#this is a very slow slow slow start but whatever

[jodjuya]

Also, facial hairs don't grow in all at once like a chia pet. Usually* takes like 15 years after puberty until someone can grow a FULL beard. So if you're drawing somebody in their teens or twenties, their beard will be patchy.

(* the order of progression is basically the same across humanity (I'm pretty sure, anyway), but different ethnicities go through the steps at different speeds. Middle-Eastern & Subcontinental folks will have full beards MUCH faster than Asian folks, for instance. (like, 20-25 years faster!))

1) Chin and moustache come in first.

- Moustache growth begins at the corners of your mouth and progresses inward toward your philtrum, but it won't actually cover your philtrum until much later.

- Chin growth begins at the very bottom of your chin in the centre, then spreads out to the sides without going past the front of your chin (i.e. not wider than your mouth), then goes up in a triangular shape toward the soul patch (but it won't grow into a soul patch right away - those hairs are VERY slow to grow), then the sides go out a bit more and then they start going up too. The progression of shapes is like an underscore shifting into a squashed acorn into an anchor and then eventually into kind of like the rebel alliance logo, and then the rest of the infill happens later, if at all (The rebel alliance shape is all UNDER your mouth. Those two side prongs will eventually reach all the way up around your mouth to connect to your moustache, but not until MUCH later)

2) While that's going on, the next zone to come in is your jawline:

- begins at corner of your jaw, then progresses down your jawline towards your chin but it WILL NOT connect to the chin's hair growth at this stage.

- when it's like halfway down your jaw it'll also begin going up to your sideburns

3) From your jawline it spreads under your jaw in to your neck (your moustache would cover your philtrum at this point, and your goatee would be at the beginnings of the rebel alliance shape)

4) then slowly begins progressing up your cheeks, following the growth pattern of your jawline hairs. But it will just be a thickening swoosh shape and not going very far up your cheeks yet. There are still NO hairs in the NO HAIR ZONE between your jawline and your goatee.

5) the goatee's rebel alliance shape has filled in and connected to your moustache, hair *starts* growing higher up your cheeks, and the NO HAIR ZONE *starts* shrinking

6) yadda yadda yadda: Full Beard!

7) you can do whatever grooming you want at any stage during this process, but you can only shave off hair from places where it's grown in the first place, and hair that has been growing for less time can't be longer than hair that's been growing for more time. So usually you'll be trimming back the earliest growth areas while you wait for the rest to catch up. ('cause if you don't it looks Fucking Terrible)

ALSO! This is the hormonal progression, not the hair-itself progression. If you're past a certain growth stage and clean-shaven, when you stop shaving your hair will start growing from everywhere on your face where facial hair has been unlocked. So once you're older than, like, 30, then you will start growing facial hair from everywhere at once like a chia pet - "5 o' clock shadow" and all that. This patchiness I've described is for *young* people (except for when it isn't because ethnicity)

(But even when you're mature, different areas of your face still have different hair-growth speeds, so it's not COMPLETELY uniform (but it's pretty close))

All of this means that if you have two people of the same ethnicity and with beards the same length, but one dude is 15 years older than the other, the older guy's beard will (usually) be thicker and more voluminous. With a long beard, the younger you are the stringier it'll be. It takes time for the slow-growth hairs to catch up to the fast ones. (But if it's LONG long, then it will tend towards being kinda thin and stringy anyway due to the attrition of shed hairs)

And if someone has a truly unkempt beard, it will be thick close to their face and will thin right out the further away from their face it gets. You'll see these in distinct bands, like a tree regrowing from being pollarded. The thickness stops shortly after their last trim, and there'll be the thin wispy band of faster-growing hairs which have overtaken the slower hairs that are bulking out the rest of the beard.

Also, the shape of a long beard will undergo plastic deformation under prolonged pressure. Sleeping on it, wearing a face mask; things of that nature. Your beard can become very misshapen until you actively restore its former lovely shape with vigorous combing and/or water:

first you comb it up and out (but mostly up) to get the maximum volume possible, and from there you gently comb it back down again into neatness. If it's undergone deformation, you can't go directly from Squarshed to Tidy, you have to 'reset' via Floof first. Or you just take a shower. (You don't have to shampoo a beard unless it's actually dirty, but you can if you want to. (but if you strip too much oil from the hair and don't put it back afterwards with conditioner or beard oil or w/ever, then your hair pulls oil from your skin and you can end up with Beard Dandruff 🙃)).

BUT if your beard just regular messy and hasn't undergone plastic deformation, like you've been hit by a strong gust of wind or whatever, then you can go quickly and directly from Mussed to Tidy. No Reset-Via-Floof required.

