#stars of hellfire au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months ago

Text

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10

Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.

With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.

And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.

But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.

So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?

But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:

Eddie —

You don’t want to know what I

Someone has loved you. I love

I’ll take anything you

Fuck

Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.

Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.

Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.

It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.

Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.

“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”

He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”

He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”

“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.

Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”

And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”

Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.

Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.

“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.

If nothing else, he has something to write now.

***

Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.

The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke.

Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.

Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.

The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.

Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.

Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.

Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.

But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”

“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.

“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.

“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.

Is the heater on the fritz again?

“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”

Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”

“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.

He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.

Everything is spiraling out of his control.

But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them

Eddie —

I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.

I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.

I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).

They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.

It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.

All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.

He never does.

So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.

Secret Admirer,

I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.

I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.

Yours, always,

Eddie

P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.

Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.

“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.

Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?

“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.

Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”

Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.

Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.

“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.

Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”

That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.

But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?

On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.

***

“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.

Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.

But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.

Steve will be disappointed.

“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.

If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.

“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.

Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”

Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.

“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.

There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag.

Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.

Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.

Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice.

“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.

And then, of course, there’s Jeff.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.

Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.

He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”

That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.

It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.

Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.

“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.

“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car.

She’s got a best friend to find.

***

Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.

Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.

When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.

Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.

She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.

She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.

She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.

Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.

“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.

“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.

“Steve,” Robin strangles out.

Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.

“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?

She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.

She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.

That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.

She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest.

She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.

There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”

Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.

“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“

She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought. She can’t blame him.

Robin only hopes he makes it in time.

PART 12

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #it's getting messsssyyy. well messier

328 notes · View notes

onlyseokmins · 5 months ago

Text

ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.

Cold.

Lonely.

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged.

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage.

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge.

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present.

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes."

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand.

Was that love?

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice.

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes."

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed.

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption.

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his.

And still, he waits.

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?"

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright."

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too."

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to."

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself.

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him.

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut

284 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 4 months ago

Text

Right, an idea that has been stewing in my head for awhile. No monster AU

When Eddie was eight years old he was the star witness in a mob boss’s trial. The mobster is accused of hiring a hit on a rival gang leader. Eddie swore under oath that the mobster did not leave the room at any time. The only people who can in the room was the nanny with tea for the boss and hot chocolate for Eddie.

The prosecutor asks if maybe he had fallen asleep at any time to which Eddie replies naps are for babies and he’s not a baby. That earns chuckles from the judge, jury, and defense, but the DA is pissed.

He tries to get Eddie to admit that the boss must have left, but Eddie swears that from the first thing in the morning until his dad came to pick him up, the nice man in the white suit never left the room.

So the boss is acquitted and walks free. What Eddie doesn’t know, is that mob boss gave the signal to the nanny using the tea cups. What the prosecutors failed to look into was the nanny. She had been dating the gang’s second in command for six months when the hit went down.

So this boss swears a life debt to Eddie.

Whenever Eddie gets into trouble with the law, in come the boss’s lawyers and get the whole thing dismissed.

Eddie falls in with the Party when they join Hellfire and Steve is the one picking them up from school.

When Steve’s parents run afoul the wrong people in a business deal gone horribly wrong, Steve gets kidnapped.

And Eddie is pissed.

He calls up the mobster and tells him what happened.

The mobster is only to happy to help. He’d been itching for an excuse to wipe this gang off the planet and this is a perfect one.

The mobster walks into where Steve is being held and tells them that this boy and not his parents are under his protection. And if they don’t let him go, they’re dead.

The rival gang laughs and Steve is told to close his eyes.

Steve knows better than to argue with someone that powerful and closes his eyes.

The ratatat of machine gun fire rings throughout the warehouse and Steve hunches his shoulders against the sound.

Then there is silence.

The mobster cuts Steve loose but tells him to keep his eyes closed and leads him out of the warehouse. That’s when he opens his eyes.

There Eddie is leaning against a fancy limo. Steve runs into his arms and is just relieved that he is alive.

Eddie asks the boss if this makes them even.

The mobster laughs and said not even close, that was a bit of fun. Only now Steve is under his protection too.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #mafia au

167 notes · View notes

leonw4nter · 5 months ago

Text

The Dimming Star of a Formerly Worthy Show Dog

RE4R!Leon x F!Reader royal AU

To his mother and father, their princely son is simply checking on his subjects in person to assess the detrition of the plague in illness-struck towns and uphold the dignified and respectable image of the house of Condor for the hopeless masses to look up to. If one were to ask why the king and queen would not step a single foot out of their grand palace, they both feared that they would be tainted by the wrath of God that rained down like hellfire on the sinful masses– their fair skins swollen with black and oozing lumps, the healthy glow of their rosy cheeks taken away by the pallidness of contagion; they both very much preferred to be safe and secure in the comfort of their grandiose palace, wrapped in silks as they stayed away from the suffering below. Their son, the crown prince Leon, could not sit idly and stubbornly left the luxurious threshold of safety and clean air. He reasoned that he must see how the populace is doing in this time of pestilence, arguing that to see him would lift their weary spirits for it offered solace to know that the kingdom is still intact. He did not lie– that truly is his intention, ever the benevolent man he is, but he also wanted to look for you; the last he’s heard of you was from the palace’s dance instructor, somberly informing you that you moved to a town away to find a profitable alehouse to dance in.

“She does not feel the welcome of the palace,” he recalls the instructor saying as he looked out the window. “Most especially from the king and queen. Their gazes were always one of disrelishness when casted on her.”

“But I dearly welcome her,” Leon recalls responding as a deepening frown curled his lip downwards. “She has never done the king and queen wrong, hasn’t she? What is their motive for this animosity?”

The instructor beside him sighed, hands clasped behind him to rest at his lower back. “It is for the very reason that you dearly welcome her that they are contemptuous. She is a stellar dancer, yes– an excellent one at her craft, but she is not nobility. In this world, what are God-given gifts if one is not of the aristocracy?”

“All of them are radiant stars– her, her sisters. Their only fault is that the Lord planted these stars on the wrong sky, with the incorrect folk. Their light will not be marvelled in the manner that they deserve.” The instructor finishes.

Anger and earnest irritation brewed in the pits of his stomach, threatening to rise to his chest, and spill through the piercing and violent nature of emotionally-fueled language. His fists balled at his side, nostrils flared, as indignation dulled his will to adhere to princely decorum.

Not even the mask that covered the bottom half of his face could keep the stench of death at bay, the eastward bound wind worsening the putrid air. Death was everywhere– in the air, lined along the streets, at the mouth of rivers, in houses of stone and wood; corpses could be seen brought out of houses and tossed into carts before the carts would head to either the plague pits in churchyards or the mouth of the rivers. Distant cries and groans could be heard as well, dampening Leon’s spirits but he can’t stop now– he has to keep going, for you and for the people that need him. Mud squelched with each step he took, depressions in the ground trailing behind him as he walked further deeper into the settlement. Not even those with money and the firmest belief in the Lord were free, the body of a wealthy landlord being carried out for a burial as a priest mumbled prayers. He figured that it would be the least he could do for those that have already died to offer a prayer, a futile action yet one that brought comfort; he found it uncomfortable to think that those who were well-off in life were sent back home with services from the church, to lay in a nicely dug pit with a stone to remember them by yet the poor were tossed into a hole with no sign that these people ever lived, smiled, cried, and loved.

He passed by 3 dug holes and prayed 3 prayers each time: a prayer for firmer faith, guidance for the beloved departed, and protection for a friend before a long journey; if only he had brought his prayer beads, he would’ve prayed the rosary too. He walks along the grassy shore of the river, rocks crunching beneath his leather boots. River air was supposedly good for one’s health, said the physicians, for it brought clean air downstream with the flow of water; just like him, there were people flocking to walk alongside the moving water and breathe in some of the supposedly healthy air– children, girls with buckets to fetch some cleaning water, and mothers who were out for a stroll with their children. He recognizes a woman as he trails a distance behind her; her back is no longer upright and now has a slight curve, her hair tied into a short ponytail at the base of her skull. She appears to be carrying a weight concentrated to her right hip, which Leon realizes is a child. The way she walks is familiar yet also foreign to him, bringing flashes of the past to the forefront of his mind. He takes longer strides towards the woman, wanting to check up on her if she is really someone he once knew or if the weariness of the town is playing tricks on his mind already. Within a few steps he is an arm’s length away from her but she turns around before he can approach her and the sadness that seized him felt like a lightning bug getting trapped in a small, black box with one hole to let the light in. Seeing her felt like coming across a time-worn book, the lines on her eyes telling stories of endless struggles and dreams let loose; she looked far beyond 31, each graying strand of frizzy hair a marker of the trials that aged her beyond her time. The youthful sparkle of her eyes were now buried under the heavy cloak of sorrow, he noticed, as she peered at his face to try and remember who he was.

