catering it though.” He swallows down another mouthful of food, and then adds with a little less levity, “And, uh, thanks for last night, too - for calming me down. Don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Steve gives a small smile, shrug, slight shake of his head, a tiny pinch between his brows like he doesn't quite get why Eddie even feels the need to thank him for that. “That's what I’m here for. I just hope I didn't cross any boundaries or anything, holding onto you like that.” 

Now it's Eddie's turn to give him a confused little smile and a head shake. “No, of course not. That was exactly what I needed.” He attempts to add some humor back into the conversation, jokingly quips, “Although, to be fair, I never did think that King Steve would ever be caught dead in a bed with The Freak.”

Steve had hazarded another bite of his breakfast, trying the eggs this time, only to choke on it at Eddie’s comment. He coughs, hits his fist against his chest, and hurriedly takes a sip from the water bottle on his tray. 

“Jesus.” Eddie tries not to take offense, assuming Steve’s reaction to be one of disgust at the double entendre. “That bad of a thought, huh?” 

Steve shakes his head and clears his throat, face flushed. “No, no, it’s not that, man. Food just went down the wrong pipe, is all.” 

“Uh huh…” 

“Seriously.” Steve gulps down some more water, quiet for a moment before adding, “You know I’m not King Steve anymore, right? Haven’t been for a while now, since even long before your memories end.” 

“Yeah, I know. You ditched Tommy H. and Carol your junior year, and then Nancy Wheeler dumped you and Billy Hargrove stole your crown and bashed your face in your senior year, I remember,” Eddie recalls. “But for the most part you were still well-known and well-liked, still this popular, pretty, rich boy jock all the girls still drooled over, so.” He shrugs. “Always figured ‘King’ still fit.” 

“Right…” Steve raises his eyebrows as Eddie lists off these events of his life, looking at him with a smirk of barely-hidden amusement. “I forgot you were obsessed with me.”  

Eddie’s jaw drops in exaggerated offense. “I was not obsessed with you.” 

“Were too,” Steve taunts.

“Was not.” 

“Were too.” 

“Was not.” Eddie chucks a piece of bacon at him. 

Steve gasps indignantly as the bacon slaps him in the face and tumbles onto his lap. “You child!” But he’s laughing, retaliates by flinging a forkful of eggs back at Eddie. 

The conversation devolves into a full-on food fight, shrieking and cackling as they pelt each other with flying bits of eggs and bacon. It turns out shitty hospital food serves far better as ammunition than it does as anything actually edible. 

A nurse chooses the exact wrong time to decide to come in and check on Eddie, walking into the room at just the right moment to be caught in the crossfire and hit with a stray chunk of egg. Both boys freeze. 

“Uh oh…” Eddie mutters under his breath. Just his luck - it’s not the young, nice nurse, Katie, who always laughs at his jokes, but Nurse Margaret, the old, mean one who he’s never once seen crack a smile. She flicks the egg bit off her shoulder, leveling them with a stern frown as she marches over. 

Eddie casts a furtive glance at Steve who looks back at him, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh again, and Eddie feels mirth bubbling back up in his own chest too. He has to look away from Steve again before he loses it. 

He sucks his lips in, clamping them together between his teeth to hold in his laughter, and he stares up at Margaret with a thin-lipped, guilty, upside down smile as she chides them both for making a mess and scolds Eddie for exerting himself and risking reopening his wounds. Steve mumbles an apology and starts cleaning up the scattered bits of food strewn about the room while Margaret double checks that Eddie hasn’t, in fact, reopened his wounds or gotten worse in any way. Once the nurse is satisfied with both the state of the room and the state of Eddie, she whisks away what’s left of their food trays and stalks out of the room with one last disapproving look over her shoulder.

Then and only then does Eddie risk eye-contact with Steve again, and the two of them immediately burst back into laughter. Steve nearly doubles over with it, leaning against the trash can where he’d just been dusting off his hands. “Oh my god,” he chuckles out. “Her face when I hit her with that egg? I was so sure she was gonna kick me out.” 

“Nearly gave mean old Margaret an aneurysm, and that was just from hitting her shoulder,” Eddie snickers. “Imagine if you hit her in the eye or something.” 

Steve does his best impression of Margaret’s angry scowl and reproachful huff, and Eddie cackles. He laughs so hard his sides ache and his injuries hurt, wounds aggravated by the movement of his laughter, but he doesn’t care, the pain far too distant beneath the cushion of painkillers and positive emotion he currently feels so high on. 

“You’ve still got some egg in your hair,” Steve notices with another amused snort as he pushes himself away from the trash can and approaches Eddie’s bed again. He plucks the offending bit of food out of Eddie’s curls and smooths down the hair where it had been stuck. “There.” 

Steve’s fingertips brush ever so lightly against Eddie’s cheek when he fixes his hair. It sends a pleasant sort of shiver down Eddie’s spine, turning his laughter to breathless giggles just for a moment. “Thanks.”

Steve flicks the egg chunk into the trash before sinking back into the bedside chair with a soft sigh and a warm smile. “God, I missed this,” he says, “just laughing with you.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie returns the grin. For him, of course, this is the first time they’ve laughed together like this, but he has to admit he’s already rather fond of it. “Can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed that hard.”

Steve’s smile turns nostalgic, like he can remember the last time Eddie laughed like that, like he was there for it. “It’s a good look on you - laughter,” he says, so quietly Eddie almost feels like maybe it wasn’t meant for him to hear. And Eddie can’t help but think that laughter is a pretty good look on Steve too, all rosy cheeks and shining eyes.

“How did we become friends?” Eddie asks, before his previous thought can take any sort of root. 

The nostalgia in Steve’s expression only grows. “It was the beginning of June, start of summer, probably only a few weeks after your memories stop. I was working at the Scoops Ahoy in Starcourt, that new mall that had just opened, and you wandered in,” he says, looking at Eddie with a teasing glint to his eyes, “because you were obsessed with me-”

“Was not,” Eddie protests immediately.

“Were too,” Steve laughs. “Anyways, you saw me in my stupid little sailor uniform trying and very obviously failing to chat up a girl at the counter, and you came in just to laugh at me, actually.” 

“Okay, that does sound like me,” Eddie concedes with a grin. He probably walked in there just for the sailor costume alone, if he’s being honest with himself. That’s something he’d kill to see - just for a good laugh, of course. “Do you still have that uniform? It might, you know, jog my memory a little if you were to bring it in one day,” he suggests slyly. 

“You and that uniform, man,” Steve scoffs and shakes his head like this is something they’ve talked about many, many times before, enough for it to become a predictable sort of annoyance, a longsuffering inside joke. “No, I don’t still have it. Threw it out first chance I had, not to mention it got totally ruined when the- uh, when the mall burned down.” 

Eddie’s eyes go slightly wide. “The mall burned down? While you were there?” 

“Yeah- well, sort of,” Steve falters, a shadow falling over his expression, and he shakes his head again. “It’s kind of a long story, and not the one I’m telling right now.” 

“Right, yeah, shit.” Eddie waves his hand as if to erase everything he’d said before. “Forget I mentioned it.” He, more than anyone, understands not wanting to relive bad memories right now. “Continue the other story. How did we go from me making fun of you to us being besties?”

The shadow lifts as Steve returns to that memory. “Oh, yeah. I told you the show wasn’t free and that you needed to order something or leave. So you bought a milkshake, which I somehow managed to end up completely spilling all over the both of us when I tried to hand it to you. You were livid,” he chuckles, “thought I’d done it on purpose, even though I definitely hadn’t. I felt so bad I insisted on helping you clean up. You were icy about it, but you let me show you to the sink in the backroom and accepted the jacket I lent you so you wouldn’t have to walk around with ice cream stains on your shirt all day.” 

“That’s quite the meet-cute,” Eddie jokes. “Are you sure you’re describing our friendship and not some rom-com chick flick you watched last week?” 

“Nah, true story, honest. It wasn’t a rom-com,” Steve says, and though he smiles, there’s an odd sadness to it too. He shakes his head and continues, “Anyways, you clearly warmed up to me after that because you came back the next day to return the jacket and apologize for being a bit of a dick before, and then you gave me this whole ‘you’re actually a good dude’ speech and told me to give you a call if I ever wanted to split a joint or something. I took you up on it that same night; it had been a rough day at work and I figured why not, so I came over and we smoked and we talked and we got along like a house on fire - better than either of us expected, I think. And that was our thing, then, after that - smoking and talking. Sometimes weed, sometimes just cigarettes, and sometimes we just smoked and didn’t talk, and then sometimes we just talked and didn’t smoke; until eventually we started doing other things together too besides just talking and smoking, we were just hanging out. At that point we were friends, practically inseparable, and then we-” Steve stops himself, a shade of melancholy reentering his dim smile once more. “We only got closer from there.” 

“That sounds nice…” Eddie tries to remember it, really digs deep in his mind for any sort of spark of memory or recognition in Steve’s words, but it’s empty. It all just sounds like a story to him, doesn’t settle anywhere real. It’s a good story, sure, one he’d like to experience, one he aches to connect with, but a story nonetheless, only words, only fiction. “I wish I could remember that.” 