You can get knots in your beard, but it's highly unlikely unless your beard is LONG long. Slightly less uncommon are individual hairs getting a knot in them. As in, one individual hair will have been tied into an overhand knot, usually close to its end. You only notice these when stroking your beard and your finger happens to brush past that tiny bump in the hair; it doesn't cause any problems or anything because it's literally only affecting one single hair, not causing multiple hairs to be all stuck together. I just pull on the knot with my fingernails and the hair snaps off where the knot is.

If you braid a beard you lose most of its volume and a good bit of length. Though I guess this depends on how tight your braids are and how many of them you have... 🤔

You can disguise a really long beard as a short one by tying it up with a Gibson Tuck/inverted bun.

I think that's all the nuanced beard information I can think of right now. Happy to take questions. :)

ive been wanting to make smth like this for a little while now and i finally finished it up ^_^ hopefully my tricks are helpful

[hitomisuzuya]

stepcest, DNI if it makes you uncomfortable. smut. scummy scara. cunnilingus. semi public.

i meant to have this written a lot sooner than this. have a wonderful night, everyone.

scaramouche has it all planned out.

your figurative date that didn't really exist suddenly flakes on you. then scaramouche valiantly swoops in to take you out instead. it's what a good stepbrother would do after all. that way, he could take you on your real valentine's day date. the moms would none the wiser.

everything goes off without a hitch, and later that evening scaramouche is spoiling you (and himself) with his credit card. even though you now have access to the same trust fund, and could pay for things on your own, he didn't care. he is going to do what he wants with his money and that's spend it on you.

as for his treat(s), first was a stop at the lingerie boutique.

the girls at the checkout counter are the none the wiser either. to them, he looks like your boyfriend giving his opinion as you shyly model lingerie for him. they didn't know your boyfriend was also your stepbrother.

imagining various ways to ruin you in whatever he picks off the racks. standing there giving careful consideration about how your breasts would spill out of the bras. about how the panties would look soaked and clinging wet to your pussy.

about how the lingerie would look scattered and torn all over the floor next to the bed while he has you on all fours, your back arched and your face buried in his pillows while he fucks his thick cock inside your tight little cunt from behind. mewling and moaning about how good your stepbrother's cock feels inside of you.

there is one image that can't get out of his head as he waits for you to emerge from the dressing room, his cock twitching with anticipation: how you would look hastily pulling your bra down off your breasts to play with and pinch your nipples. grinding your pussy needily on his mouth while he fucks your hole with his pierced tongue.

"will you come in and help me with this clasp?" was the innocent question that led to him on his knees in the dressing room, teasing his tongue piercing on your clit outside of your panties.

"sc-scara, someone m-might see," you said, your tone quiet and shaky. you are struggling to keep yourself from moaning. you shiver as his fingers graze over your thighs. the door to the dressing room is closed, but anybody walking by could very clearly he is on his knees in front of you.

"hm?" scaramouche purrs nonchalantly. frankly, he doesn't really care. the girls working at the checkout are far more interested in their phones due to the slow hour.

the moment he'd seen you in a particularly lacy, see through set he picked out, a shy blush on your cheeks wondering if you look okay when you asked him. he'd immediately dropped to his knees in worship. you look much, much more than okay.

the outline of your swollen clit was poking up against your panties, his saliva quickly soaking the thin fabric. he smirks as he moves your panties to the side, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.

a teasing gesture that said: well then, you'd better be quiet so no one will hear you. hear you struggling not moan like a total slut while your stepbrother eats you out in the dressing room.

his licks are languid and slow. he knows he'll have to stop soon before he gets too hard. before he starts muffling moans into your pussy, drunk on the taste of you. so why not enjoy himself while he can?

you clamp a hand over your mouth as he scoops your clit into his mouth to suck on. you lean back against the dressing room wall, giving you leeway to hold his mouth against your pussy and grind on his mouth.

scaramouche could see you wrestling with yourself as your hips roll into his mouth. he slowly wags the ball of his tongue piercing around your clit, enjoying the show. your eyes kept darting to the door for a moment, wondering just how much and how long you could grind your pussy on his mouth. a feeble to attempt to satisfy the throbbing in your clit.

seeing you glance away from him, he pulls away to give your clit a wet tap as he glares up at you. a reminder of your place and keep your attention on him.

your legs shake as pleasure jolts through you. your eyes widen realizing a moan had been dangerously close to coming out. his mouth just felt so fucking good.

scaramouche loops an arm around your hips, holding your pussy on his mouth. his tongue dips down to prod at your quivering hole before sweeping back up to your clit. he smirks in approval watching you look back down at him.

your fingers tighten in his hair as he returns to assaulting your clit. you are wondering how long you can last when suddenly he cruelly takes his mouth off of your pussy.