“Amanda,” Leon breathed in an airy voice. Her face lit up at seeing him, the unexpected presence of an old friend a balm to her marred soul.

“Leon,” she said back to him, stepping forward. “Oh, Leon. You have grown into a fine man. You tower over me now! Life has been kind to you, it seems.”

Leon grimaced slightly; if this is what has become of your sister, what fate has befallen you? “I have thought about you and your sisters, what you three have done upon leaving the palace.”

She sighed, a sad one, as she looked at the river where more bodies were being disposed of, opposite to your shoreline. “My hair has become streaked with gray because I spent most of my life worrying and fearing instead of dreaming. I am unhappy to tell you that the same has gone for my two other sisters. Years were endured rather than enjoyed,” she regretfully told him.

“Lucia,” Leon recalled. “I would also like to see her, before I see [name].”

Amanda fell silent, readjusting her position to carry her child a lot more properly. A hand coming up to cradle the base of his delicate skull.

“She had only 27 years when she passed this mortal coil,” she quietly said as she attempted to conceal the cracks of her voice. “Perhaps her body was far too weak to birth a child and thus failed her, physicians said that she had lost too much blood. This baby I carry now is hers, as I have decided to care for him in her stead. God grant her young soul eternal repose.”

Lucia had adored Leon when the sisters still danced regularly in the palace, always accompanying you in finding flowers to adorn Leons’ hair and armor with. She was the youngest among your trio and the fiercest; she did not stand for any prejudice and mistreatment to anyone she cared for deeply, disliked by some standoffish men of the court for her unlady-like decorum, an opinion Leon did not understand. He shed a single tear for her, reminiscing fond memories– memories of when he and her engaged in vulgar banter which resulted in Leon getting beatings, her keeping the palace dog company, and Leon timidly asking for advice in successfully courting you.

“What have you three lived through?” he faintly asks, eyes slightly glossy.

“The world demanded much too soon for three girls who only wanted to dance in gilded halls and feel the rhythm of strings and percussion lift us closer to heaven. Alas, we would have continued to dance until our legs could not and our strengths would fail us but the eyes of the king and queen are not purposed to see my sister with her love.”

Leon knew what she talked about, hanging down his head; he regrets that he did not fight tooth and nail to keep the sisters he has grown fond of growing up with, agonizing over the bitter ebb of love denied.

“Take me to [name]. I want to see her.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“Why not, Amanda?”

“I cannot let you do that, I cannot.”

“It would kill me swift if you continue to deny me to see [name] than any wrath of a pestilence. I beg and implore you, Amanda, I need to see [name].”

She looked at the blond in front of her, visibly growing more antsy and overwrought with unease. She sighed, growing weak at the possibility that this dignified prince would get on his knees and press his lips on the dirtied ground if it meant having to his love. “It would kill him swiftly if he heard the tenderness [name]’s voice possessed when she spoke of you rather than my denial of you seeing her”, she thought.

“[Name], she has it.” She said.

Leon asked what ‘it’ was, though that was done in an act of denial of the fact for he knew what ‘it’ is.

“She does not want anyone near her– not even I, she speaks to me through her boarded window. She fears that I and the young one will catch it too.”

“Where is she?” Leon asks, the sensation of the prick of tears in his eyes letting itself be known.

“She won’t want to see you.”

“I want to see her. Give me directions and I will walk to where she is, swim if need be.”

And so she told him where she lived, heart heavy as she watched the stubbornly persistent and brave prince make a mad dash to the house she lived in, praying to God that He listen to humankind just this once to provide Leon with the bravery in his heart that he so needed.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The portion of town where you lived in was where all the sick were placed in order to properly separate those who were well, unwell, and dying. Doctors went in and out of houses with their beaked masks and black cloaks, carrying bags of medicinal implements and prayer booklets; they performed the rites for the religious dying because no priest was willing to, so they offered reprieve in a form different from the medicines they typically offered. Doors were marked and plastered with signs cautioning visitors to take measured decisions to avoid catching the plague themselves yet the fear of catching the plague did not faze him in the slightest bit, determined to soothe you with his presence and try to initiate conversation to put up the illusion that all is well and death does not surround them like a bird eager for a worm. Leon lifts his mask higher up his face, walking down the path that led to the house you were in. He did his best to not linger too much on the faint prayers, crying, and groaning he heard as he passed by other houses, growing increasingly overwhelmed with a potent melancholy. After some time, he gets to your house and knocks at the door then waits until you acknowledge the knocks.

“Amanda…?” he hears your weak voice call out, a rattling tone beneath your shrill voice. If he didn’t know that was you, he wouldn’t have recognized it.

“It’s Leon,” he says as he knocks again but this time a little louder. “Your Leon.”

“Leon…?” you ask from behind the door, trying to figure out if this is delirium that came with the plague or if it really is your Leon. “Amanda…?” you weakly call out once again.

“No, it’s not Amanda. It’s Leon,” he patiently repeats in a gentle tone as he picks up on the uncertainty in your infirm voice.

“You mustn’t… come in…,” you say as you try to sit up, which proves to be a Herculean task for you. “I am… terribly… ill.”

“No, I insist I see you [name]. My body is strong and my mind is sound, I do not fear neither illness nor death because my true fear resides in the possibility of never seeing you again. Please, open the door.”

You scoff to yourself before you cough once more, mustering what little strength your body has left to arise from your bed and get up to open the door. The door was only a few steps away from you yet the distance felt longer, hobbling along on unstable and weakened feet to reach the rusting metal handle and finally see your love after 6 long years. You open the door and see Leon, the lower half of his face concealed with a white cloth; his hair still remained the same flaxen color, albeit his strands have grown a little longer for they now veiled his rosy ears; his eyes have become more deep-set yet his blue irises still retained their piercing gaze, if not more intensely.

“Oh, [Name].”

He takes your hand, only holding on to the scarred tips of your finger as he tries to stave off the overwhelming desire to kiss you again like he did 6 years past. Your knee begins to fail you, brought down to the ground by weakness and Leon rushes to meet you at your level, worry furrowing his face.

“Let me carry you,” he says as he begins to scoop you into his chest and stands up to full height, walking to your bed. You nod as you shut your eyes, ashamed that he had to see you in this undesirable state with your hair strewn and sticking to your sweat-drenched forehead with lumps all around your neck, clavicle, and arms.

“Surely you must fear illness in one way or another,” you quietly whisper to him as he lays you down. “Does your stomach not churn when you see the work of contagion upon my body and grow afraid that this may happen to you?”

“There is a slight fear that threatens to paralyze me, one that lingers at the back of my mind and it stays there, for a more powerful fear of leaving you alone settles at the forefront.”

He gently lays you down, bringing your blanket up to your chest and taking a handkerchief from a pocket in his pants and using it to wipe the accumulating sweat on your body.

“Thank you,” your voice comes out in a shrill and raspy whisper and Leon simply nods, giving you a closed smile as he settles right at your bedside and tucks the handkerchief back to his pocket.

“How have you been, [Name]?” he asks, beginning the conversation.

“Swell,” you respond with a strained smile. “All soft and easy… for a… little… while.”

“I understand why you and your sisters chose to leave the palace, it can be… suffocating in there but I am quite baffled as to why you never wrote to me. Did you not love me enough or did I love you too much that it suffocated you in the same manner that life in the palace did?”

“I… love you… in ardent devotion… far greater than… the most devout… Catholic and their worship… of God, a force too… great that it could… divide. I very much… wanted to see you, talk to you… but my presence and involvement in your life… shall blight your image and your family’s regality.”

“[Name], forget about my family– they are far too occupied with image and I am far too occupied with you. I would abdicate for you, nevermind the ire of my mother or father towards me for all that matters is you.”

“You know… how they are–” you are interrupted by a cough, sitting up to be able to breathe a lot better with Leon gently patting your dampened back. “T-thank you, sweetheart. As I was… saying, they’ll think… that I have bewitched you… rendered you stupid…”

“You have bewitched me, that they have gotten right, but I care not for what they think– only both of us know what we have.”

You nod weakly and muster up the strength to smile up at him through glossy eyes as his hand strokes your hair, gently patting you without the fear of contracting the disease. A comfortable silence befalls the small house, with Leon occasionally humming some tunes and softly reassuring you: “all is well, all is well”.

“I will find medicine for you,” Leon breaks the silence. “My father has a cousin who has come down with the illness but has recovered, he took medicine from the far East. Just wait until I get back very soon, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

“Medicine?” you rasp almost noiselessly. “No, no… it is far too… precious to be… used… on me.”

“No, [Name]. Please, let me save you. You have saved me from an emptying sadness all those years past now it is my turn to save you so do let me.”