“Me too,” Steve says, and Eddie hates how sad he looks, hates even more that he’s the cause of it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make new memories, then!” Eddie declares with a theatrical amount of enthusiasm as he flashes Steve a bright grin, all in the hopes of chasing that sadness back off of his face. “Won’t we, my friend?” 

Success; Steve seems a little startled by Eddie’s sudden gusto, but he laughs and smiles, the real kind this time that shines in his eyes again. “Yeah, I guess we will.”

Eddie does his best to keep the conversation away from their past after that, not only in an attempt to keep the light in Steve’s expression but for his own sake too. It’s a strange thing to be reminded of the fact that he shares a history with someone and has no memory of it, to be around someone who seems to know everything about him while he feels as though they’ve only just met.

For the most part, hanging out with Steve is nice and fun and easy - there’s something so natural, familiar, about the way they talk, the way they banter, the way they sit together even in the silences. But sometimes Eddie will say something that makes a sadness flicker in Steve’s eyes again, or sometimes Steve will say something that makes Eddie wonder just what secrets this guy knows about him and his skin crawls with that old discomfited itch. They’re both quick with a joke, a redirection, whenever the other’s expression falters, though, like Steve is trying to make sure Eddie doesn’t feel uncomfortable just as much as Eddie is trying to make sure Steve doesn’t feel sad. 

Other visitors come in and out of Eddie’s room that day too: Dustin stops by with a portable cassette player and some newer heavy metal albums that came out during the period Eddie no longer remembers, which brings more than one source of entertainment as it also incurs Nurse Margaret’s wrath again when they listen to it too loud. Wayne drops in with some actually edible fast food for lunch and a deck of cards, playing a few rounds of a few games. Nurse Katie checks in on him to redress his wounds and she laughs at his stories of annoying Margaret. Even Steve has to leave a couple times, says he has errands to run or needs to pick up Robin from work, but he promises to be back each time and each time he is. 

Night has fallen now, and it’s just Eddie and Steve again, Steve sitting, as always, beside Eddie’s bed as they watch whatever cheesy old movie is playing on TV while Eddie fights off sleep. He fears it still; each wave of drowsiness that washes over him is met with a shiver in his heart that breathes ice into his veins and freezes him awake. 

After about Eddie’s hundredth attempt to suppress a yawn, Steve turns off the TV and looks at him. “Are you tired?” 

“No,” Eddie says, only for his lie to be almost immediately undermined by another traitorous yawn. “Alright, yeah, I am, but- I don’t want to sleep,” he admits. “I don’t want to dream.”

“Oh.” Steve’s gaze softens, sympathetic. For the first time unprompted, not waiting for a nightmare or for Eddie to ask like he always had before, Steve moves closer and takes Eddie’s hand. “I’ve got you, you know,” he says, the statement fierce in its sincerity. “It’ll be alright. I’ll fight off your nightmares with my bare hands if I have to.” 

Steve’s hand is warm against the chill in Eddie’s blood, the heat of his skin seeping in to thaw his fear. “I don’t think a nightmare is something you can fight,” Eddie says, cracking a smile, but looking at Steve now, he can almost believe it. 

There’s a new sort of spark in Steve’s eyes, protective, devoted, and it burns the way a fire in the hearth of a home burns, like something dangerous made safe just for him. Eddie suddenly doesn’t doubt, somehow, that Steve could fight off anything, even something as intangible as a nightmare, if it was threatening Eddie. With Steve here holding his hand, he somehow doesn’t doubt that not a single thing can hurt him. Not a single thing would even dare try. 

And not a single thing does. 

No nightmares make their way into Eddie’s mind that night, no bad memories stir in his subconscious. That night, instead, he dreams of Steve.

(part five!) taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list)

[butchdiaz]

i'll be the north star that takes you home

@911actions for stewyroyz dedicated to intheesnow on twitter. donate if you can! also my contribution to @summerofbuddie week 1: mixed media! <3 (listen with headphones if u can!)

tags! @goldenbcnes @chronicowboy @eddiesbegins @poughkeepsies @ilostyou

@anirudhpisharody @try-set-me-on-fire @jeeyuns @inapastlife @userautumn

@eddiebabygirldiaz @leothil @mustachediaz @jjudaslips @exhuastedpigeon

@shitouttabuck @bvckandeddie @wearherlikeanecklace @oneawkwardcookie @diazly

@smallandalmosthonest @canonfageddie @freakazoidfag @heterosexistly @kinardbuckleys

@sibylsleaves @loserlesbianbf @cranberrymoons @fruitydiaz @hunybody

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[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Control (M)

Summary:

Seungcheol is the one mistake you should never make. The one you always do. The relationship that you equally have the most and least control over.

Genre: 8k words, College age but school is not mentioned, big dick!Cheol, simp!cheol, fuck buddies, pining, emotional repressed!y/n, y/n describes her relationship with Seungcheol as a mistake a lot, Cheol's possessive

Smut warnings: light degradation, dubcon, creampie, unprotected sex, public sex, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjobs, praise(?)

-

“So, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind-”

You laughed, smiling at the boy in front of you. He was tall, and handsome. Dark, slicked back hair.

“Stop with the flattery,” you insisted. He laughed.

“I can’t help it,” he cooed. “You deserve all the praise in the world.”

He was such a flatterer, but you didn’t even care. You craved the attention that came from such an attractive man. A man that you could brag to your friends for fucking. A man who you wouldn’t see again after tonight.

You let your hand reach forward, your fingers brushing over his biceps. You gave them a small squeeze. He reveled under your touch. He pulled you close to him by your hips, his fingers brushing over the hem of your skirt.

“You’re dancing with the devil, baby,” he commented, and the little nickname felt completely wrong coming from his mouth. But you didn’t care. You needed to be with this guy. Needed to sleep with him to remind yourself who you were.

You needed to sleep with someone. Needed a stranger’s cock to fuck you open.

You needed a change.

“Come on,” you said, your voice soft. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter. Yongsun.”

His smile only grew, and you knew that he thought he had hit the jackpot. A thrill of pride ran through your body at the fact that he liked you so much. You had been able to so quickly get him to succumb to your touch.

You guided him up the stairs, dragging him into the first empty bedroom you could find. You closed the door behind the two of you and he made his way over to the bed. When you turned around, he was sitting there at the edge. Comfortable even though it was a room that he had never been in before.

“Come here baby,” Yongsun murmured, and the phrase rolled right over your head. You wanted to hit yourself. Come on, get yourself together. He was gorgeous, you were going to get laid. This was exactly what you should want. This was the dream.

Yongsun pulled you closer so that you were in between his legs. He smiled at you, his eyes flickering down your body. His hands slid around you, rubbing over the curve of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. You wrapped your arms loosely around Yongsun’s neck, letting him drag you forward, his lips pressing warm kisses to your neck. You tilted your head up, and his hands slid down to your thighs and up under your skirt. His thumbs trailed over the edge of your panties.

“Let’s see how excited you are to be with me,” he mumbled against your neck. His fingers dipped into your panties and then he pulled away.

“Are you…?”

You groaned, pulling away from Yongsun.

“Sorry. Sorry,” you mumbled. “It’s not you I’m just tired...”

Disappointment flickered across Yongsun’s face, but he nodded.

“Yeah, I get it.”

You bid your farewells to Yongsun and as you did you felt eyes on you from across the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Just his gaze made your body heat up. You closed your eyes briefly, exasperated. Fuck, why did he make you feel this way? No one should ever have this much power of you.

You avoided looking at him, instead making your way through the party and out into the cool summer air. You hesitated at the front steps, knowing full well you shouldn’t wait there but needing to anyways.

The door to the house opened less than a minute after you had closed it. You felt arms wrap around your waist and you instantly let your head loll to the side. This times when lips touched your neck you felt it run straight to your core.

“Seungcheol, please-” You mumbled. “I don’t want to tonight.”

Seungcheol ignored you, continuing to press kisses to your neck.

“Really? Is that why you came back downstairs after only five minutes?” He asked you. His fingers dipped under your shirt and you arched your back into his touch. “Come on, you know that you want this just as badly as I do.”

You couldn’t help the desperate noise that left your lips.

“Seungcheol, someone is going to see us,” you whispered, your voice low. You felt him smile against your neck.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Maybe then you’ll admit how much you like me.”

One of his hands dipped beneath the band of your skirt, his fingers dipping into your underwear. His fingers brushed your clit and then dipped further between your folds. He let out a low groan.

“Is all this just for me?” He asked you. You felt his now wet fingers drag back up to your clit, beginning to rub clumsy, slow circles around it. Your head lolled back against Seungcheol, his lips trailing up your body.

His lips finally came up to yours, pressing softly to the corner of your lips. You turned your face to the side, trying to get his lips more firmly on yours but unfortunately for you he turned away with a smile.

“Why’d you leave that other boy, hm?” Seungcheol asked you as he continued to rub your clit in circles. “I could practically see his cock bulging in his pants. He wanted you so badly.”

His hand that was still on your stomach dragged lightly up your body, pressing your bra to the side and wrapping his hand around your boob. His thumb flicked across your hard nipple. You whined.

“I’m not- I-I wasn’t in the mood,” you mumbled, but Seungcheol knew you well enough that he could tell you were lying through your teeth. He chided you softly.