"wear this out," he says, snapping off the pricetag so he could pay for it with the rest. standing up, he kisses you, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips. he hates to stop now, but he was getting too hard.

your positions would be reversed when he took you home. you would be on your knees for him, kitten licking his cock. amongst other things. his next stop is the sex shop down the road from the mall.

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 5

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando woke up feeling like absolute shit.

His head was pounding, his mouth was drier than the desert, and judging by the fact that he’s still half-dressed and tangled in a celebratory McLaren flag, last night must have been good.

He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. He remembered fragments of the night before - flashes of bright lights, loud music, and way too much drinking.

He had won.

Lando Norris was a Formula 1 Grand Prix Winner.

He had been nearly drowned in champagne by Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

He had won the 2024 Miami Grandprix.

Lando let out a sigh and gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, clutching his head as a sharp pain shot through his temples.

He fumbled for his phone, cringing at the notifications that had piled up overnight. Messages from friends, family, and the racing world congratulating him on his victory.

He blinked blearily at his phone.

Too early. Too bright. Too… too.

But there’s one thing he needs to do before he even considers getting up.

He scrolled through his notifications, heart sinking when he still doesn’t see Lizzie’s name.

But there’s nothing.

His fingers fumble as he types out another message.

Lando: Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? You didn’t answer last night. I was a bit… not in the best state, but I was really hoping to hear from you.

Lando: I’m just worried. Is everything alright? I know I was probably being a bit much last night, but you can always just let me know if you need space or whatever. I just want to make sure you’re good.

Nothing.

Lando stared at his phone, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with each passing second. He didn't understand why Lizzie hadn't responded, and the not knowing was driving him crazy.

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

He tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

His stomach twists.

Lando didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Lizzie was usually pretty good about replying to his messages.

He tried texting again.

Lando: Look, I get it if you need time. I don’t want to come off too strong. I just feel like I should've heard from you by now, and I’m starting to panic a bit. Just a quick text would help me breathe for a second, you know?

Lando stared at his phone, watching the time tick by with agonizing slowness. He'd been awake for nearly an hour now, and Lizzie hadn't responded to any of his messages.

He tried calling again, only to be met with the same response - straight to voicemail...again.

And then his phone pinged.

Lizzie: Hi, this is Lizzie’s father. She’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures. She’s woken up a few times, but she’s not very responsive. I don’t know who you are, but judging by the way she’s saved your contact as ‘Lando Not Dying Yet Norris,’ I assume you’re important enough to be told.

Lando blinks. Stares. His hangover vanishes instantly.

She’s at the Royal Sussex Hospital. Thought I’d tell you in case you want to show up to visit her.

Lando feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

Hospital. Seizures. Not responsive.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until he fumbles trying to type back.

Lando: I—fuck. Is she okay? What happened?

Three little dots appear, then vanish. Then appear again.

Lizzie: She’s stable. But it was bad.

Lando pushes back the covers, already moving, already grabbing for his McLaren hoodie like that will somehow help him fix this.

He needs to be there.

Now.

His hands are unsteady as he opens his flight app. The next available flight back to London is in four hours.

Not soon enough.

Lando: I’m coming back to the UK. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

There’s no reply, but Lando doesn’t care. His heart is hammering, his mind racing, and there’s only one thing he knows for sure—

He has to get to Lizzie.

He…

There was a knock at the door.

Lando jumped, his already frayed nerves on edge. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s Oscar.”

Lando sagged with relief as he recognized the Australian accent drifting through the door. ��Come in.”

The door creaked open and Oscar Piastri poked his head into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lando’s harried expression. “Mate, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando shook his head, feeling the tension in his shoulders tighten even more. "No, not alright. Lizzie’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures."

Oscar’s expression immediately darkened. "What the hell? Multiple seizures? How is she doing now?”

“Not good, apparently. Her dad said she’s stable, but she’s not very responsive. I’m flying back to London to see her.” Lando ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his heart still racing with worry.

“God damn.” Oscar stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He studied Lando’s face for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a mess, mate. Have you eaten anything?”

Lando shook his head, the thought of food making his stomach churn. "No, I haven't even had a chance to think about food. I’m just freaking out, mate. I’ve never seen her have a seizure, let alone multiple seizures…She had one last week before we had dinner, but she seemed fine, just tired… I have no idea how bad it’s going to be. This is...this is so messed up."

Oscar nodded sympathetically, his expression still grave. "Go," he said simply. "I'll make your apologies to Zac and the team."

Lando nodded numbly, already moving to pack a bag. Oscar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "And mate? Try to keep calm. You won’t do Lizzie any good if you’re a wreck yourself."

Lando huffed out a breath. "I’ll try."

"Can you tell Max..." Lando trailed off. He had no idea what to even…

Oscar's expression softened. “I’ll tell Max. And the others. You just focus on getting to the hospital, alright?”