There is not much that you can do as your love is steadfast in finding this famed herbal medicine from the farthest east there is. You are grateful for his efforts and stay silent instead, listening to him ramble on and talk endlessly while he tenderly enveloped your pale hand in his as if you were both young adults once more.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“How is the town doing, son?” His mother asks sternly as she drops a sugar cube into her steaming cup of tea.

“Morale is down, there is death everywhere.” He coldly responds, gaze distant. “This malady is far worse than we thought– plague physicians and prayers alone are not enough to stem the progression of this disease. We must step in, after all, we have resources–”

“Resources that we will use to treat your father’s cousin. It is at our family’s disposal so do not even think that we will squander away what meager medicines there are. Perhaps it is the fate of those sheep-biting scuts that God has stricken them down with His wrath and our family dare not to interrupt His will upon them.”

“Mother!” He exclaims, slamming a heavy hand down the table. Tea sloshes around in its cups and pots, small droplets of a burnt red shade staining the table cloth. “How dare you invoke the wrath of God as justification for your selfishness and moral cowardice! It is extremely abhorrent of you to withhold aid from those who need us most, your arrogance in deciding who is to live and who is to perish is nothing short of blasphemy!”

She sips her tea silently, lips softly touching the teacup as her eyes look on at the variety of roses in the garden. After taking a sip, she presses her lips together and sets the cup back down to its plate.

“Your anger is coming from somewhere,” she observes, returning the iciness back to her son. “Have you gone stupid from the dancer again, Leon?”

“That is none of your business.” He seethes, glaring.

“You dare call me ‘abhorrent’ for putting our family first when deep down, you want the medicine to give to her specifically.”

“I am the crown prince of the people– to her, most of all. I value their lives more than I do mine.”

“You truly have gone stupid because of some wench, Leon, this is unprincely of you to the superlative level. You are willing to lay down money on the possibility that she is to live? How foolish– did you not realize that the buboes of this plague leaves unsightly scars? You will grow to dislike her–”

“I have carried her ill-stricken form in my arms and fondly patted her hair with these hands. I cannot find it in me to dislike her nor do I wish to, it is simply impossible.”

“Leon–”

“I will go back to the town after 3 evenings with medicine. I will crawl back, if need be, and that is final.”

“Very well, then.”

Leon is surprised that his mother says nothing and returns to calmly sipping tea, yet he sees that her knuckles have gone pale so he stays alert, knowing that she could very well be scheming.

“I shall go talk with father now.”

He turns around and marches back to the inside of the palace, walking to the study of his father the king.

His father was just as apprehensive as his mother, incredibly unwilling to let Leon have even a single flake of the medicine. This resulted in screaming and threats of abdication and disowning, as an argument between two stubborn men of the house would usually do. Leon, though unwilling, resorted to a compromise: he would obtain the medicinal ingredients and produce them himself with the assistance of a scholar educated in the art of healing. This process would take long, for it required all ingredients to be finely ground into powder in order to be packed into a ball easy to swallow for the driest of throats. His parents grumbled and let him have his way but not before warning him that this would be an arduous undertaking, a Herculean effort all for a woman who is due her time soon. Right away, he sent his right hand men and advisers to seek out any available merchant who was willing to enter their kingdom. He struggled with the efforts, most of them bearing no fruit, but refused to appear bothered or intimidated by the pressure of his situation, not wanting to prove the king and queen right. Soon, he acquired several roots and herbs needed and got to work, seeking the guidance and knowledge of apothecaries and scholars knowledgeable on healing. The sun has awoken and slept but Leon did not sleep when the sun did, keeping the moon company as he toiled and studied, perfecting the required ratio to maximize the improvement of his condition. He also read up on balms and salves to soothe and reduce the scarring of the buboes, forgetting to partake in meals and hydrate in his haste.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He sat on his horse, a female Palfrey with an ink-dark glossy coat, and headed for your town, urging her to go faster with the promise of apples and sugar cubes to spur her on. On his leather satchel was some fruit and in a smaller pouch, were the medicines he needed. Before packing it in his pouch, he has already had it reviewed by trusted advisers. He pushed down his confidence, not wanting to grow certain when he hasn’t distributed it yet. Upon spotting the first few houses in the distance, he softly encouraged his Palfrey to go on faster, just a little more.

“Come on, beauty, you can go faster– please,” he urged her.

Soon he arrives, dismounting from his steed, and spotting a few doctors exiting and entering houses. He calls one over and does not let them kneel down, informing them of what he brings.

“These, these medicines. I have crafted them a few days back, but they are still of quality, as my tutors have said. They are well-versed in healing so I trust their judgement,” he says. “I have obtained ingredients and herbs from trusted merchants in the far east, where the herbs are in abundance and the plague has not reached them yet.”

The plague doctor takes one of the tablets and lifts his avian mask, bringing the tablet near his nostril and takes several precautionary sniffs and observations. He nods, informing Leon that he will provide this to a patient of his and check back with him to note improvements in condition. Leon meets more of the cloaked doctors, advising them and repeating the same things he said. His confidence grows and he is certain, speeding past other houses to get to yours. He arrives there and knocks on your house, vigorous clacks against the wooden door.

“[Name]? It is your Leon, I am here.” He says a little louder, so he may be heard from the inside.

“Leon?” A weak female voice responds, but it is not yours. He stays silent, trying to give this voice a name.

“Who is inside?” He asks. “I have come to visit [Name], I bear medicine that may help her.”

He hears soft steps approaching the door, growing increasingly hyper in his eagerness to see you. The door finally opens but he is met with Amanda’s face instead.

“Where is my [Name]?” He asks, trying to see over her shoulder.

Amanda appears as if she is wearing a veil, a very thin one for if Leon dared to peer into her gaze, he might know what rocked his love’s sister. She steps aside and quietly allows Leon entry, the man pacing quickly to your bedside to see you. You look far worse than you did days ago when he just visited, the lumps on your neck scarily large that Leon felt weak. Your eyes were closed yet you were still breathing, albeit very shallowly and hoarsely, each intake of air marked with a low rattle in your chest. You lift a hand slightly from your abdomen where it rested and point a finger at Leon, to which he responds by identifying himself.

“Yes, it is your Leon. The Leon who you loved at 21,” he softly says. “Worry not, my dear, I have medicine in my pouch.”

Amanda steps beside him and places a hand on his shoulder and he feels her hand shake so he turns around and his gaze is met with glassy eyes.

“[Name] has just received her final rites, there is a man nearby with dead carts waiting for her,” she sadly says. “She is quite fortunate that she has received blessings, most of the sick here do not for the reverends are quite apprehensive.”

Her voice cracks and she stops speaking because she knows that her voice will crawl out in cracks and shakiness. Leon can only stay silent and appear strong yet his soul was crumbling away, turning into dust being blown away by a cold wind.

“She hasn’t much, has she?” he asks silently as he pats back the matted hair on your head, trying to offer you some semblance of comfort.

“Yes,” your sister responds. “She exhausted her throat screaming your name, she thought you’d been here with her as she was growing more delirious with fever. I could hear her sing the songs you taught her– ‘Dearest Sight of My Heart’ and ‘Greensleeves’.”

“So she has been seeing visions of me when in reality I am not near?” he asks.

“Yes, she has. And for that moment, she looked quite… jovial. Even the vision of you soothed her for a moment and I did not wish to whisk away what little comfort she had.”

You were asleep now, a finger inched near Leon’s. The rattling was still low in your chest yet your intakes of breath were now more shallow, more rapid, as if you were fighting some force and losing.

Leon curled his finger around yours yet you gently withdrew it. Instead, your arms were stretched out to the side like how it was when you danced. Your fingers were spaced out, gently fluttering as much as you could as your arms were swaying. He could see your feet twitch as well, along to some music only you could hear. This routine is familiar with Leon, the routine he loved to see you dance in gilded halls and grand banquets. He hummed the tune of the ballad, Amanda joining him, as he watched you slowly begin to grow more impassioned with whatever movements you could make. You opened your eyes and you were back in the grand ballroom in beautiful drapes and your hair in wavy tendrils above your head, pinned in place with a jewel-encrusted hairpin. Amanda looked youthful again, and so did Lucia– she was a maiden once again. You were spinning and jumping in the air, arms stretched above you as you felt the heavens on your fingertips. Your movements accompanied the lute and shawms, floating from one corner of the room to another. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leon– soft, bright-eyed, and all smiles. He’s 21 again, just like you are, and he runs up to you to hug you.

“Leon!” you squeal when he hugs you even tighter, acting like a second corset, as he lifts you off the ground. “I am still rehearsing, surely it cannot be as great as you regard it to be!”