“Well, you’re clearly in the mood now,” he said. He let your lips brush again, but again when you tried to initiate a kiss, he pulled away from you. You bite down on your lip as he pressed his fingers harder on your clit, but his pace was still slow. He was taking his time, cocky about the fact that you wanted him. He knew that you weren’t going to stop him.

You felt pleasure coiling through your body as Seungcheol’s fingers pinched your tits, and you couldn’t help the way your face turned, desperate for his lips. If not just to kiss him, but also to keep the frankly embarrassing moans from leaving your lips.

It was obvious to anyone around how badly you wanted Seungcheol, no matter how hard you pretended not to.

You thanked God no one was around.

You could feel yourself being dragged closer and closer to the edge.

“You going to cum for me?” Seungcheol asked softly. “I can hear how desperate you are. It’s okay to need me, baby. You know I need you too.”

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering closed.

“F-fuck, Cheol, I-”

You heard the door to the house open and you had never unraveled yourself from Seungcheol faster. Your hands patted down your clothes quickly. The person stumbling out of the party glanced at you and you hoped to God they couldn’t tell by your heavy breathing that they had just ripped an orgasm away from you.

The person who had stumbled out of the door glanced at you, their eyes glazed over from the alcohol. They smiled.

“Such a rad party,” the guy said. He stumbled a little, and another person came through the door. A girl. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the arm of the stumbling guy.

“Sorry about idiot here,” she commented. Her eyes flickered to you.

“Y/n…” She mumbled. Her eyes narrowed a bit when she looked behind you. “Seungcheol.”

You both nodded at her, but she didn’t comment on you two any further. To be fair, at this point you two were practically social distanced from one another.

“I’ll see you two around.”

You nodded and you and Seungcheol echoed awkward expressions of agreement. You waited until the two walked away, and once you had seen the two get into a car you felt your head fall into your hands. Disgust filled your body. God, what were you doing?

“Y/n…” You ignored Seungcheol, and he didn’t move. “Y/n, come here.”

You stayed put, and you heard him sigh.

“It’s okay to need my cock baby, come here so I can make you feel good, huh?”

You groaned but you couldn’t help it, you felt yourself moving back over to him just like he wanted. That smile flickered across his lips again, pride to himself at having been able to get you to do what he wanted all over again.

“So good for me,” Seungcheol breathed, wrapping his arms around your body. He pressed his forehead to yours. “You gonna let me have you today?”

You tilted your head up, arms draped over Seungcheol’s shoulders in a similar way as to how it had been with Yongsun not long ago. Seungcheol kept his lips frustratingly away from yours, as if reminding him of how badly you wanted him. Reminding you that despite the fact you pretended in front of others that you didn’t want him, you would do anything for him when it came down to it.

“Please,” you whispered. Seungcheol’s fingers toyed with the hem of your underwear.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Seungcheol replied, his voice steady but low. “Are you going to let me have you today?”

You bit down on your lip, you didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t help it.

“Yes,” you agreed, nodding your head. You leaned forward, trying so hard to get his lips, but he still pulled back. “Seungcheol, please.”

Your frustration was starting to grow.

“Stop teasing me, Cheol,” you mumbled. You lowered one of your hands to Seungcheol’s pants. You dipped your hand into them, wrapping your fingers around Seungcheol’s already hard cock. You tugged at it, pulling a groan from Seungcheol.

“I thought you were worried about getting caught,” he mumbled. You shook your head against him.

“I don’t care anymore, I need you,” you mumbled. You gave Seungcheol’s dick another tug, your thumb flicking over the tip. “Besides, everyone here is too drunk off their asses to notice anyways.”

Seungcheol hummed and let you drag him around the side of the house, to a place where you two were hidden in the shadows of the night. You grabbed his pants, dropping them down to his ankles and crouched down. Your tongue darted to like your lips as you took in the sight of his length.

“You don’t even want me to get you home?” Seungcheol asked, his tone was low and teasing. He knew that you were past that. He knew that now that you needed him, you wouldn’t be able to put it off. So you ignored him in favor of sucking his cock into your mouth.

Besides, it was better this way. If you guys fucked here, if you fucked now, then you wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking out of his apartment… Or getting him to sneak out of yours.

He was so proud that he was fucking you. It was hell keeping him from telling others. Every time that you ended up here with the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat he grew cockier. More insistent that you liked him.

Maybe he was right. After all, anyone who didn’t like him wouldn’t be on their knees in a backyard sucking his cock.

Seungcheol groaned, his fingers lightly burying in your hair. His mouth was letting the most perfect little moans and whines leave his lips. The whines proof of his struggle for self-control. You knew how badly he wanted to grab you by your roots and force his cock deep into your throat. He held back on days like this when your attention seemed fickle. He wanted to make sure that you didn’t leave.

You wouldn’t mind it if he fucked your face like his life depended on it, but that wasn’t something you were ready to tell him.

No… That was something you wanted him to figure out for himself.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol grunted. “I thought you said I could have you today?” His voice was so rough. “Get off your fucking knees and pull your skirt up.”

You popped off of Seungcheol’s cock, giving his shaft a few pumps, eyes looking up at him innocently.

“Someone’s needy,” you mumbled. His fingers tightened in your hair.

“If we were having it my way we wouldn’t be outside right now.”

Your lips pressed together, but your core burned regardless. You got to your feet, pulling your skirt up to bunch around your hips and placing your hands on the house. You looked back over at Seungcheol. You wanted to say something cocky, assert your own control over the situation, but instead you just looked at him with wide pleading eyes.

His lips flickered back into a smile, and his hand came down sharply on your ass. A moan was ripped from your body as Seungcheol rubbed the spot he had just hit. His fingers pushed aside your panties, and he pressed two of his fingers into you.

“F-fuck.”

“You’re such a little slut, y/n,” Seungcheol mumbled. You whined, the words, however derogatory feeling like a compliment from his lips. He pushed his fingers into you slowly. Taking his time even though you wanted his cock right now and fast. “But I’m the one who makes you like this aren’t I?”

A whined tore itself from out of your lips.

“Cheol, please,” you whined.

“Left Yongsun just for me,” Seungcheol said, the praise going straight to your core. “Left that bedroom to get fucked by me in the yard. You’re too pretty to let me fuck you out here.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled. A laugh vibrated Seungcheol’s body.

“Yes ma’am.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, and brushed the tip of his cock between your folds. You mewled, your fingers curling into balls. You let your forehead fall forward.

“You’re so perfect, y/n,” Seungcheol murmured. His lips pressed to your lips as he slid his cock into you. You couldn’t help it. The pleasurable burn that ran through your body as his cock filled your body. He was huge, always so fucking huge. You didn’t think you would ever get used to it. “So perfect for me, take my cock so perfectly.”

“You’re such a tease,” you bit out, but your words met thin air. Seungcheol didn’t care that he was teasing you. He didn’t care that him taking his time was driving you crazy. He never did. You rarely came around to begin with.

“Tell me how much you need me, y/n,” Seungcheol breathed. You shook your head, which made Seungcheol’s teeth nip at your neck. Your body shivered; your gaze shot up.

“Cheol,” you blurted. “You know you can’t leave marks.”

“I’m sorry baby,” he mumbled. “I can’t help it. You know I can’t help it. I want everyone to know your mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit back. The comment made his cock slip from your pussy. You cried out in desperation, pushing your ass back towards Seungcheol. “Cheol, fuck I-”

You could hear his free hand wrap around his cock, and he started to pump it. You could hear how wet from your pussy he was.

“Cheol, cheol, cheol,” you panted. “I-I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” Seungcheol replied. His pumps were getting faster.

“B-But-”

“You’re not mine yeah? So why should I fuck you?”

Your heart was pounding. You wanted his cock so badly.

“I was lying, okay?” You blurted. “I’m yours, okay? All yours. Please Cheol, please-”

Seungcheol pushed his cock back into you, setting a faster pace. His hand wrapped around your waist again, his fingers pushing down on your clit.

“That’s right baby, you’re all mine,” he agreed. “We both know how badly you need me. Why don’t you show me? Why don’t you show me how badly you need me.”

Your body began to shake as your walls began to clamp around Seungcheol’s dick, your orgasm being ripped from your body like you really were all Seungcheol’s. He fucked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing those kisses to your neck.

“Where do you want my cum?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Inside.”

Your name fell off of his lips like a promise, his cum being pumped deep inside of you. Your body burned under his attention, your breath coming in heavy pants as his thrusts slowed. He stopped buried deep inside of you. His lips brushed up against your ear. You turned your head, hoping to finally get his lips but he pulled away from you just like he always did.

That was his biggest grab for control in your relationship. He never let you kiss him. No matter how badly you wanted to. No matter how badly he wanted to.

You two were silent for a minute, dragged out of your sex-haze by the front door to the house being opened and closed. You nudged Seungcheol with your elbow.

“We’ve got to go.”

You could feel how badly he didn’t want to go but regardless he pulled himself out of you. You were too nonchalant when it came to him, maybe. You stood up, fixing your panties and brushing down your skirt. Seungcheol pulled his pants back up, hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets. He stared at you, as you tried to make yourself look like you hadn’t been fucked. You could feel his cum leaking down your legs.

“Can I take you home?” Seungcheol asked. You didn’t respond to him, you just glanced at him. He knew the answer. He sighed, his eyes flitting away from you.