Lando nods, his throat suddenly feeling thick. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Oscar."

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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divider credit here

[00valentina-writes00]

ellie with a quiet and nervous reader?

♡♥︎ Ellie with a quiet and nervous girl ♥︎♡

♥︎ Ellie is the type to give you gentle reassurance when you’re feeling nervous, her hand always reaching out to yours in quiet comfort. She knows what it’s like to feel uneasy, and she makes sure you know you’re not alone in that.

♥︎ When you’re anxious around a group of people, Ellie stays close, her presence a calming anchor. Her fingers brush against your back or thigh in little gestures, her way of silently letting you know she’s there for you.

♥︎ She loves to make you laugh, even if it’s with her terrible jokes or pulling silly faces. Seeing you smile, even in the smallest way, is something she treasures.

♥︎ At night, Ellie will hold you in her arms, her chest against your back, her steady breath helping you to fall asleep. She knows how hard it is for you to shut off your mind, so she does everything to make you feel safe.

♥︎ Ellie doesn’t pressure you to speak when you’re not ready, but she’ll softly ask, “Hey, are you okay?” Her tone is always understanding, and she waits patiently for you to open up when you’re ready.

♥︎ She’s always paying attention to how you’re feeling, even if it’s subtle. She’ll notice the way your hands tremble when you’re stressed or the way you pull your hoodie tighter around yourself

♥︎ Ellie always finds small ways to make you feel seen, like writing you little notes on scraps of paper with sweet messages or leaving flowers she’s found outside on your pillow.

♥︎ You two share quiet mornings, drinking coffee in silence while Ellie plays guitar. She never forces conversation, but sometimes, she’ll hum a tune or sing softly to you just to fill the silence with something peaceful.

♥︎ Ellie loves to cuddle, but she’ll always make sure you’re comfortable first. If you need space, she’ll give it to you, but if you need her close, she’s right there, pulling you into her warmth.

♥︎ Ellie doesn’t try to “fix” you. She understands that your nervousness is just a part of who you are, and she’s okay with it. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of love in her eyes.

♥︎ When you’re nervous about something—whether it’s a big test or an event—Ellie’s there beside you, quietly supporting you. She never makes a fuss about it, but she’ll drop a “You’ve got this” when you need it.

♥︎ If you ever start to feel overwhelmed, Ellie won’t hesitate to take you away from the situation. Whether it’s a walk in the woods or just sitting in a quiet corner, she’ll find a way to help you breathe

♥︎ Sometimes, when you get really anxious, Ellie will pull out her music playlist and play calming tunes. She knows it helps soothe your nerves, and she’ll do whatever she can to help you calm down.

♥︎ You’ve caught Ellie staring at you while you’re doing something small, like reading a book or organizing your things. It’s like she’s watching a part of you that she cherishes.

♥︎ Ellie always notices when you’re feeling too much, and when she can, she’ll try to distract you with something silly—maybe a new game or a prank to lighten the mood.

♥︎ There are days when Ellie knows you’ll need her more than others, and those are the days she’s extra sweet, offering a cup of hot chocolate, rubbing your back, or just listening without judgment.

♥︎ When you get caught in your head, Ellie is always there with a soft, “Hey, look at me,” and when you do, she gives you a gentle smile that reminds you it’s okay to slow down.

♥︎ She loves that you’re quiet and thoughtful. It’s a balance to her more impulsive, sometimes loud nature. Ellie doesn’t always need loudness; sometimes, your calm is exactly what she needs.

♥︎ Ellie’s very protective of you, but in a quiet way. She’ll notice when people make you uncomfortable and subtly shift you out of harm’s way, keeping her cool, but always making sure you’re safe.

♥︎ Ellie’s a master at reading your body language—she’ll know when you’re tense before you do, and she’ll always adjust her approach to make you feel at ease, whether it’s talking less or holding you tighter.

♥︎ On the rare days when you’re feeling brave, Ellie encourages you, giving you the smallest boosts of confidence. Her gentle compliments make you feel like maybe you can take on the world.

♥︎ You share little moments where silence speaks louder than words. Ellie understands that sometimes, there’s nothing that needs to be said. She’ll simply hold your hand and sit with you.

♥︎ Ellie doesn’t mind your quiet nature. In fact, she loves it. It’s one of the things that drew her to you, the way you listen so intently and care so deeply

♥︎ If you ever become overwhelmed during an outing, Ellie will be the first to suggest heading home early, knowing it’s better to leave before you get too anxious. She’d never want to push you past your limit.

♥︎ Sometimes, when you’re feeling a little braver, Ellie will make little challenges for you—like walking into a store together or talking to someone for a minute. She’s proud of how hard you work to step outside your comfort zone.

♥︎ Ellie’s the kind of person who takes your nerves seriously. She doesn’t brush them off as “just anxiety” but acknowledges how real they are, always responding with love and care.