He places you back down on your feet and cups your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours to capture it in a silken kiss. You hear your sisters cheer and squeal in the back, prompting a smirk to widen on your lips.

“You discredit yourself for your artistic prowess, my [Name]. You are my god and I am sure I exist for the sole purpose of worshipping your grace.”

“Oh, stop it Leon. What do you want from me?” you tease as he peppers your cheeks in kisses.

“You,” he responds. “And that is all I ask. The banquet is yet to begin and our guests have not completed attendance yet so may I take you to the gardens?”

You look behind your sisters, who urge you on. You nod and Leon chuckles, bowing to your sisters before he takes you by the hand and leads you out to where it is bright.

Leon carries you in his arms with a tearful Amanda trailing closely behind him, her nephew asleep on her shoulder. You have fallen into the slumber with no end so he carries you to where you will be laid to rest properly instead of letting the cart take you away and toss you into a pit with many others. He sheds tears, albeit silently, as he lowers you. He and your sister fix your hair away from your face and pose your hands to appear as if you were praying, fingers entwined before dirt conceals you from the upper world to finally let your soul freely prance and leap around in fields of eternal repose where you greet your second-eldest sister and patiently wait for the loved ones who you’ve left behind.

NOTE - This fic has been marinating in my docs for like a month bc I've been fighting off writer's block and I'm also starting to grow busy bc I've already got like 5 projects assigned by the first week of the academic year so there's a chance that this fic is like... wonky which I understand tbh 😭 I have some WIPs waiting to be finished, some of them are requests so for the people who requested like months ago yk... dw I'm getting around to working on it 😭😭 Also yk that one bongo remix of that one Coldplay song? I don't know why but I find it so funny like it's so overstimulating, I just have to laugh 😭😭😭 ALSO I GOT IN IN MY SCHOOL'S BOOK CLUB SIUEHSH!!!@!$#% Anyway, thanks for reading my fics!! I appreciate it a lot!! I <3 YOUUU!!!!!!

The star dividers were made by @adornedwithlight , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

159 notes · View notes

paceprompting · 2 months ago

Text

finding stars

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie used to stargaze with his mom.

Almost every night on their back porch, counting the stars while they shone in the night sky. Even in winter, she’d bundle them up in blankets with hot chocolate until Eddie fell asleep in her arms.

He was seven the last time they stargazed together.

Then he’d gone to live with Wayne, and the trailer park wasn’t exactly safe or conducive to sitting out for hours at a time looking at the sky.

If he was honest with himself, he never considered passing on the tradition. Besides being extremely gay, he’d decided early on that he was better off like Wayne—staying on the outskirts, not bothering to shove himself in somewhere he didn’t fit anyway.

The first person who’d thrown that plan right out the window was Dustin.

From the second that curly-haired, sarcastic kid had loudly joined Hellfire Club, bringing his gaggle of gremlin friends along with him, Eddie had been sucked into having this makeshift little family. One that he’d been willing to risk his own life for, just for a chance they’d be okay.

And through Dustin, he’d met Steve.

And Steve…had made Eddie want what he’d given up.

First, just a relationship. Something that, if it didn’t work out, he’d look at fondly in his later years as getting to love the golden boy of Hawkins, Indiana. Because it was never a question of whether or not Eddie would love Steve.

And then, lightning struck the same spot twice, and Steve actually loved him back.

They moved in together. Well, them and Robin.

But once she, and then later Steve, both got their degrees and jobs—and Eddie’s band managed to miraculously go gold on an album, they bought a house.

Eddie was doing everything he’d always told himself he would never, ever do.

Even adopting a six-year-old after reaching forty.

Even going out onto the balcony overlooking the backyard of their cozy two-bedroom house in the middle of winter with an armful of blankets and thermoses of hot chocolate.

Steve and “officially their’s” Ethan were waiting for him, wrapped in the two blankets from the hall closet. Apparently, being babysitters to Dustin Henderson had prepared them for the ten-mile-a-minute way that Ethan chattered at Steve.

Wayne called it the universe’s retribution for the graying stress inflicted on him by preteen Eddie.

Eddie hoped it was a good sign that they were helping Ethan. He’d been a conflicting mix of quiet and angry when he and Steve had first started fostering him—just like Eddie when he’d been upended from a shitshow life, but was all he’d ever known, and started living with Wayne.

Then, nearly a month of staying up night’s wondering if the dissonance between them and Ethan meant it wasn’t going to work out, Ethan started talking.

And he hadn’t stopped.

“…then, the dragon opened it’s mouth super, super wide and was going to spray acid all over Topher,” Ethan regaled Steve, arms extended out wide in front of him.

Steve glanced at Eddie, a slight raise in his brow.

Lucas, he mouthed back.

Hellfire Club hadn’t lasted as long as Eddie had once announced it would to an entire cafeteria full of people—but he still hosted a game night every once in a while. Especially now that he had a future DM in the house now to imbue with his wisdom.

And since Steve still refused to play, Ethan took it upon himself to make sure Steve never missed out on the chronicles of their household.

As Ethan went into, quite meticulous, detail of the campaign, Eddie pulled out the knitted blanket from the pile he’d retrieved from their bedroom. His grandmother had made it for him before he was born and it was much too small for either him or Steve.

But it was absolutely perfect for, say, someone about six years old.

Eddie draped the green blanket across the back of Ethan’s shoulders, brushing aside his dark hair to press a kiss to his temple.

Then, he sat on Ethan’s other side and covered all three of them with the rest of the blankets. He grabbed the hot chocolate and began to the hand them out.

“Made with milk for me and Ethan. The correct way.” Eddie shot Steve a pointed look before handed over the blue-plaid thermos. “And made with water for the weirdo sleeping on the couch.”

“Hilarious,” Steve deadpanned.

Ethan missed the back and forth, having forced off the top of his thermos and was downing his hot chocolate straight from the main compartment, both hands holding it up to his mouth.

After a couple gulps, Eddie stepped in, easing the thermos away. “Work up a thirst there, kiddo?” he chuckled.

“I asked him about school, I don’t know how we got here,” Steve said, carefully pouring a cup of his hot chocolate.

“All roads lead to D&D, Stevie,” he said, despite Steve’s huffed breath. “But for now, I will give you a break. Everyone scooch in, gotta stay warm.”

Steve and Eddie turned toward the middle, enveloping the three of them in the warmth of the blankets. Ethan was taking smaller sips of his cocoa, giving zero attention to Steve and Eddie snuggling in.

Nearly a year ago, Ethan wouldn’t let them.

Now he had the unbothered behavior of a kid desensitized to their parent’s affection.

“What are we doing?” he asked, peering into the thermos for more marshmallows.

“We’re going to look at the stars and find the special ones that make pictures in the sky.”

Ethan hummed, and Eddie wasn’t sure he’d paid full attention. That was okay. Eddie’s mom had started him on much earlier, so getting a six-year-old interested was going to be a tad more complex.

“I used to do this with my mom. And she taught me everything I know. So, kiddo,” He laid his hand on the center of Ethan’s back, leaning close to whisper, “I’m going to teach you how to find Cassiopeia.”

And, have a little Prequel fic if you'd like <3

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie microfic #steddie fanfic #steddie drabble #married steddie #domestic fluff #steddie dads

144 notes · View notes

criminalcinnamon · 6 months ago

Text

ALECODY WEEK DAY 2: ANGST!!! Hehe Stars of Hellfire angst woahhh

OTHER VERSION!!!

#total drama #td cody #cody tdi #td alejandro #alejandro tdi #alecody #alecodyweek24 #pen man's aus #stars of hellfire au

39 notes · View notes

ymaohoh · 10 months ago

Text

Hellcheer Fanfiction Recs

So I've gone mad and read like a hundred hellcheer fanfictions over the last two months. I wanted to make a list of my favourite ones to share. Updated: May/2024