You walked over to him, against your better judgement. You got up to the tips of your toes and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You tapped his cheek right after.

“We can’t do this again.”

His lips flickered up into a smile.

“You know we will.”

-

“There she is.”

Mocking applause filled your apartment living room as you emerged from your bedroom after having gotten home at nearly four in the morning. Your two roommates, Seokmin and Dayoung looked at you with matching wide smiles on their lips. You groaned, burying your face in your hands as you walked.

“Another day, another party that you disappear from,” Dayoung said with a whistle. You gave her a mocking life and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door. “The question that remains… Did you get laid?”

Memories of Seungcheol flickered through your mind. You pressed your lips together, forcing a smile.

“You know I did,” you replied, trying to hide your shame. Your fingers twitched. The worst part being that you wanted Seungcheol to be inside of you right now. You shook the thoughts from your head.

“You do nothing but score,” Seokmin said with a surprised laugh. You shrugged off the statement.

“Can’t help it,” you replied. “I’m too pretty.”

Honestly, it was true. You were always getting the attention of other people. If you really wanted, you could have anyone you wanted.

“Aren’t you tired of it?” Seokmin asked you. You frowned.

“Tired of…?”

“Tired of sleeping with different people all the time?” Seokmin asked. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

You pretended to entertain what Seokmin had said.

“I’m not interested in just being with one person,” you replied pointedly. “There’s something exciting about fucking someone else every week.” You let a teasing smile cross your lips. “I don’t think just one dick could ever satisfy me.”

-

You slammed Seungcheol against the wall of his bedroom, desperately pushing his shirt up over his head.

“Come on Cheol,” you insisted. Seungcheol hummed, allowing you to pull his shirt off, watching you as you got down on your knees and began to undo his belt buckle. “Wearing too much. Work with me.”

You threw Seungcheol’s belt to the side and unbuttoned his pants. You pushed his pants down his legs, tearing his underwear down. He wasn’t helping you at all, just watching you in amusement. You didn’t even care, you whined when you saw his cock was out.

“Fuck, I love your cock so much,” you mumbled. You wrapped your fingers around him and gave him a tug.

“Aren’t you worried?” Seungcheol asked, his voice light and airy. “Wonwoo and Mingyu are just through the door.”

“They don’t know it’s me,” you replied pointedly.

Seungcheol chuckled.

“Right, I forgot. You climbed in through the window,” he teased. “All for what? For me?”

“You’re not special,” you mumbled, hoping to knock him down a peg. It probably didn’t help that as soon as you said it you sucked the tip of Seungcheol’s cock into your mouth. He let out an airy moan, and his fingers threaded into your hair.

“I’m feeling pretty special right now,” he breathed. “After all, I’m the one that you’re on your knees for.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled around Seungcheol’s dick. You sucked him deep into your mouth but before you could start setting your own pace Seungcheol’s hands began to guide you over his length. He moved your head slowly up and down, little moans tumbling from his lips as he did.

You placed your hands on his thighs, fingers tightening against him.

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol whispered, his voice so quiet you almost felt like you weren’t meant to hear it. “So, fucking beautiful.”

He tugged your head up a little, so that your eyes were on his.

“I wish you could see yourself. Mouth stretched out over my cock, eyes wide and perfect for me,” he mumbled. Your gaze flickered down, embarrassed. You tapped his thigh, and his fingers released your hair.

You pulled off of his cock.

“Shut up,” you emphasized again. “Fuck me, Cheol.”

“I’ll always do what you want,” Seungcheol promised. He reached down, his hands grabbing your cheeks. He pulled you up by them, the brief thought flickering through your mind that maybe he was going to kiss you. Of course, once you were up his hands lowered to your chest. His fingers hooked between the buttons of your shirt and then suddenly he pulled. Button’s scattered across Seungcheol’s floor, but before you could complain, he had one hand on your shoulder, the other one pushing your breasts up and out of your bra.

Then, with a solid push you were pushed back onto his bed. You let out a soft whimper before his hands were on your hips. He pulled your pants down your ankles, and then your panties, before falling to his knees in front of you. He hiked your hips closer to him, his tongue darting across his lips.

“I think I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Seungcheol mumbled. “I thought surely… I heard you were on some date with a guy tonight.”

Memories flickered through your mind of your date that night. Dinner at Applebee’s wasn’t exactly your idea of a date. You didn’t know why you always told Seokmin you would go on these dates.

“I was,” you agreed softly. “Not that it’s your business.”

Seungcheol dipped his head forward, his tongue darting between your folds. He licked up to your clit and then sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it. You cried out, arching your back.

“But you’re here with me now,” he mumbled against you. You rolled your eyes.

“You aren’t special, Cheol,” you replied, a breathy moan leaving your lips.

“Right. Cheol.” There was that mocking tone. “Not special at all.” He smiled against you, focusing on eating you out for a few moments. As he sucked on your clit, he slipped his middle finger into you. “But I’m more special than that boy you were with.”

He looked up at you, and your eyes flickered away from him.

“Look at me baby,” he said. You looked back down at him. “What was his name?”

His teeth nipped at your clit as he pushed a second finger into you. You whined.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He pressed his fingers hard into you, making you cry out.

“No, it matters,” he insisted. “Want to know who I am better than.”

“Seungcheol-”

“Shh,” Seungcheol said. He slid up your body, grabbing your hands and dragging you closer to him by his hips again. “I don’t want to hear anything from you until you tell me his name.”

Seungcheol’s dick brushed against your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Cheol you idi-” Seungcheol pushed his tip into you and then pulled it right back out. “Kevin, okay? His name was Kevin.”

Seungcheol pushed himself deep into you, making your entire body arch into his touch. Seungcheol’s lips trailed down to your collarbone, and he smiled against your skin.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget Kevin’s name,” he promised.

Every time you went back to Seungcheol it was stupider. Every time it made him just that much more cocky. You remembered when you were talking to a guy, and your phone vibrated.

Don’t text him: Upstairs. Now.

You had looked at him from across the room, a frustrated expression crossing over your lips.

No, you mouthed.

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows dragging his lips into a downwards smile. He shrugged and made his way up the stairs.

You were up there within five minutes.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered against his neck. He hummed.

“What was his name?”

“Sunwoo,” you breathed. Seungcheol clicked his tongue, pulling your head back by your ponytail.

“Let’s see how long you remember that.”

-

“Hey bitch,” Sujun exclaimed excitedly. She wrapped her arms around you in a hug, and then pulled away after placing a kiss to your cheek. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you said with a laugh. “I hate bars but for you? Always worth it.”

She let out part of a whoop, evidence of having pregamed even though it was only five.

“You don’t even know how fun tonight is going to be.”

“Oh, I think she has some idea.”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You turned over your shoulder, shooting Seungcheol a glare that his sister wouldn’t be able to see.

“Seungcheol!” Sujun said excitedly. “You are the perfect person to help me with this! You know what my favorite game to play with y/n is?”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands.

“Sujun-”

“Let’s get y/n laid!”

“Oh.”

Amusement twinkled through Seungcheol’s eyes.

“Well, that sounds hard. I wouldn’t know what y/n’s type is.”

You glared daggers at him while Sujun wasn’t looking.

“Long hair, bright eyes, long face… Not too many muscles…” You trailed off. “The exact opposite of you really.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows danced.

“Hm, sure,” he agreed.

He played that game with Sujun, and she didn’t even realize the underlying jealous tones in Seungcheol’s voice as he spoke about what guys you should go home with. She didn’t notice the look in his eyes when you started talking to the guy they had all decided on.

She didn’t hear you sneaking him into your apartment.

“What was his name?”

“I didn’t even fucking ask.”

Kicking Seungcheol out was the hardest. You almost never invited him over because of it. It was hard enough to leave his place every morning. He always looked at you with big puppy eyes begging you to come back. Promising you that you would be so much happier if you spent the day with him.

When he stayed over you were always quite literally pushing him out.

“You have exactly five minutes before Dayoung gets out of the shower, Seungcheol come on.”

“I’ll be in your bed tonight anyways, why don’t I just stay and wait?” There was a smile on his face even though there was a heavy look in his eyes. “I can stay around like a stay-at-home boyfriend.”

If you were being honest, you had known right away that he had fallen for you and you were just trying to pretend like he hadn’t. It was in his touch, the way he spoke to you. You knew that from the start he had seen you as his and you were holding him at a distance. You were quite literally using him, but he was letting you because you were leading him on and that made you think it was okay.

“I think I’m a bad person,” you admitted. There was too much alcohol in your system for you to be talking about this. You turned your head to look over at Seokmin, as your eyes flitted away from your phone with the singular message of: You’re not out tonight, right? Come over.

“You’re not a bad person,” Seokmin negated with a roll of his eyes. Your lips flickered into a smile.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your phone vibrated.

Or are you pretending to be someone else’s tonight?

You groaned and threw your phone at Seokmin.

“Jesus christ, Seokmin I’m such a bad person,” you blurted. He glanced at your phone screen.

“Who is Don’t Text Him?” He asked. You raised your beer to your lips, finishing it off and tossing the can across the room.

“I can’t tell you,” you replied. “But he’s a good guy. And I’m leading him on like a fucking dog.”