♥︎ She loves how you get nervous about the little things, like asking her to hang out with you or talking to new people. It’s cute, and it makes her feel like she gets to be your safe space.

♥︎ Ellie never rushes you. She’s never in a hurry for you to “get over it.” Her patience is constant, and she knows that your feelings deserve time and care to work through.

♥︎ Ellie knows you trust her with your vulnerability, and she cherishes that. There’s nothing more meaningful to her than the way you let her in, even in your quiet, nervous moments.

♥︎ You and Ellie share a sense of calm that comes with knowing you’re both each other’s safe haven. When you’re together, everything just feels a little easier to handle, even when life gets overwhelming.

♥︎ Every time you show Ellie your soft side, she falls a little more in love with you. She thinks you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and she loves you exactly as you are.

[nosyp]

spin the bottle with jade leech for the roulette?

Hello I'm sorry but it's supposed to be randomized...

And you got "7 minutes in heaven"! You can try to request again but this is what it'll be for now.

Word count = 876 words

The room was buzzing with laughter, the dim lighting casting flickering shadows over the group gathered in a messy circle. The game had started off light hearted. It was just a way to pass the time. But now, with the bottle slowing to a stop, pointing at… him, the air shifted.

Jade Leech smiled. That slow, unreadable kind of smile that sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t quite tell if it was from nerves or something else entirely.

“Oh my,” he murmured, tilting his head in amusement. “How very… interesting.”

Someone let out a whistle, and Floyd cackled from the sidelines, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Go on, Jade! Don’t scare ‘em too much, yeah?”

The closet door creaked open ever so slowly, building on the tense atmosphere even further.

Jade turned to you, extending a gloved hand as if inviting you to a waltz rather than a ridiculous game. “Shall we?”

Your heart thumped against your ribs. Seven minutes alone with Jade Leech.

What could possibly go wrong? Well, a lot.

The closet was smaller than you expected, the darkness pressing in as the door clicked shut behind you. The only source of light was the faint sliver seeping in through the cracks, barely illuminating Jade’s sharp features.

You could hear the muffled laughter and chatter from the others outside, but here, it was just the two of you. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the closeness of his presence, and the way the air felt heavier now.

The green haired guy was the first to break the silence, his voice piercing through.

“How amusing,” he mused, voice smooth as ever. “You seem tense.”

Of course, you were tense. Anyone in their right mind would be if they were locked in a tiny, cramped space with someone like him. He wasn’t as outwardly unpredictable as Floyd, but that almost made him worse. You never quite knew what he was thinking, what his next move would be.

Jade took a step closer, and your back pressed against the wall. His smile remained polite, but there was something intentional about the way he moved— slow, deliberate, as if savoring every second of this little game.

“Tell me,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly, “what do you suppose we should do to pass the time?”

Your throat felt dry. Seven minutes had never seemed so long.

The closet felt smaller by the second. Jade’s gaze gleamed in the dim light, and though his expression remained composed, there was something behind his smile. Curiosity, amusement… something that made your pulse quicken.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he remarked, voice soft but undeniably teasing. “Are you nervous?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Should I be?”

Jade chuckled, the sound low and smooth, like the pull of an undertow. He lifted a hand, gloved fingers trailing along the edge of the wooden shelf beside you. Not quite touching you, but close enough that you felt the shift in air.

“That depends,” he said, tilting his head. “Do you trust me?”

A loaded question. One he knew you couldn’t answer easily.

His proximity made it impossible to think straight. He wasn’t doing anything, just standing there, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, but that was the problem. Jade didn’t need to do anything overt to unsettle you. He was a master of patience, of waiting, of letting tension build until his prey squirmed for more.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Oh? Whatever do you mean?” His smile widened, just slightly.

“You’re messing with me.”

Jade chuckled again, finally leaning in… just enough for his breath to brush against your ear. “Only a little,” he admitted. “But I must admit… I am rather enjoying our little moment of solitude.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You had two choices: endure the next few minutes in silence, or play along.

And if there was one thing you knew about Jade Leech… it was that he loved a challenge.

“Then let’s make it interesting.”

His eyes flashed a golden glow. Almost hypnotic in the dark.

“Oh?” His tone was smooth as ever, but there was a flicker of intrigue behind it. “Now that... sounds promising.”

Seven minutes might not be so long after all.

—

“Ha-ah! J-jade…. Don’t go too fast,” you panted, beads of sweat trickling down your body.

“But… you love it. Don’t deny it,” he says dauntingly, tongue moving with every word. His hips snapping loudly. His hands were interlocked with yours, fingers tightly pressing against each other. 

Your gummy walls clenched around him, desperately wanting more, despite you convincing yourself it’s a whole different story.