You want Chrissy joining the Hellfire Club AU? take a chance on me by WomanOf1000Faces Roll For... by Not a Little But A Lottie (klarolineagainnaturally) The Matchmakers by margaerystark and rebeccacatherine You want Hellcheer from an alternative character POV? still awake, playing chase with the sunrise by cyraclove (Max) The Cheerleader and the Hellfire King by cunninghamschrissy (Dustin) she said to me, forget what you thought by kattyshack (Max) You make me the best kind of nervous, pretty sure you do that shit on purpose... by PhoenixTalon (Will + the freshmen) for the freak and the princess by thehellcheervoid (Anysia) (Jonathan) Stereotypes by shroomyystar (Mike) A Gentle Nudge by bigdumbbambieyes (Billy) You want some smut with awesome plot? honeycomb by cyraclove Late one night by AdelaideElaine and sequel (featuring Rocky Horror) Rose-tint my world talk me up so sweet by kattyshack A Very Harrington Christmas by justhere4thevibez Play Me Better by justyrae (featuring sexting) a king beside you, somehow by justyrae The Long Way 'Round by Anonymous when you’re dressed in black from head to toe (think I like you best) by cunninghams You want some smut with fluff? love you as much as i do by thehellcheervoid (Anysia) the only thing i want (when one drop hits my mouth) by cunninghams and justyrae wilted by cunninghams You want some daddy kink smut? oh, pretty baby, where’ve you been? by kattyshack got someone to hold me, call me his by agentmmayy You want some longing? synchronized denial by empress_of_snark Silver Smile by shroomyystar worthless players of a non-believer by cunninghamschrissy he comes to visit me (when i’m dreaming every now and then) by cunninghams i can see you by rose_n_gunses dust off my clumsy words & bad pick-up lines by kattyshack You want hellcheer beyond the grave? (brb - crying) Haunt me by IntotheTrees (Chrissy haunts Eddie) All Around Me by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold (Eddie haunts Chrissy) You want some wibbly-wobbly time travel stuff? i just died in your arms tonight by shroomyystar someone reaching back for me by enoughtotemptme You want a body-swap AU? Duality by broomclosetkink (also features the best Chrissy/Wayne moment I've ever read) You want a Eddie vs Jason moment? always be here (from now on) by brightblackholes You want a re-do of Season 4 where Chrissy lives? Chrissy and Eddie’s Infinite Mixtape by LovelyThings aesthetic chills by sloelimbs On the Other Side by JohnGreenGirlAo3 You want a Chrissy/Eddie moving on from Vecna fic? heart begins to beat by makeshiftcandy graceland, too. (whatever she wants) by cunninghams (bucket list AU) trailing stars behind us by HearJessRoar and the twain were casting dice by thehellcheervoid (Anysia) You want an AU Chrissy/Eddie friends to lovers with no Vecna at all? Confrontations with the Devil by Spitecookie You want a fake dating AU? twenty-one rules by elanor_gamgee we're a lie (you and i) by makeshiftcandy

#hellcheer #eddissy #hellcheer fanfic #eddisy #eddissy fanfiction #chrissy cunningham x eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #hellcheer fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #everyone is so talented #edssy #hellcheer au #chrissy lives #stranger things hellcheer

285 notes · View notes

punkrockmlchael · 2 months ago

Text

Heartbreak Girl

Masterlist | Gareth Emerson Masterlist

Gareth Emerson x Fem!Reader

Modern AU; Best Friends to Lovers (Both Gareth and Reader are 18+)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, Simp Gareth!, Best Friend Reader!, Smut with Plot, Lots of background and filler because it's cute and needed, Blunt and Brutally Honest Gareth because he loves you for crying out loud!, Confession of mutual feelings, Smut: Fingering, Unprotected Sex, PinV, Virgin!Reader, super sweet and fluffy Gareth with aftercare!, afab reader

Request: hi! i love that you write for gareth! i'd love to request some gareth x female reader smut that's best friends to lovers with lots of pining 👀❤️ hi! Thanks for the request! I put a spin on it that I hope you enjoy

Synopsis: You never go for ‘good guys,’ at least, that’s what your best friend Gareth always tells you. You’re always calling him crying about your latest heartbreak and he’s stuck listening and reassuring you (despite being head over heels for you). Tonight is no different. Jason Carver, star basketball player, called it off with you after going back to Chrissy Cunningham and the first thing you do is call up Gareth.

Based off of the song Heartbreak Girl by 5 Seconds of Summer. Look I’m not sure if this is what you wanted but… here hehe

Word Count: 3.8k

I dedicate this song to you

The one who never sees the truth

That I can take away your hurt

Heartbreak girl

Hold you tight straight through the daylight

I'm right here, when you gonna realize

That I'm your cure?

Heartbreak girl

You and Gareth have been best friends since, well, ever. It's the cliche of your moms being best friends; they grew up together, got pregnant around the same time, and decided they had to raise their kids together. They even secretly hope that their kids end up together, because, come on, how cute would that be?

And, as much as Gareth hates to admit it, he secretly hopes it happens, too. You are his soulmate, his other half and all that other lovey-dovey bullshit. You just.. don’t know it yet.

Gareth knows you like the back of his hand.

All your quirks.

All your pet-peeves.

All your pros.

All your cons.

The list goes on.

He might actually know you better than you know yourself. Scratch that, he definitely knows you better than you know yourself.

And, Gareth would do anything and everything for you. Literally. From helping you with homework because you're not as good at Calculus as he is; to coming over when you need a shoulder to cry on; to dropping anything and everything when you call.

The Hellfire boys call him a simp when you’re not around, and that’s probably the best word to describe him.

When he sees your name light up his phone screen with a call, a text, a video you thought was funny that reminded you of him… oh, god, his heart skips a beat… sometimes multiple beats.

When you smile at him and sit next to him at the lunch table? God, he wants to hold your hand under the table; to pull you close and wrap his arm around your waist to protect you from all the boys around the table and all the boys in life.

When you call his name? God, that makes him want to die. Especially when you look at him and use his nickname, Gare, or, the one you’ve called him since you were younger: Bubba.

Fuck, when you use the nickname Bubba he is putty in your hands. He knows it, the boys know it, you know it. God, everyone knows it.

Gareth wants to look you in the eyes, grab your hands and pull you into a passionate kiss, holding your hips tightly; your body forming against his as your arms wrap around his neck, playing with the small curls at the base of his neck.

He wants to take you out on dates, and show you off to everyone around him. A museum date, a bowling alley date, a movie date, a Taco Bell date where you sit and giggle at him for making a mess on his lap in the car because, come on, those hardshell tacos never stay together.

He wants to bring you flowers, specifically your favorite, in a pretty bouquet. Not because you’re having a bad day, but because he loves you and wants to remind you how much he loves you.

He wants to hold your hand and walk through the park, laughing and joking with each other while you talk about your future and what month you want to get married and how many kids you want to have together.

Yeah, it’s bad, he knows that.

And, he continuously curses at himself and kicks himself because of that, too.

He is head over heels for you, his best friend. And he’s so sick of being friend zoned and second choice, all the damn time. And every time you call him, upset and crying, it just kills him. Because, if you saw him how he saw you, this would be so much easier. But, being easy apparently isn’t in either of your vocabularies.

Gareth’s cell phone rang, pulling him out of the intense Call of Duty match he was playing with Jeff and Eddie. He missed an opponent because of the distraction and got shot, dying instantly.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, grabbing his phone.

“Gareth, what the hell man, you good?” Jeff asked through the headset.

“Yeah, man, what happened?” Eddie asked.

Gareth looked down at his phone and saw your name, his heart fluttering slightly before he remembered: you were supposed to have a date with Jason Carver tonight. A call at this time cannot be good.

“Yeah, sorry guys, I got to go.” He replied, looking at his phone. He quickly turned his headset off and the game off before Jeff or Eddie could even argue.

He sat up in his bed and answered your call, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s up?” He asked into the phone, instantly hearing your sniffles and tears.

“Gare,” you said softly, sniffling as tears slowly fell down your cheeks. “Are you busy?”

He looked up at the television screen that was now black before directing his attention to the headset and Xbox controller that sat beside him on his bed.

“Not anymore,” he sighed. “Why, what’s up?”

“Jason, he went back to Chrissy,” you added, sighing at yourself for feeling so stupid to actually think you had a chance with Jason. “He ditched me tonight and then sent me a picture of him and Chrissy at the movies.”

“Oh, wow,” Gareth replied, not really knowing what else to say. “Do you want me to come over?” He asked, already knowing he shouldn’t. But he wanted to. He had to. You were sitting there on your bed, alone, crying for fucks sake.

“Please,” you sniffled, sitting back down on your bed. “If you’re not busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you,” he said, standing up as he grabbed a bag and stuffed some clothes in it before he picked up his wallet and keys. “I’ll be there in 10.”

“You’re the best,” you mumbled, “I’ll see you soon, bubba.” You added, he sighed.

“Yeah, see you soon.” He hung up the phone and made his way to his car, starting the short journey to your house.

When he arrived to your house he found you on your bed, cuddling the stuffed teddy bear he had gotten you for your 18th birthday a few months prior.

The black, fuzzy teddy bear that he made for you at Build-a-Bear. The one that he dressed up in jeans and a red plaid flannel with a cute customized Hellfire tee-shirt on. He went so far as to make sure the jeans looked distressed and ripped and he handmade the Hellfire shirt. Gareth never hand makes anything; he hates arts and crafts, unless, of course, it’s designing D&D characters.

Did I mention Gareth Emerson is fucking whipped over you?

You looked up at him, blinking away the tears as you watched him walk into your room, closing the door behind him before he threw his bag down gently. He shrugged his jacket off, laying it on the chair by your desk before he looked at you.