“Well, if he’s letting you lead him on-”

You groaned loudly, turning your gaze back over to Seokmin.

“What do I do?” You blurted. “What do I do? He practically thinks we’re together.”

“Just cut it off,” Seokmin replied pointedly. “You can’t lead him on if you aren’t fucking him.”

Easier said than done.

-

“I fucking can’t stand you,” you whispered as you shut the closet door behind you. “You played it too risky, you can’t be that close to me.”

“You didn’t really seem like you disliked it that much,” Seungcheol teased. His lips were turned up as you pulled his cock from out of his pants. You didn’t even bother to drag them down. You slid your hand up and down his hard cock.

“You aren’t some sex god Seungcheol-”

He grabbed you by your hips and turned you around suddenly. He pushed up your skirt, and aside your panties- Something you were much too accustomed to. His hand came down on your ass, before his fingers slid into your wet heat.

“Come on baby, you need to be honest,” he said softly. “Do you think that your pussy gets this wet for just any man? You’re so perfect for me that you’re already ready for my cock.”

He placed his hands to either side of your body and pressed his cock into you. You felt your head dip a little, pressing your ass back against him. Just proving him right. Just pushing him deeper.

“Fuck baby,” Seungcheol said, his voice close to that of a whine. “You really are so perfect for me, aren’t you?”

“It’s not all for you,” you protested, but even as you spoke you were pushing back against him, silently begging him to go faster.

“No?” He asked softly. “Then who’s it for? Kevin…? Sunwoo…?”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip.

“Seungcheol-”

“No, that’s not what you call me is it?” He asked. His pace was slow. Stupid, Seungcheol and his stupid slow thrusts. He was always taking his time.

“I don’t have time for this,” you grunted. “Faster.”

“Ask me nicer,” Seungcheol replied.

“No-”

“Then I can stop,” Seungcheol agreed. His cock slipped out of you, but it was so brief it practically never happened. You pressed back against him quickly, forcing his cock back into you.

“Don’t stop,” you blurted. “Please, Cheol, I need you so fucking badly. Faster. Please.”

He laughed.

“Of course, I will,” he agreed. “Since you sound so sweet for me.”

He picked up his pace, to the one that you wanted. Nothing being able to be heard from within the closet other than your own moans and the sound of skin on skin. You felt Seungcheol’s lips on your skin and you wished that he would bite down on you. No matter how much you said you didn’t, you wanted people to know.

You were just so scared.

Seungcheol brought you to your orgasm fast, just the way that you were used to from him and his lips brushed your ear as he whispered: “Where?”

And you fought it in yourself not to scream in desperation with your response.

“Inside.” A beat, and honestly more didn’t need to be said but you said it anyways. “Always, inside.”

You let your head bump against the wall in front of you and your fingers curled into balls as Seungcheol’s warm cum started to fill you. You felt an orgasm rip through your body as he fucked his cum into you, and he fucked you through it until you were both panting and coming down from your highs.

After a few minutes he slipped his cock out of you and you felt his cum drip down your thighs a little. You were so annoyed at yourself for letting him fuck you here because now you were going to have to deal with this situation the best you could in a public bathroom, but it was your own fault really.

Aggravation flooded your body at the situation as you pulled your clothes on, and Seungcheol just stood there watching you as you got dressed with that cocky expression on his face. You wanted to hit him.

“This can’t keep happening,” you hissed. As you spoke you heard footsteps from outside of the door. You threw your hands over Seungcheol’s mouth, suddenly finding yourself unable to breathe. Seungcheol’s tongue darted out to your hand, and you pulled away from him. He gave you an amused expression.

“That’s what you say every time,” he said. “You don’t mean it. You’ll be back.”

“I’m serious this time,” you insisted. Seungcheol just smiled, leaning forward. He teased you, his lips hovering just above yours. You fell for his trap of course, tilting your head up to catch his lips. He pulled away.

“Yeah, I can see how serious you are,” he agreed. Frustration bubbled in your stomach, and you pushed open the closet door. You stumbled out and looked around the hallway. Luckily, no one was around.

“What if someone caught us?” You asked him. “What if your sister found out?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Who cares?” He asked. You shot him a glare.

“I care. She’ll have my head.”

“She’ll get over it,” he replied. The topic of his sister was bothering him, but you didn’t think it was for the reasons most people would be annoyed. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with keeping this secret from her.”

“It’s not just keeping this secret from her,” you shot back at him. You started to walk away from him, but he was following you. You were betting on him following you, honestly. “This isn’t something that should be happening. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“We have,” Seungcheol agreed.

“Which is exactly the point. This is a mistake Seungcheol. Every time we have done this, it’s been a mistake.”

Seungcheol grabbed you by your wrist.

“A mistake, huh?” He asked. “Was it a mistake every time you said you were mine? Whenever you begged me for my cum? Every time you sabotaged whatever connection with whatever guy you were with that night just to end up fucking me?”

“God, you’re so cocky,” you blurted. You ripped your wrist out of Seungcheol’s grasp and pushed hard at his chest. “It meant nothing. It means nothing. You just have a good cock, Seungcheol. That’s it.”

Hurt shot through Seungcheol’s eyes but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. You glared at him as he waited for you to take back your words.

You two stared at each other and then you heard someone from beside you say something. Your eyes widened and you put some space between you and Seungcheol. Real fear of being recognized, and having your dispute being acknowledged as just that: a dispute running through your body.

Once the person had passed your eyes flickered back to Seungcheol. He scoffed at you.

“Got it,” he bit out. “This really is the last time.”

Seungcheol walked away before you could say another word.

Honestly? There was something in the back of your throat as you watched Seungcheol walk away. You tried to remind yourself that Seungcheol didn’t matter. Tried to remind yourself about what you had just been saying. That Seungcheol was a mistake. Something that should have never happened.

But still, you felt something achy in your stomach as you looked at him.

In the weeks that followed Seungcheol didn’t reach out to you, and you didn’t reach out to him. You went to parties just as usual, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore.

And when you went upstairs with someone, and they turned up dry… You just ended up going home and having to take a cold shower.

“Your nights have been short recently,” Seokmin commented one morning. You glared at him as you chugged a cup of orange juice, frankly desperate to get your raging headache to calm down.

“There’s not a lot of fish in the sea.”

Seokmin chuckled.

“You should go on a date.”

You didn’t want to go on a date. You were feeling empty inside for a reason that you could not understand. Every single person that you tried to fuck was a disappointment, someone that you just couldn’t imagine being inside you.

Still, you ended up agreeing to go. Maybe it would snap you out of this… Whatever this was.

You wanted to scream when you saw Seungcheol sitting at a table with some girl. You didn’t know who it was and you were literally on a date with someone else but you didn’t care.

“Can we sit…” You pointed to the table across from where Seungcheol was on his date. The waitress had a look of confusion flicker across her brows, but she nodded.

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine,” she replied. Han shot you a confused look, but you shot him back a distracting smile.

“It’s a nice table, yeah?”

You spent the whole night ignoring Han. Spent it staring at Seungcheol like your life depended on it. Your eyes flickered from between Han and Seungcheol. Each smile from Seungcheol to that girl set your chest a flame.

Fuck, this date couldn’t go well. It couldn’t because if it did it was really over between the two of you and you weren’t ready for that. It hadn’t been over yet. Not really, but this. This made it feel real.

“So, then he-”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you blurted. Han gave you another confused look but you didn’t care. You briskly got up from the table, bumping into Seungcheol as you passed him. Your eyes caught his and an apologetic smile spread over your lips, an attempt at hiding your desperation.

“Sorry,” you blurted. “I was just on my way to the bathroom.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth you were walking back to the bathroom. You had barely made it through the door before Seungcheol was pushing through it too.

“Y/n, fuck,” Seungcheol blurted. “What are you-”

“Mine,” you mumbled. You wrapped your arms around Seungcheol’s body. “You’re mine. Not hers, mine.”

Your fingers fumbled at Seungcheol’s belt, unbuckling it and pulling out Seungcheol’s dick. You could feel it hardening under your touch. You hopped up onto the bathroom counter, hiking up your dress.

“Come on,” you insisted. You didn’t care that you hadn’t eased yourself open yet, you needed to remind Seungcheol that he was obsessed with you. You tugged Seungcheol closer, wrapping your legs around his hips and rubbing his tip through your folds. “Cheol, please. I need you.”

“You’re on a date too,” Seungcheol said, his voice strained. His hands came to your hips, tightening on the fabric bunched there. He pulled it up a bit.

“So, you did see me,” you mumbled. He had just been pretending all night not to see you. You wondered, selfishly, if all those laughs had been real. The flirty smile on his lips had been undeniable.

“Of course, I saw you,” Seungcheol replied. “You’re mine. When I heard you were going on this stupid date, I nearly lost my mind.”

Seungcheol pushed his cock deep inside of you, making you cry out. You wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck. You pressed a few kisses to his neck, trying to hide moans there.

“Your pussy was made for my cock,” Seungcheol mumbled. “Your body was made to be mine.”

You nodded against Seungcheol’s skin.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “You’re right. I don’t know why I pretended for so long.”

Your teeth nipped down on Seungcheol’s neck, making him hiss, his hips stuttering against you.