The more he thrusted inside you, the more agonising it felt. You didn’t know if you wanted more… but the way you let his body press so close to you… felt unreal. Heat radiated from both your bodies unbearable— you needed him, you wanted him.

“I-I’m so close..!” you moaned, warning him.

It didn’t take long until you did, letting yourself come undone. “Mmmh!” a moan slipped through.

Then, the door slammed roughly, revealing your figures to the group of friends.

“Oh… so you really did get it going,”

[jjaehyunnxie]

possessive!jeno x reader, where jeno reminds reader who owns her after breaking up

a/n: this just fiction btw, nobody should treat you like this!!!

! MDNI, jeno is kinda mean, angry sex, unprotected (no!!)

“yn, open the door.” jeno’s text flashed on your screen. you sigh rolling your eyes, turning the phone screen-side down and resuming whatever you were watching on tv.

your phone buzzes. “jeno”. gosh, this guy can’t take a hint, can he?

“what!” you answer, pissed off at his constant persistence.

“yn. open the door while I’m being nice, okay?” he was breathless, like he’s been running to your place. his fists bang on the door.

you scoff, hanging up and dragging your steps to the door, unlocking it and peaking through. “jen, I already told you we’re ov—“

your words were swallowed up as Jeno pushes the door open, slamming it behind him as he pulls you in a desperate and rough kiss. “don’t fucking play with me. we both know you don’t mean that.” his hands grip at your hips possessively.

“what? I was very clear in what I said!”

“yeah? and you moved on so fast? not even a fucking week passed and I see you giggling and throwing suggestive glances at some random bastard! you need to be taught a proper lesson, don’t you?” his fingers dig into your hips, a sensation that spurs your stomach and makes your knees feel weak.

“It’s none of your business what I do! I already broke up with—“ jeno’s hand rushes to your throat, gripping onto it, thumb pressing hard and almost cutting your air supply.

“of course it’s my business. what’s mine is mine, right? how could I stay still while some fucker rubs his hand on my girl’s thigh like that, huh? that’s something only I get to do to you.”

just as your eyes were starting to tear up, he let’s go, leaving you coughing. he doesn’t let you rest for too long before you find your chest pressed against your tall windows, showing a gorgeous night city view. jeno holds your wrists together behind your back as his finger tugs at the hem of your shorts.

“now, let me remind you what the fuck you’re missing on, sweetheart.“ he says teasingly as his hand slips your shorts off, revealing your damp panties to him. “fucking hell. you fucking whore. got so wet from me choking you, huh?”

“n-no, that’s not…” you try to protest but you’re left choking on your words as his two fingers slip in you, going in deep and quickly finding that sweet spot that only he knew of. you couldn’t hold the desperate moans that startes to escape your lips, your breath fogging up the window as your face is pressed against the cold glass.

“need to show this whole city who the fuck you belong to. maybe that’ll teach you something, huh? take your top off.” he orders. you peak at him over your shoulder, his hair is messed up and his eyes are dark with lust and need. His eyebrow raises at your lack of response and gives your ass a harsh slap. “hello? I said take your top off.”

you oblige, fingers hesitating at the hem of your shirt before you pull it over your head, bare breasts set free with a bounce. “there we go, that’s more like it. now perk your ass up just like this and look out the window while I fuck this pretty pussy.”

the tip of his hard cock teases your entrance as he takes in your warmth before sliding it smoothly down your hole. “fuuuuckk…you’re perfect.” he murmurs under his breath, your slick walls dragging on him blurring his mind.

his thrusts are slow but deep, taking his time to slide out and before pushing roughly in you, hitting that sweet spot and making sure you feel every inch of him. maybe if he engraves that feeling in your mind, you’d know he’s the only one who can really fill you up like this.

he leans down to suck and bite at your back, leaving obvious marks of possession in places others could see.

jeno senses your walls throbbing around him, a signal he knew all too well. his thrusts become ragged, fingers digging into your hips as his eyes are fixed on the way your ass just sinks down onto his length.

“mm’jeno…” you mumble, your boobs pressed against the cold window, a grave contrast from your growing hot body.

“what is it? tell me, baby. I’m the only one who can give you what you need.”

“mmh, ‘gonna cum Jen.” you whine.

“beg for it.” he orders, but your mind is too foggy to hear his words. his hand lands on your ass again with a harsh slap. “I said fucking beg for it, slut! tell me who you wanna cum on!”

“wanna cum on jeno’s cock! fuck—please, give it to me, I promise I’ll be good…!”

“promise?” his voice is teasing, an obvious smirk could be heard from his tone. “yes..! yes, fuck, I promise!!” you whine, unable to hold your release in any longer.