You held the teddy bear tighter to your chest and rested your chin the on top of it, looking up at Gareth.

You looked pitiful.

Literally.

Tears falling down your cheeks, mascara clumping your lashes together, the sparkly eyeshadow you had on was smeared and you just had glitter all over your face.

You looked like a mess. A literal mess. Crying over Jason Carver. And somehow, Gareth was so far up your ass, so head over heels for you, so whipped over you, that still, even when you looked like this, he still found you attractive. He still wanted to call you his. He wanted to drop to his knees right then and there and beg you to be his.

He could fix you. He could help you. He could take away your hurt. He could take away your heartbreak. He could hold you tight. He could be your cure.

But, when were you going to realize?

You sniffled again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked at you and just sighed, not wanting to start an argument with you, but knowing he has to say something. You'll never learn if he doesn't. But, how is he supposed to give you tough love without breaking your heart more.

"Hi," you said softly, sitting up in your bed.

"I told you so," Gareth said, not even realizing he said it. He froze, looking at you after he heard the words that came out of his mouth.

No, no, no, no. You said hi and he replied with I told you so? God, he was such an idiot.

"Wow, thanks," you scoffed, wiping your eyes with your sweater sleeve.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"No, you're right." You replied, nodding. "You're definitely right. But, you don't have to be a dick about it."

"I'm not being a dick." He argued defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm, just," he sighed, pacing around your room for a bit as he gathered his thoughts. He stopped pacing and looked at you, "I'm just, so fucking sick and tired of watching you get hurt. You never fucking listen to me, no matter how many times I tell you. You, literally, do not listen to anything I say and it's getting so fucking annoying! I'm so sick of running after you, of picking up the pieces of your broken heart, only to have you break it again in a week!" He said, raising his voice slightly. "God, will you ever learn?" He asked, causing more tears to form in your eyes.

"You're totally being a dick!" You yelled, throwing the teddy bear at him. He caught it in his hands and looked at you, glaring at you.

"I'm not! I'm simply trying to tell you something!" He yelled back.

"Yeah? And what's that?" You asked through tears. "That my taste in guys sucks? That I'll never find someone? That I'll be alone forever?"

"No, you idiot!" He yelled, stepping closer to you. "I'm trying to tell you that I love you!" He looked at you, throwing the teddy bear on your bed before crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm so fucking in love with you! I have been since freshman year of high school! And it's so hard watching you get your heart broken over and over and over again. It's so fucking hard watching you run after all these guys that don't give you what you deserve! I'm so sick of always being the one that helps you, and never getting anything back from you. It's just, god, you're just, a fucking idiot," he sighed, shaking his head.

You sniffled again, pausing to let him finish his little rant. You tilted your head to the side, listening to his confession. Taking his confession in. It replayed in your mind, along with all the things he's done for you over the last couple of years. And all the things you've neglected to do for him.

"You know what, I'm going to go," Gareth said, grabbing his jacket.

"You love me?" You asked softly, looking up at him. He stopped and turned back around, looking at you. "Like, you love me?" You asked, standing up. You wiped your eyes again, looking him up and down.

"Of course I fucking do." He replied, looking at you. "Why wouldn't I? You're.. like, perfect. You're so funny, you're so sweet, you're so gorgeous, you're literally.. perfect." He added softly.

You stood there, staring at him for a brief second before you walked towards him. "I'm such a fucking idiot," you repeated, looking up at him.

"Well, yeah—you kind of are," Gareth said, "but, look-" you cut him off when you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his lips softly. He stood there shocked for a moment before he kissed you back, his left hand meeting your waist to pull you closer to him. His right hand moved up and caressed your face gently, holding it softly.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked down at you, holding you so carefully like he was afraid he was going to break you. He blinked a couple of times, just staring at you.

He was unsure what this meant, unsure of what to do and unsure of what to say.

“You love me?” You asked again, looking up at him. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek gently and shook his head.

“No, I hate you,” he teased. “Of course I love you,” he chuckled softly. “And, god, it’s just.. been so hard watching you get hurt. I just, never knew what to say or how to say it and I always feared you only saw me as your best friend,” he admitted, looking over your face. “Like, come on, you’re so out of my league.” You scoffed and shook your head, looking up at him.

“Please, I know I look like a fucking mess right now, if anything I’m definitely out of your league.” He shook his head, looking at you.

“No, baby, you’re gorgeous.” He replied, making your heart flutter and your insides melt. “You’re always gorgeous. Even when you got that ridiculously messed up hair cut over the summer, or when you fell off your skateboard a couple years ago and had that wicked bruise up your left thigh, or when you—.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you replied softly, cringing at the embarrassing memories he was bringing up.

He rubbed his thumb over your lips, leaning in again for another kiss. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful, so gorgeous and I.. I love you so much.” Gareth said softly before he kissed your lips again.

You sighed into the kiss and melted, turning into putty in his hands. Deepening the kiss, your fingers played with the curls on his neck, pulling them gently. Gareth groaned softly into the kiss, pulling you towards him more, his now rock hard erection hitting your thigh.

You moaned softly, pulling on his curls tighter. He sighed, pushing you back towards your bed, breaking the kiss to gently place you on the bed. He crawled on top of you and kissed you again, rubbing his erection against your thigh, groaning into the kiss.

You groaned loudly, your hands finding their way to the hem of his shirt. You tugged at his shirt before he pulled away, looking down at you.

“Woah, woah,” he said, catching his breath. “Baby, we don’t have to do anything, I know you’re a virgin and you’re waiting for the right moment with the right person,” he said sweetly, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip. “I found the right person and the right moment,” you replied, squirming under his kisses.

“Is that so?” He asked, smiling sweetly as he looked down at you. You looked up at him and met his eyes, nodding slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, playing with the hem of his shirt again. “Now, uh, fuck me?” You asked softly. “Please?”

Gareth laughed at your words, pulling away to slide his shirt off. He slid the simple black Metallica shirt up and over his head, throwing it to the side. You looked up at him, running your hands over his chest and stomach gently before you leaned in and kissed him again.

His tongue ran over your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into the kiss. He took this opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue, his right hand playing with the bottom of your sweater.

You pulled away and gasped for air, reaching down to the hem of your sweater. You lifted it up, arching your back slightly to get the sweater off of your body. Pulling it up and over your head, you threw it with Gareth's shirt before you laid back down, looking up at him.

"What?" You asked as he looked down at you, his eyes exploring your now bare torso to him.

"No bra, huh?" He asked, his fingertips grazing down your side gently. You shivered and bit your lip, shaking your head.

"Nah, don't like them," you replied, looking up at him. He nodded, his fingertips continuing to move up and down your side.

"You're, wow," he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. He peppered kisses from your neck, down to your collarbone and upper chest, leaving sloppy kisses over both of your breasts. He kissed over your left breast, biting on the skin above your nipple gently. He nibbled the skin softly before blowing on it, creating a small, purple mark.

You moaned loudly, biting your lip as your right hand moved to his hair, pulling on his curls again.

"Fuck, baby, you gotta stop pulling my hair," he said, looking up at you.

"S-Sorry," you replied, releasing your grip on his hair gently. He smirked a little, kissing down your stomach softly.

"I guess I can forgive you," he mumbled against your skin, playing with the hem of your leggings. "Can I take these off?" He asked, looking at you. You nodded, closing your eyes gently. He repositioned himself and slowly slid your leggings off, pulling them down your legs.

As soon as they were off, your thighs moved together, suddenly feeling very vulnerable underneath Gareth in only your panties. He noticed and smiled at you, moving your thighs apart gently.

"Awe, baby," he said, smiling at you. "You're so pretty," he added. He left soft kisses up and down your thighs, leaving a gentle kiss on your core through your panties.

You squirmed and whined again, looking down at him. "Gare," you whined, moving your hand to his hair again. "This isn't fair," you added, bucking your hips up in search of some friction.

"I think it's perfectly fair," he replied, standing up. You looked at him and pouted.

"What're you doing?" You asked, he chuckled and shook his head.

"Well, I kind of need my pants off if you want to have sex," he responded, undoing his belt.

"Oh," you nodded, laying your head back on the pillows. “Right,” you said, looking at him. You watched as he undid his belt and jeans and stepped out of them, before he slid his boxers down, now standing completely naked in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked him up and down, gulping slightly. “Damn,” you mumbled.

"Hm?" Gareth asked, looking up at you. You shook your head and looked back at his face, pretending you didn't say anything.

"You're, uh, you're really hot," you said softly, a bit embarrassed to be in this situation and not know what to do.