“You’re breaking your own rules baby,” he mumbled. You mewled, tilting your own head up.

“Fuck my rules.”

Seungcheol had been looking for permission to mark you since this had started. His teeth immediately bit down on your neck, and he smoothed over the mark as soon as he left it. Normally when Seungcheol fucked you he was slow and agonizing but not tonight.

“What finally triggered it?” Seungcheol asked you, his lips still against your neck.

“Can’t stand you smiling at that girl,” you admitted breathlessly. “Can’t stand you on a date with anyone else.”

“We’re not dating, y/n,” Seungcheol reminded you. “We’re not dating because you don’t want to.”

His words were rough, but his lips curved into a smile.

“Seungcheol I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know why I pretended I didn’t want you.”

Seungcheol grunted his agreement to your words.

“I should leave you here. Soak you with my cum and not let you cum. Make you sit in here thinking about the fact that I’m on a date with someone else. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who appreciates me.”

You wrapped your arms even tighter around Seungcheol’s body terrified that he was going to honor his words.

“But she’s not yours Seungcheol,” you insisted. “I’m yours.”

Seungcheol nodded.

“That you are baby,” he agreed softly. “All mine. My jealous little girl.”

“I’m not-” Why were you trying to lie right now? You were the one who had dragged Seungcheol here. Made him come into this bathroom. Practically begged him to fuck you.

“It’s okay that you’re a little jealous,” Seungcheol cooed. “I’m jealous too. Hate it when I see other men draped all over you. Hate it when they look at you and think that they have a fucking chance.”

“They don’t,” you breathed. “Not really Cheol. No one has really had a chance with me since I started fucking you.”

Seungcheol hummed and it sounded unconvinced, but his grip tightened on you. He was getting closer.

“Seungcheol, I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Seungcheol shook his head.

“Y/n-”

“I mean it, I really do,” you insisted, knowing he was going to negate your words. “It’s not just because you’re fucking me. I love you.”

Seungcheol raised his lips to yours. His thrusts slowed for a moment and one of his hands raised to your cheek. His lips flickered back into a smile, and his lips brushed yours teasingly.

“Say it again,” he said softly. Your eyes fluttered shut and you began to roll your hips down to meet Seungcheol’s thrusts.

“I love you Seungcheol,” you repeated, sounding wrecked.

“Good girl,” he breathed. His lips pressed to yours. Chastely, at first, and then more heated as time went by. It was like he was starving, desperate for your lips and honestly? That’s how you felt. All these months you had wanted to kiss him. All this time you had needed to feel his lips on yours.

To finally feel his lips? You were so fucking relieved.

All this time you had been afraid to admit how much you needed him. All this time you had been scared of your own feelings. Because it was Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol. You weren’t supposed to be in love with him. You weren’t allowed to be in love with him.

If he had kissed you before, you thought that this would have been so much easier.

“I love you too, y/n,” he admitted softly. His fingers came down between you two, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “You going to cum for me?”

You whined against his lips, nodding, desperate, needing him to kiss you more. You chased the connection, but he kept his lips just slightly away from you.

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbled. “Be good and cum for me baby.”

“K-Kiss me, Cheol,” you whined back. He nodded.

“Anything for you,” he said. “Anything for my perfect little girl.”

His lips pressed back to yours and as soon as he did you began to come around his cock. You dragged him right over the edge with you. He didn’t even ask if it was okay to cum inside of you but that only filled you with comfort. He knew you were his. He knew that your pussy was all for him to cum inside.

Seungcheol’s thrusts progressively came to a stop, and his body collapsed against yours. Completely spent, but he didn’t stop kissing you regardless. You found yourself gasping against his lips, so fucking desperate and needy and you didn’t even care.

Seungcheol pulled back, always the one pulling back, always stronger than you were when it came down to it.

“You have to go back to your date baby,” Seungcheol said. He slipped himself out of you, and you let your head fall back against the mirror. You shook your head in exhaustion. “I don’t want-”

“Shh,” Seungcheol whispered back. “I’ll see you again soon now, won’t I?”

You nodded your agreement. Seungcheol grabbed you by your hips, dragging you off the counter. He pulled your panties back into place and pulled your dress down. You stared at him, chest heaving as he tried to make you look presentable. His lips flickered into a smile.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours briefly.

“Okay.”

He pulled away from you and just as he did you grabbed his wrist.

“Come over tonight,” you whispered. His lips flickered up.

“Yeah?” He was silent for just a second, but his excitement was obvious. “Can I stay over?”

You nodded once, and his smile grew larger.

“And we can get breakfast together?”

Another nod, and it looked like his smile was going to break his face in half.

“You promise?” He asked.

“You’re the one who said that we have to get back to our dates,” you insisted. You pushed at his back, trying to get him out of the bathroom. “I promise, okay?”

Seungcheol turned around again quickly and pressed his lips to yours in another fast kiss. He smiled at you and then took a deep breath.

“Okay. But don’t go back on it.”

Before you could assure Seungcheol that you wouldn’t go back on the promise he was finally leaving the bathroom.

Han knew you were lying when you came back to him and told him that you weren’t feeling well but despite knowing it was a lie he didn’t know exactly why you were lying. He gave you a smile, saying he understood and also insisting that you get some rest.

You were honest when you told him that you were sorry about the date going bad and that you didn’t think you two should go on a second one. Honest when you told him you thought you liked someone else.

And the embarrassment of having to end the date in that way completely vanished when you kept your promise to let Seungcheol stay the night. And that wasn’t the last time that you kept that promise to him.

Taglist: ... @vintageot5, @woo8hao, @toruro, @wonudazed

[xianyoon]

　　　　 　　　　𝒶 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇

lady ying cordially invites you to the ball of the summer's solstice – the ball will commence on the twenty-seventh day of june, with the festivities officially ending on the last day of the same month. the manor shall be open to all – only with a few rooms privately open to lady ying's associates, but the rest of the manor shall be accessible to all invited. your beaus of the social season are invited as well – do bring them along for a night of fun.

more details to come out soon, but mark the dates! 27th june to 31st july – i hope to see you in the regency-inspired selfship event ♡

[bebewrites]

RIP at tumblr only linking the first 5 urls in a taglist now

[raviposting]

Happy Mother's Day to the Moms, Ians, and ✨Mothers✨ of Smosh! @lgbtqcreators bingo: animation

[sunrisemill]

-Things that remind me of Matt pt.4-

[thcbolter]

taylor swift — the manuscript

[flowercrowngods]

🤍🌷 @stevesbipanic and @the-winged-doe asked to see ugly unpolished unrefined words, soo—

cw & tags: past major character death, grief, attempted time-travel fix-it(s), eddie&robin besties || potential wip

Eddie takes a long drag of his cigarette, the biting hot smoke hitting the back of his throat and clawing its way into his lungs, going as deep as he allows and leaving a permanent mark that brings neither relief nor calmness tonight. His fingers shake where they’re pressed to his lips, but the rest of him is unmoving where he sits on the front porch of their new trailer. 

It’s quiet out here. It’s always quiet in Hawkins these days, the city a fucking ghosttown. 

And he knows it’s not because of the one they lost. He knows it’s not because of him. But still the emptiness is stark and the silence oppressivem more so than it ever has been. 

Everyone still looks for him, months later. Dustin still begins to speak, cutting himself off mid-sentence, and Robin still stands with enough space to either side, like she expects him to just show up and invade her space like the home he made for himself in there. 

And somewhere among all that is Eddie. With his very own history. Or, non-history, as it turns out. But history and non-history leave wounds alike, and the memories feel just as real. A small mercy, at the end of the day, for them to feel real when they’re all he has left anymore. 

He takes another drag, not quite exhaling before he obliterates the cigarette and fishes for a new one before the butt even hits the ground. 

Fumbling with the lighter in his pocket, he only gets as far as placing the butt between his lips before a hand snakes into his field of vision to snag it from his mouth. 

“Hey,” he complains halfheartedly but makes no attempt at getting it back, watching instead as Robin comes up to sit beside him, grimacing at the stink of tobacco that must be heavy around him. 

“You’re disgusting,” she says with no real heat behind her words.

Eddie shrugs, because yeah, sure. He’s been called worse things. Robin’s called him worse things. This is her being nice. Her complaininig about his incessant smoking is nothing new. What is new is what she does next, placing the cigarette between her own lips and reaching for the light he’s been holding in a loose grip since she arrived. 

She starts coughing immediately, pulling a face at the disgusting feeling of smoke in her lungs and tobacco on her tongue. But she keeps going. Eddie can only watch in surprise and mild horror. 

“These things’ll kill you,” he says then in an echo of her usual sentiment, aware that he sounds as bewildered as he feels. 

“Well,” Robin says, aiming for casual, but quickly interrupted by a wheeze and a cough that’s almost adorable. “Let them try.” 

Eddie huffs, a pale little smile lingering on his lips as he leans back against the stairs behind him, resting his weight on his forearm to watch her. There is something captivating about her. Eddie always wonders what it is, wants to study her forever. 

Maybe it’s only the lingering traces of Everything Steve Harrington that clings to her every breath, her every move, her every fucking cell, with how much he was a part of her and she of him. Maybe it’s their shared grief that has made Eddie fall a bit in love with her and with the way the moonlight catches in her hair and in the smoke wafting from her cigarette. 