“fucking cum on my cock, then. come on.” he growls, his hips slamming into you before you finally come undone on him, cunt clenching on his length.

you whine and cry, overwhelmed from your sensitive cunt as he continues to thrust into you. “shh, baby. jus’ a little more okay? wanna claim this fucking pussy.”

he shoots his ropes of hot cum in you, hips stuttering from the overstimulation. He’s quick to catch your body as it falls limp in his hands. “this better’ve taught you who really owns you.”

[valleymyristica]

People that make me happy ᵔᵜᵔ

Also, happy 3 month anniversary of What it takes!

There are so many people around And I find myself wanting to share my glee

So I want to give a thank you to all who make me happy And I also want to wish whoever is reading this a lovely day For I'm sure there is always someone who finds glee in your existence

For me, these are the lovely ones that gives me a smile whenever I see them about. Just knowing they are there is enough ᵔᵜᵔ

@waitineedaname

For being a wonderful person One I'm always happy to see doing well We may not talk as much, because I'm so slow But you still make me happy, wherever you go

So I want to wish you the best in this new year! [And thank you for being the beta reader for the HLVRAI fic I've yet to post] [If I ever will, really should though...] [Man, it's so old now]⠀

@cubbiverse

Thank you for being the reason I started What it takes! Without you, it wouldn't exist

Talking to you is always a blast You're always so fun! Your ideas are such a driving force for me

Really bringing me glee whenever I see you You're lovely, you're great I hope the year to come will treat you well! I wish you a happy new year!

Also! Can't forget! Your art is always so nice to see It's always so bubbly, bouncy, pretty and soft! Such lovely fun you bring With every single thing!

Oh, I really do like all the things that you do! You make me so happy too!!!

@shrimpyjackal

Art so pretty, always so kind So very sweet, with a lovely mind

Your colours, they pop! So pretty to the eye Like the setting sun An array of colours in the sky

Like a cold dessert After a desert walk Your art really does have a special spark! Like fireworks that boom, with colours and light! I hope that the year to come, will be lovely and bright!

I wish, it will be lovely and bright! And who knows, maybe wishes do come true?

@astrolotte

Things come Things go

But you are one I'm happy to know!

You're always so positive, so very sweet Just so lovely and unique!

It delights me when you read But I wish you well all the same

For I hope this year brings you joy As we play along with it's game Even as rules change

For change can be good Though, wouldn't want it to leave you on the run

And some things are sweet Though, being trapped is no fun

And have to also tell that your art is like a present on Christmas day Truly something to look forward to in every way!

@arandom-dog [AO3]

My beta reader My wonderful beta reader

AHHHHHHH!!! YOU'RE GREAT!

I'm so happy I have you! You're so helpful and kind! I always like to talk and hear what's on your mind!

AHHHHHH!!!! I still can't stop looking that the comic you made! Along with all the other lovely things you've made Gosh, Bunny is so CUTE! AHHHH!!! It's so pretty! So cool!

I'm so happy you made it And I'm so glad you had fun when you did!

Gosh, What it takes really has taken hold of my life

@unconsciousnonhuman

Thank you for creating the lovely [angst server]! It would be a delight if there was more time to spend

For hearing what's on your mind Is always a highlight before reaching the days end!

So morbid and fun! Oh! You are such a lovely one!

I'm happy you exist! So happy you are here! Really bringing joy by simply being you Do hope I can give you joy too!

Honestly, I think my new years resolution will be to read all of Para. Peri and leave my comment at every chapter.

I will get it done. I hope

@poggieking03

My delightful little fan I'm so happy I have you Really bringing me glee, and questions too!

It's always so fun to see your reactions To hear what you think heh Especially when the characters are on their brink!

I do hope that life is treating you well and that you are feeling swell!

For deserve kindness for all the things you've given me You make me so happy and fill me with glee!

@nightjasmine10

I really do delight in all you send my way Every comment, whatever it may, really does bring a smile to my day!

Honestly, it's so nice that you like talking to me, and it's nice talking to you in turn. You're always so sweet and willing to engage!

You seem so passionate about writing It's so cool! It's always nice to see you around!

Thank you for being as lovely as you are!

@freesso

Pretty, soft and expressive art So very cute So very sweet So very lovely and unique

A lovely person So nice and kind With art that always bring a smile to mind

Hope your days are joyous and sweet For you’re a lovely person One I'm happy I got to meet!

@midnightdemonz

Yay! Our fairy meat fanatic and one with a powerful Peri AU!

You're such a fun one and always a delight to talk too

Really should work more on fairy meat, we got so much to work with, still... what it takes is also important. Though, sparing some time for some meat shouldn't hurt, right?

As for the wonder you are? You're bright and fun, like a lucky star! Always so fun to talk to you

Hope your days are as great as you are! For you are indeed great!

@nova-in-space

Honestly, I may not be a part of it But seeing all the Peri's interacting is so fun!