"I think that's you," he corrected, sliding your panties down gently. He kneeled in between your thighs and looked up at you. "Now, you're sure you want this, right? Because I can stop; we can stop," Gareth asked, looking at you.

"I'm so sure, please," you begged. He smiled softly and leaned down to kiss your lips. His dominant hand met your core and rubbed up and down your folds softly, causing you to moan against his lips.

He opened your folds gently with his fingers before he pumped his middle finger and in and out a couple of times. He pulled away from the kiss and looked down at you, your eyes closed as soft moans were escaping your lips.

"God, you're so pretty when you look like that," he breathed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulled his hand away and you whined at the loss of feeling, looking up at him.

"Why'd you stop?" You asked. He smiled, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds gently, moving with ease with your slick. You groaned, sighing softly. "Oh, that makes sense," you nodded.

"I'm going to go slow," Gareth said, slowly sliding into you a little bit. "Tell me to stop at any point if you feel uncomfortable or if you want me to stop, okay?" You nodded again, gasping at the feeling of him inside you. His finger felt good but it was nothing like this.

You sighed, your head resting on the pillow. After a few seconds Gareth moved further into you, and again, until he was fully inside of your warmth. He groaned, resting his forehead against yours as he waited for your signal to keep going. He looked down at your face, placing a soft and sweet kiss on your lips gently.

"Hm," you hummed against his lips. "I, uh, I think you can move now." You said, looking up at him. He nodded slightly and slowly started to thrust in and out of you. You gasped at the feeling, screwing your eyes shut. "Hm, you're so big," you groaned out.

Gareth moaned softly, kissing your neck gently as he continued to thrust in and out of you slowly. "God, baby, you feel so good," Gareth mumbled into your neck. You moaned again, your hand moving to his curls yet again. You ran your fingers through his curls, tugging on them gently as you closed your eyes.

He continued to thrust in and out of you slowly, moving his dominant hand down to your clit, rubbing circles on it gently.

You gasped softly, tugging on his curls harder at the feeling. His gentle and deep thrusts, his fingers moving against your clit, it was all too much. You moaned loudly, clenching around him. Gareth groaned against your neck again, continuing to thrust slowly, helping you ride out your high.

He made a couple more thrusts before he pulled out of you and finished on your stomach, groaning loudly.

"Fuck," he mumbled, leaning down to kiss your head. He stood up and walked to your dresser, grabbing some tissues to help you clean up. He walked back to you lying on your bed and wiped your stomach clean, throwing the tissue away.

Gareth slid his boxers back on before he grabbed your panties and his shirt, handing them to you. You smiled softly at him and put your panties back on and slid his shirt on, humming to yourself as you laid back in your bed.

He moved towards you and laid down next to you, you smiled and moved towards him, resting your head on his chest. You sighed and draped your arm over his stomach, nuzzling your head into his chest. He smiled and kissed the top of your head gently, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

"I love you, baby," Gareth mumbled softly into your hair. You smiled, leaving soft kisses on his chest.

"I love you too, bubba," you replied, closing your eyes.

"Still upset about Jason?" He asked, rubbing circles on your hip with his fingers.

"Who?" You asked, looking up at him with a smile.

"That's what I thought," he smirked, leaning down to kiss your lips again.

God, the Hellfire boys definitely won't believe him if he tells them about this.

86 notes · View notes

whitejays-galaxy · 3 months ago

Text

Star Wars cat AU pt. 2: The Villains of the Prequels

Some pose studies I did of these evil goobers:

Sidious:

Maul:

Dooku:

Vader:

Lore:

Name Meaning: Bolts of "Lightning" are very unpredictable, and they always "Strike" when you least expect it. It also represents his deadliness and power that of a lightning bolt.

Plus he also got struck by lightning across the right side of his face when he was a smol psychopath kitten during training at some ancient Darkhaven temple

He's the same size as Yoda/Horizonstar in my AU

He eats other dead cats

He tore Dooku's pelt and made it into a cape he wears sometimes

His nest is made out of cat pelts and bones(mostly from the victims of Order 66)

He is capable of Force Masking(a rare Force ability that allows one to shapeshift into anything. The only other cat who had this ability in the same period was Qui-Gon-Jinn/Sagepelt)

He is an albino cat, and his only physical weakness is bad eyesight

Name Meaning: "Blood" symbolizes his bloody past, and the loss of his brothers, and "Burn" symbolizes his world and true self burning away.

He was formerly called Russetstorm, and lived with his two brothers, Tigertalon/Savage, and Amberspark/Feral.

Since Dathomir is a society where she-cats have more power, Poisonstar/Mother Talzin was fascinated and angered at the same time when her son, Russetstorm beat all the other she-cats during sparring.

Soon, she realizes that Russetstorm is Force Sensitive, and she tries to get rid of him by sending him off to Lightningstrike in exchange for valuable metals and other resources.

Russetstorm quickly finds out that Poisonstar is trying to get rid of him, so he runs away in the middle of the night with Tigertalon and Amberspark.

They didn't go far, as the two brothers were brutally slaughtered by the guards before Russetstorm's very eyes.

Russetstorm tips to the dark side in his fury and anguish, killing all the guards; Lightningstrike, noticing Russet's raw power in the Force, abducts him anyhow and seduces him to the ways of the dark side.

Years later, Poisonstar would meet her downfall by her son's own claws, which takes place two years before the events of The Phantom Menace, and Russetstorm would be renamed Bloodburn.

I mentioned the meaning of Dooku's name in my first Cat AU post, so I'll be telling you his Sith name here

Name Meaning: "Tyrant" because Frostshard betrayed everything he once stood for, and "Turn" represents his fall to the dark side.

Since he was never a full Darkhavener, his pelt stayed clean and his eyes were normal and not orange like a typical Darkhavener.

When he got killed by Skyfire/Anakin, he gets stuck in the Dark Forest(cat hell), soul constantly glitching/shifting from Frostshard to Tyrantturn(who has a dead grey pelt and orange eyes)

Name Meaning: I chose "Dead" because Skyfire/Anakin died when he turned to the dark side. He lost everything, with no reason to live except to serve Lightningstrike/Sidious until he died.

I chose "Soul" because he is a lost soul wandering in the remains of his failures and losses. His body is functioning, but his spirit has been crushed into smithereens.

After his battle with Hazeldusk/Obi-Wan, his body gets reconstructed in the Dark Forest(which Lightningstrike opens a portal in Mustafar using the dark side of the Force)

Nine Darkhaven/Sith souls(Revan/Corvidheart, Maul/Bloodburn, Plagueis/Plagueshadow, Bane/Nightshade, Tyranus/Tyrantturn, Starkiller, Malgus/Stormcutter, Tenebrae/Vortexvoid, and Hellfire/founder of Darkhaven)were used for his life support, and each soul gave him the power of its owner(but only if he studied the different aspects of the Dark Force was he then able to obtain the soul's energy. Which he does with most of the time during the OG trilogy)

See more of my Cat Au designs here :3

The Disaster lineage (Yoda, Dooku, Qui, Obi, Anakin, Ahsoka + lore)

Prequel villains (Sidious, Dooku, Maul, Vader + Lore)

Kit-Fisto

Plo-Koon and Ahsoka

Sifo Dyas and Dooku

Disaster trio(Obi, Ani, Soka) doodles

Smol comics(ft. Qui, Rael, Sifo, Dooku): pt 1

Aayla Secura and Quinlan Voss

Luke and Leia

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY CAT DESIGNS

This is a PERSONAL AU and they mean so much to me

109 notes · View notes

gracebethartacc · 1 year ago

Text

JOHNATHAN YOUNG MAGNIFICO CALEB HYLES STAR WHEN ⁉️⁉️⁉️

youtube

FINALLY I CAN POST THIS ART !! TY @annamations03 FOR HELPING AND BY THAT I MEAN BASICALLY MAKE THE WHOLE THING FOR ME LOL😭

#No bc the entire time we were making this I just had Johnathans villain covers album blasting #Fun fact the burn line at the end was a nod to hellfire but specifically his version where it devolves into the metal scream #rewrite the stars au

182 notes · View notes

libraryofgage · 1 year ago

Text

SpiderPool Steddie Part One

So, this is definitely gonna have multiple parts lmao

It's been bouncing around my brain for a while like the Addams Family Steddie AU lol

Anyway, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts ^_^

----

Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls is, at best, a dive bar. At worst, it's a cesspit in which the scummiest people in the city gather to bask in each other's scumminess. To Steve, however, it's the perfect place to collapse after a long patrol, splayed out like a starfish on the roof as the music playing inside vibrates the building itself.

Steve takes a deep breath, setting his bat down next to him before pushing his mask to the bridge of his nose. He then lies down on the roof, wishing not for the first time that the city's light pollution wasn't so bad. Seeing the stars and hunting for constellations would really help him ignore the cracked ribs screaming inside his chest and threatening to break if he even breathes wrong.