But somehow he refuses to believe that all he loves about her is merely the memory of Steve. 

Robin, in turn, is kind enough to let him stare. Kind enough to let him find out what it is between them. If this friendship is more than a misguided projection of grief and mourning and trauma; more than co-dependence and the obsessive will to keep this one person in your life. This one person who understands. 

After a while of Robin just holding the cigarette between her fingers, becuase no matter how strong her will to self destruct, she never quite got it right with the smoking, Eddie snatches it back before it goes to waste completely. As if pulled in by a string attached to his hollowed out chest, Robin leans back and into him in one smooth motion. It’s too calculated, though, and Eddie can feel how much she sags once she doesn’t have to hold herself up anymore. 

He’ll hold her. It’s fine. She gets to rest if she wants to. God knows she needs it. 

The night is warm for mid-September, but still Robin shakes against him. Eddie holds her closer. 

Silence settles over them, and it’s not an easy one. Silence is never easy anymore, especially with them. He feels so deeply hollow that even the silence echoes in there, creating an ever-present, uncomfortable thrumming of apprehension and anxiety within him. A certain sense of doom, one that can’t quite decide if it’s only an echo itself. 

“I wanna stop time,” Robin says at last, the cigarette long dead between Eddie’s fingers, but he somehow can’t bring himself to flick it away. “I don’t want tomorrow.” 

I don’t ever want a new day. I don’t ever want another tomorrow. I just want Steve. 

They ring in his head still, another echo that only hollows him out further every time it reaches him — Robin, overcome with hysterical grief, screaming and crying, curled up on that hospital floor, her cries quieting down and making Eddie wish she would be loud again, because the quiet was what killed him. The quiet, the whispered words, the declarations that tomorrow could go fuck itself if it came without Steve made him wish, irrationally, desperately, that their roles were reversed. That he could have died and Steve could have lived, and Robin would never have to wish tomorrow never came. 

He’s not entirely sure if she remembers the words, too. If she even said them in this world. 

So he takes a deep breath, breathes away memories and non-histories, feels the heavy weight of his guitar pick hanging around his neck, resting on the scarred flesh of his chest, and tries not to think of the one string left on his acoustic guitar. Tries not to think of his one last attempt. One last try. 

“I know,” he tells her. “Me neither.” 

He peers over her head, lifting his left wrist to check his watch. Ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes until Steve’s birthday. 

“It’s not tomorrow yet,” he tries lamely, and Robin huffs — the sound wet and bitter and hopeless, making Eddie’s eyes sting. 

“It’s always fucking tomorrow,” she rasps, her voice flat and wavering, and Eddie knows her well enough to know she’s about to cry. And she knows him well enough to do it. 

“I know,” he says again, and reaches for his necklace through his shirt. One more attempt. One more try. One more chance. His eyes burn. 

She turns to him after taking a moment to compose herself, peering up at him through her lashes. 

“Tell me again?” 

His heart falls, the tense apprehension vanishing from the air, bur quickly replaced by something a lot more heavy. Something that looks and smells and feels like grief. 

They both know he’ll do anything she asks. He can’t really bear saying not to her. And not about this, anyway — she’s the only one who knows. 

She’s the one who should have had the chance. 

“Which part?” he asks, holding a new cigarette out for her to light it. She does, and the both follow the flame of the lighter Robin always keeps in her pocket these days. 

She leans forward and takes a drag. Eddie lets her. 

“All of them.“

Eddie sighs, pain welling up inside him, and he closes his eyes against the night sky. “Robbie,” he pleads, but he doesn’t finish his plea. He’ll do it. He’ll do anything she asks. 

But before he starts recounting the tales of how he almost saved Steve Harrington, he finds himself saying something he never thought he’d tell her. 

“There’s one more.” The words hang in the air, and Robin doesn’t react. Has no idea what’s coming; what he’s about to tell her. The guitar pick is heavy on the necklace around his throat. “There’s one more try. One more chance. I’m… I have one more—“ 

He can’t even finish the sentence. Can’t bring himself to say it, lest it all be jinxed forever. He doesn’t want to hope. Wants to carry this weight for all eternity and never think about all those times he failed to save someone he was never meant to save at all. People like Eddie, they’re not made to save anyone. Hell, they can’t even save themselves. 

Steve was supposed to be the one doing the saving. 

And he did. God, he fucking did. But he was never supposed to— 

Cold fingers wrap around his own as Robin fits their hands together. 

“I hate you a little bit for telling me.” 

Eddie nods, trying to focus on the cold hand and the nicotine in his lungs, trying not to let panic and grief and guilt and the heavy weight of one more chance win. “I know.” 

“Hey, Eddie?” Robin says after a while, the silence stretching on, and it’s almost midnight now. “Can you— Would you do something for me?” 

He turns his head, flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the darkness beyond them. “What’s that?” 

“Don’t— Don’t try to, to save him. Don’t— Just… Just maybe, could you celebrate his birthday with him? Make sure he knows he’s… God, make sure he knows he’s loved? Last year, no one really made time on his birthday and we just moved it backwards but God, could you— It’s almost midnight, and—“ 

“Robbie,” Eddie interrupts her, his voice hoarse and wavering, his eyes burning with tears as he tugs her close and holds her to his chest. “You should go. Don’t you wanna…” 

But she’s shaking her head against him with a vehemence that can hardly be misunderstood. 

“No,” she cries, and it’s more of a sob than anything. “I think if I ever saw him again, I’d… I don’t know what I’d do. Burn the whole fucking world to the ground for him or some shit, I can’t— I’d probably just cry all the time and that wouldn’t be helpful, really.” There’s a weak, wet laugh that bubbles out of both of them, and Eddie’s wiping at Robin’s face, drying the tears and making way for new ones to fall. 

“I’d light a fire for you,” Eddie says, the same weak smile on his lips that Robin meets him with now. “Nineteen fucking fires, you hear me?” 

She laughs again, then buries her face in his neck in a way that never quite fit. In a way that Eddie always knew was supposed to be someone else’s neck. 

But he’s not here anymore. And Eddie can’t get him back. No matter how much he aches for it, no matter how much he learned over and over and over again how easy it is to love Steve Harrington and how hard, how fucking impossible it is to lose him. Over and over and over again. 

And to live without him. This one fucking time they all get. It’s not fair. 

And now Robin is asking him to go back one more time and make sure that Steve knows— That he knows. 

Somehow the thought of that feels nobler than any attempt to save him, to bring him back; to rewrite history from a lonely boy’s perspective and hope that no one else is reading along. 

It feels right, too. Fundamentally and suddenly, and with such an intensity that Eddie knows the decision has been made the second he started telling her. 

Still he hesitates. Robin’s sobs have calmed down, and Eddie’s hand finds its way into her hair. 

“Do you really mean it?” 

She nods.

He nods, too, but slower. Like he’s trying to sway himself. Which way, he doesn’t know. 

“Make him happy.” 

“Okay,” he decides after a while, feeling hollow and desperate, but feeling purpose burning underneath his skin again. “One last time.” 

He unwinds his arms from around her and heads inside to grab his acoustic guitar. The last remaining string, badly untuned because he never dared to touch it, stares back at him in both mockery and invitation. A dare. A chance. A promise. 

Outside, Robin is waiting for him, looking anxious. Eddie wants to hug her. He doesn’t, only tightens his grip around the guitar’s neck. 

“Listen, Eddie, if this is goodbye or something—“ 

“It’s a birthday party, Robsie,” he interrupts her, aiming for light, aiming for brave. “I’m coming back right here.” 

“I know,” she rushes to say, taking a step toward him and wringing her hands. It’s endearing. It’s genuine. Eddie really is a little in love with her. “But, y’know, you don’t mess with time, and I don’t know what all you already changed before and I don’t wanna know but… If this is goodbye, if something happens, I just wanna tell you that I’m gonna miss you. And that I think you’re really cool. And that Steve’s— he’s really missing out, okay. Okay?” 

Eddie breathes, taking in her words and letting them soak into his body, his every last fibre. 

“Okay,” he smiles. “Thank you. You’re… I’m kind of in love with you, Robin Buckley. So there had better be no change in the universe, ‘cause that would really suck.” 

They smile at each other, Eddie with his guitar and Robin with her lighter, and somehow this feels like a deja-vu. The antithesis to a moment forever burned into his memory.

Make him pay. 

Make him happy. 

Eddie tugs on his necklace and plays the string before he can think about it too hard; before he can decide otherwise. 

Distantly, he hears the church bells announcing midnight as the world around him fades. 

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @cryptic-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 @devondespresso @bookworm0690 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[whump-queen]

Silver

tags: forced intox, manhandling, "servant" whump but lets be honest he's basically a pet

-----------

Seven could smell the sharp sting of tequilia on Wes’ breath before he even saw the bottle.  

“Open up, servant.” Wes smiled and leaned in, forcing the stench further into Seven’s face, making him nearly gag at what he knew was coming. God he could already taste it. 

Seven tried to pull away, but a heavy hand found the back of his neck and harshly gripped his hair, holding him fast while the other hand messily shoved the bottle of silver upward and forced it past Seven’s lips. 

Seven knew not to struggle. He how to close his nose without plugging it by now. He’d hold his breath. He’d hold his—fuck. It burned in his empty stomach instantly. 

Considering all the occasions Wes had forced his servant to drink, Seven should’ve been an expert at this. But experience didn’t mean his nights went without mishap, and just because he knew how to drink it down for a few sips, it didn’t mean Wes would let up this time, forcing him to take gulp after excruciating fiery gulp until his mind was screaming for oxygen and for the poison to stop. Just stop. 

He could feel hot tears running down his face. He needed to breathe. It took everything in him to swallow and not fucking wretch as soon as Wes yanked the bottle away. Oxygen hit his lungs and he gasped for breath until he felt lightheaded.

“Can’t waste it all on a fucking servant,” Wes sneered, releasing his fingers from Seven’s hair, roughly tousling it instead. The force of his hand made the room spin and Seven could already feel it hitting him. Burning away deep his stomach and making his face feel hot and tingly. 

Wes turned away and Seven instantly grasped the wall, taking a few agonizing deep breaths, just trying so hard not to throw up. 

He’d done that before. On a night much like this one, and Wes had made him clean it all up while still nearly blacked out, promising that the next time, he’d clean it with his tongue. 

So Seven braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breath. He inhaled. God fuck. He exhaled. Fuck. He was going to gag.

Water.

He needed water.

This was going to be a long night. 

.

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series masterlist

[ruvviks]

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC OR PAIRING.

Nathan and Ruben share a bond more powerful than most; mutual understanding through past experiences no one should ever have to go through, and through past actions so horrible they cannot be spoken of. Their grief and the blood on their hands binds them to the STEM technology they created, which has alienated them from the rest of the world— but they give each other the comfort they have both longed for so desperately for years, and that is all they need. They are each other's counterpart; you cannot imagine one without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Through their pain, their grief, their desire, and their regret, they have become one.

anna akhmatova, the guest // bones; equinox // 'i won't become' by kim jakobsson // agustín gómez-arcos, the carnivorous lamb // by oxy // achilles come down; gang of youths // czeslaw milosz, from 'new and collected poems: 1931-2001' // 'extended ambience portrait from a resonant biostructure' and 'migraine tenfold times ten' by daniel vega // a little death; the neighbourhood // marina tsvetaeva, from 'poem of the end' // by drummnist // katie maria, winter // 'nocturne in black and gold the falling rocket' by james abbott mcneill whistler // micah nemerever, these violent delights // body language; we are fury // 'the penitent' by emil melmoth // chelsea dingman, from 'of those who can't afford to be gentle'

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[whumblr]

Nighttime

Crossed out Masterpost

Heavy footsteps slowly made their way up the stairs, the clanking sounds echoing through the silent hall as they drew nearer on the steel grated walkway.

The owner of those boots didn’t care it was nearing midnight, nor did he seem in a hurry. He took slow deliberate steps, knowing he had an audience who were all listening with bated breath. He knew most would still be awake, at least those with a guilty conscience, waiting, waiting for the inevitable, and praying for the footsteps to pass by their cell.

Lucas too lay wide awake, facing the cell door, seeing the drawn out shadow draw nearer through the bars.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if anyone else had drawn Nero’s attention today, had done anything to deserve a nighttime visit. When he couldn’t think of any – the day like all others had passed in a hazy blur – he tried to remember if there was anyone locked away in solitary.

Two out of three options he came up blank and the third option became very real all of a sudden.

Would it be him? Would this be his first visit, finally finding out – unwillingly – what happened behind those closed doors, what caused the begging and the screaming, what was the prime cause for the impeccable record of this prison’s stats for good behaviour?

Something heavy started forming in his stomach, something that spread to all his limbs. He shifted on his bed, the flimsy mattress barely protecting his bruises from the harsh, cold metal underneath, and kept a close watch on the shadow that now drew nearer.

Had he done anything today? Besides being his usual nuisance? He hadn’t talked back (hadn’t had the chance, really), mouthed off, or tried to instigate a fight. All in all, a quiet day. So by that logic, he should be safe. Should. But he knew Nero didn’t need a reason. And that he could hold onto a grudge, coming back with punishment for something that happened days ago. He relished in the false comfort and striking when the victim thought he was safe.

Yet everyone awake was now thinking back on their sins, severely questioning their safety, and praying they would be spared that night.

The shadow was now right outside his cell and he was sure he just made eye contact with the beast. Either time slowed or the man had stopped. But then he blinked and the shadow had passed his door. Clanking footsteps following in its wake.

His shoulders relaxed. And Lucas found himself exhaling his dread.

A couple cells ahead the footsteps stopped. Sounds echoed through the hall, a lock springing open, the creak of the door; the soft prelude. Then soft begging and sobs, whispered pleads. A harsh command. Then quicker footsteps, stumbling along with Nero’s marching, another choked off sob, whispered “please, please, no, I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry!” as they got closer.

"Quiet."

The begging stopped instantly.

The command wasn’t made out of concern to others, nor to not disturb their night’s peace or to remain undetected. Begging just was useless here.

Lucas saw the two dark figures go past, noticing how Nero used his favourite method of transportation: a vice grip on his victim’s neck and simply pushing them along.

A door slammed shut. Then there was silence.

Lucas pressed his pillow over his head, tried to calm his beating heart, to convince himself the storm had passed and he could go to sleep. Unfortunately, he knew the silence was a short lived one.

That it would soon be filled again. By muffled distant screams.

-

Continued here

[shepscapades]

Hello I might be be completely missing something but is there somewhere I can find an updated masterpost? The one I found is definetly missing some story stuff lol

HI hello! You're not missing anything! I get asks about this a lot-- that master post is very very old, and I have a new one i've been keeping in a word doc and yknow what i'm going to freaking post it tonight if its the last thing i do so I can stop putting it off!!!!11!

I'm saying it now and here so that I can hold myself to it tonight after i get done with rehearsals and whatnot haha

but yes!! New masterpost on the way :]

[nanaanatiion]

Omg your BBF!JJ is amazing could I request a BBF!JJ blurb(or however u wish to write it)of him and reader being in a secret relationship and how he would be in that situation!

Thank you and you’re an amazing writer!!

| Restricted Relations |

JOHN B'S HALF-SISTER!READER x JOHN B'S BESTFRIEND!JJ

warnings: underage drinking and smoking, profanity, fluff, mentions of abuse. MDNI!!

Introduction: John B brought you to hang out with him and his friends after you practically begged him. You strut in with your f/c bikini and 2nd f/c cover-up, your brother looks embarrassed by your behavior but you just find it funny. John B introduces to his friends, Pulp, Sandrah, and Kekia, you think that's their names.., oh and you don't think you could ever forget JJ. JJ caught your eye the whole time, you could barely pay attention to your brother telling you his other friend's names. You quickly start a conversation with JJ, 'Hi, I'm Y/N but you can call me N/N, you're JJ right?' he gives you a warming smile, and you almost melt right there and then. 'Yup, that's me, do you uhm drink or smoke?' you've smoked a few times with your friends but not on the daily, but you do drink a lot at parties that you attend, so you take his offer 'Yeah, why not' you take the blunt from his hand and take a drag from it before handing back to him. You hope this is a good start....

Staying Secret: You begin going with your brother more often but he pays it no mind you make close friends with Pope, Sarah, and Kiara (you finally learned their names) but you have an even better relationship with JJ. You guys hit it off perfectly after meeting and you begin coming around more often but not too often so they don't get suspicious of your (drumroll plsss) relationship. You and JJ usually hang out when the group isn't together or when you guys take beer runs together. You usually hang out place is at your house when John B is out doing something, you guys makeout, cuddle, do his makeup, watch movies, cook, and just other stuff when you're with each other privately.

You think your relationship is perfect, with no problems from your side, and you don't think he has any problems either until you find him at your window bloody and tears running is his face 'JJ what happened to you?!' you pull him into your room and leading him into your bedroom bathroom, he looks at you as if he's contemplating telling you something, he takes a deep breath. 'my dad beats me..' he mumbles, refusing to make eye contact, the air in your lungs immediately leaves 'w-wha..?' eyes prickle as you look at him for conformation. 'my dad did this' he slowly turns his head towards you, small tears running down his face. You kiss his wounds after wiping them with alcohol pads, you take a warm towel and wipe his face.

'do you want to stay the night.?' you mumble while cuddling him, he hums in response and you slowly get up. you pull out some of his clothes and turn on the shower, 'jj c'mon so you can get in the shower..' you mumble, he groans as you pull him up and walk him into the bathroom ' get in the shower so we can sleep jj' you say sleepily ' can you get in with me?' you nod as you take off your clothes and get in. you wash him up then yourself and get out and cuddle for the rest of the night.

QnA:

Q: why is she john b's half sister and not blood?

A: because john b is white and as a black women I don't want to exclude other races by them being fully blood

Q: why is there no smut?

A: because i wasnt sure if miss/mister wanted smut but feel free to ask for a smut part 2

Q:can i request a hc,blurb, or series?

A: yes for now because soon i will be closing my submission box because of school reasons but I can take to week for ur ask to be published

pls send asks and ideas and if u want to be added to my tag list pls ask

published by nanaanatiion™! please do not copy, translate, or post on other website/apps, reblogging is fine as seen in my banner

banner credits: @cafekitsune pls support her