All things considered, though, it could be worse. Steve doesn't have any morning classes, Vecna didn't beat him up nearly as bad as he usually does during their fight earlier, and his accelerated healing means Steve will be able to breathe normally by morning. Robin would tell him he has a very low bar when it comes to judging how shitty his life currently is, but she isn't here, so her opinion doesn't matter. Dustin would tell him he should try not getting his ass whooped in the future. Thankfully, he also isn't here, making his opinion as meaningful as Robin's.

Steve closes his eyes, letting his shoulders relax and trying not to think about anything. It sort of works until his entire body suddenly tenses, every nerve on edge and goosebumps shooting across his arms. He shoots up, ignoring the harsh twinge in his ribs as he turns in a crouch and grabs his bat. Steve clenches his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose to keep from groaning in pain, and feels relieved he didn't completely remove his mask completely.

Over by the door leading to a staircase is a guy with ripped jeans, a worn-out shirt with "HELLFIRE CLUB" across the chest, a jean vest covered in patches and pins, and hair pulled back out of his face with a few wavy strands stubbornly escaping his hair tie. He's breathing a little heavily, his face flushed like he's just climbed a few flights of stairs. Actually, he probably has.

"Woah," the guy says, his voice soft enough that Steve would have missed it if not for the enhanced hearing. The guy clears his throat and holds up both hands, showing off a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a bag with a grease-stained bottom in the other. "Uh, I come in peace. I didn't realize the rooftop was taken."

Steve has no clue what possesses him, but he forces himself to relax and set the bat down. "No, it's okay. I can head out," he says, staying seated despite his words. He's really hoping the guy will insist he doesn't need to; his ribs are still aching like a bitch.

Thankfully, the guy flashes a grin and slowly lowers his hands. "Nah, you're all good. Not every day I get to eat next to a hero. Want some fries?" he asks, walking over and sitting a good two feet away so there's plenty of room between them.

He tears open the bag to create an impromptu plate and puts it between them, the smell of greasy and undoubtedly delicious fries tempting enough that Steve picks up a smaller one and pops it into his mouth. "Thanks. Where are these from?" Steve asks, glancing over as the guy twists the cap of his bottle and takes a swig.

"A burger joint two streets down and one street over. On the corner."

Steve nods, making a mental note of the directions so he can get a burger before swinging home. He's got just enough in his pocket to afford one. "So, got a name?" Steve asks, figuring he's already eating the guy's fries and they're about to spend some time together on this roof. He should know the guy's name.

The guy's grin returns, and he sets the bottle down between them as well. It's tempting, but Steve doesn't trust his alcohol tolerance to hold up while his body is busy fixing his ribs. "Eddie. Do I get to know your name, too?"

Steve snorts and leans away slightly, putting a bit more distance between Eddie and his entirely too-grabbable mask. "Nice try," he says.

"Worth a shot," Eddie says, shrugging as he picks up a few fries. "So, Spider-Man, what brings you to Sister Margaret's? You enjoy the gay metal scene?"

"What's the difference between gay and regular metal?"

"Our hair is better," Eddie explains, dramatically flipping the few strands of hair escaping his tie.

Steve has to hold back a second snort, taking another fry and chewing on it before saying, "I like resting here after patrol. The whole building shakes with the music."

Eddie lights up, his eyes brightening and his back straightening some. "So, you're a fan of Corroded Coffin," he says, taking another swig of the Jack Daniels. It's only now that Steve realizes it's already a quarter of the way gone, and he wonders if Eddie's liver can handle that much alcohol all at once.

"Is that the name of the band?"

"Yep. They play here almost every night."

"I'm guessing you like them, too, then?"

Eddie hums, amusement dancing across his expression now, giving Steve the distinct feeling that there's some secret he simply isn't in on. "They're the best band I've ever heard. Their music is incredible. They really push the boundaries of the genre. And their lyrics? Amazingly layered with at least three meanings per line. I highly recommend actually coming in for a listen one of these days," Eddie says, leaning a little closer to Steve.

A beat of silence passes in which Steve holds Eddie's gaze. Or, he holds the gaze on his end; he's sure Eddie can't actually tell with the mask covering his eyes. "You're in the band," Steve says.

"Lead guitarist and singer, yes. I also write the songs."

"You're incredibly critical of yourself, really grounded in reality."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "I just happen to know my worth incredibly well."

"You have all the confidence of a mediocre white man on a job hunt."

Eddie gasps, placing a hand on his chest as he looks at Steve. "How dare you call me mediocre. I am revolutionary at worst and the second coming at best."

"You know the second coming involves, like, an apocalypse or something, right?"

"I'm Jewish, why would I bother with the fine details?" Well, Steve will give him that. "By the way," Eddie says, gesturing to Steve's bat as he continues, "do those nails actually see any use? Or are they just there to act as a threat?"

Steve looks down at his bat, considering it for a moment before carefully holding the middle and offering the handle to Eddie. Now that he's giving them a few moments of attention, he's realizing the nails embedded in the end are a little rusty and definitely need cleaning. "I try not to be deadly with it, but Vecna's got these lab-grown demon dogs and bats that always manage to break through my webs," Steve explains.

He watches as Eddie takes the bat, weighing it in his hands before shoving his palm into the nails. Steve jerks, a wordless shout escaping his throat as he launches himself over the fries and in front of Eddie. "Are you okay?!" he asks, grabbing Eddie's hand and shakily inspecting the nails sticking through it. Fuck, those are going to be a bitch to get out, and he'll probably have to swing Eddie to the hospital for a tetanus shot.

Being angry doesn't even register in his brain as Eddie laughs. "Don't worry about it, Spidey," he says, pulling his hand off the nails with a slight wince. He wiggles his fingers, letting Steve have a front-row seat to the injuries closing. "See, good as new."

And he's right. The injuries are good as new. In fact, there isn't even any scarring, and Steve almost rips his mask off to take a closer look but stops himself at the last minute. Instead, he grabs Eddie's hand and yanks it closer, turning it over to check his palm, too. "What the fuck?" he asks, looking up at Eddie, still gripping his hand tight.

"Super healing," Eddie explains. "Like, super duper. If I ever get decapitated, just hold my head to my neck, and I'll be right as rain."

"I'd rather not put that claim to the test," Steve says, frowning slightly as he runs his fingers over Eddie's palms, just to make sure the injuries aren't somehow hidden from sight.

"You know, I kissed the last guy who touched my palm like that," Eddie says, leaning in again with that grin.

Suddenly all Steve can think about is how Eddie's lips do look soft. And it has been a while since Steve actually kissed anyone. And he does think Eddie is funny. And he does find himself wondering if his smile will taste like the Jack Daniels and fries. And...and...

And Steve needs to go before he does anything he shouldn't be doing as Spider-Man.

He jerks back, dropping Eddie's hand like it burns, and ignores the ache in his ribs as he grabs his bat and stands. "I, uh, I need to get going. Thanks for the fries, Eddie," he says, hurrying over to the edge of the roof.

"Woah, just gonna eat and run on me, big boy?" Eddie asks, scrambling to his feet and over to where Steve is climbing onto the edge of the roof. "That's not very hero-like of you. You haven't even left me your name or number. How are you gonna pay me back $2.50 for the fries?"

"I had five," Steve says, turning to look at Eddie as he webs his bat to his back and pulls his mask down over his chin.

"The economy sucks, man."

Okay, he's got Steve there. Again. "Nice try, Eddie."

"Can you blame a guy? Your ass looks great in that spandex."

Steve is suddenly relieved his mask is back down, covering the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd think it was just a joke, but the sincere and somewhat goofy smile tugging at Eddie's lips tells him it's more genuine than anything else. "Thanks," Steve says, giving Eddie a two-finger salute before taking a step back off the roof.

He shoots a web at the edge of the building, using the momentum to swing around the corner. His ribs are killing him with the movement, but he still manages to throw a, "See you later, Eds!" over his shoulder before he's completely out of earshot.

Later, Steve will wonder how Eddie got his super healing, if he's that flirtatious with every guy he meets on the roof of Sister Margaret's, and if he'll be there the next time Steve swings by. But that's for later. For now, he's just enjoying the breeze rushing over him and thinking about Eddie's eyes and his smile and his long fingers.

#Steddie #Spiderpool Steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #spiderman steve harrington #deadpool eddie munson #it'll make sense i promise #also Eddie goes back into the bar and immediately starts bragging about flirting with spider-man #everyone immediately knows he's about to become Annoying (TM)#and resign themselves to their fate #Robin does the exact same when Steve gets home and tells her about Eddie #RIP everyone who has to live with these two gushing about each other

409 notes · View notes