From what I've read of Ghost Town so far It's very interesting! Desolate, dreary, eery What could have caused such disarray? Oh, is there anyone that would dare to say?

Also, I still remember the drawing you made based on What it takes I will forever cherish such lovely things Every spec of gold is still gold And it really does delight me that you took the mind and time to do it

It really made me happy, and remembering it really does bring a smile

Thank you so much!

You're a fun delightful person And I do delight in the ideas you present in your work

Like miasma filling their lungs Poisoning their bodies Breaking their minds And all which connects

It's interesting It's fun

@vhs-consumer

It's weird, I don't talk to you But you do seem like a person I'd like You seem like a really fun and cool person

hehehe You even know about 'fairy meat' Which is fun ᵔᵜᵔ⠀⠀

So, I do hope that the year to come will be a fun one With lovely food and fun people!

Also, have to compliment your art Because it's really nice It's like ice preserving the beauty of the world It's like a an array of needles you can softly pet It's like a shiver of cold as you sit so warm with a cup of hot chocolate

It's sharp and nice Both cool and warm And really something one likes to look upon

@elsa-fogen

Thank you for also being a lovely morbid delight!

It's fun talking to you from time to time and I do hope that this year will be a lovely one for you!

I do delight in all the AUs you do have And it's so fun to see your version of Icy She's so cool! hehehe Cool and cold Pun for fun

I like a sweet one who sees no wrong in the horrors It's simply how things are How they should be

Why would you want to leave? We're just getting to the fun part!

Also have to tell, I do like your art as well! It's so fun, the way you create, It's as if all fit together as pieces to a puzzle Every little line has a place to be

Everyone seems so full of life It's just connected so nicely And you're really funny too Your jokes are great!

@illustrationismyhaven ( @doodle17 )

You're a fun one, and happy late birthday!

I think you're the reason I decided to play Psychonauts Which is something I am so very happy and thankful for, it and it's sequel are such great games! I'm so happy I got to experience them, thank you!

In addition, I really like your lobotomy family au It's such a cute little idea!

Well, you seem to have many fun ideas So I guess that's kinda a given

Apart from such, you're a delight too see Your art is always so striking and lovely! So fluid, like a stream of water in winter Like green leafs in the summer rain So pretty, colourful and bright

You really do give off a lovely light!

@todaytomorrowgiraff

I doubt you know of my existence, but I do want to tell I appreciate you!

It delights me to see a little HLVRAI on my dash Gives it all a little extra pizzazz!

I remember finding you thanks to your wonderful fic, Becoming Human. It's been a moment since I've read it last, but I do recall delighting in it so. In a way, I guess it's inspiration, it's such a lovely one and you seem like such a wonderful person!

@bunnieswithknives

Gosh do I like the things that you do So of course you make me happy too!

Your art is so modular Like pipes connected so cleanly together Like ball-jointed dolls that you simply move

It's so very cool! And it all creates such a funky grove!

In addition, your ideas, the thoughts in your mind How you play with ideas You're funny and smart

What you make is truly a work of art!

That is to say, I like what you create! Always so fun to see what you'll present next!

Also, sorry for the time that I messed with your head Hope you're doing better, and you're happy instead!⠀

@kisskisstine

Like a story book with tales to be told Your art is so lovely to behold

A blooming star, so pretty and bright Yet so lonely when she shines her light

And he who thought himself bright and strong Is bound to have a stark realization when he finds, he is wrong

Your art is soft and kind Very fitting for you

For you seem like a lovely person too! Wishing you the best in all that you do!

Bright soft skies Sun so high Hope the smiles that you give Are given in turn For you deserve bright joys! Is one thing I've learned

Giving kindness to the kind Giving joy to the joyous Giving, sharing and wishing the best

So many sweet things You deserve them too!

@wreckrinho

You art is like cookies So scrumptious and good!

Like rivers Like streams Like something forgotten in dreams

So cool and fun So very you

And it makes me happy to see When you enjoy what you do!

Hope you're well And life is treating you with kindness

Horror may come to those in the stories one tell But that doesn't mean it should come to you as well

You're a fun delight Sweet little starlight Deserving fun

Enjoy the things you do I enjoy them too

Share what you like That's when you shine the most bright!

@artificial-angels

Your art, so pretty Like clouds on a soft summer day Like flowers that bloom Like sweet cotton candy dreams

Pastel paradise parade So soft and sweet It really is a delightful treat

@nilsford-prattle

Long forgotten In sand we lay But still we always hope that you are doing okay

Bright and fun Sweet and kind Hope you have peace of mind

Hope there is joy in the things that you do And that you always have a reason to be happy too

@purplecatghostposts

Hope there is joy to your days Your interests are ones we enjoy to see

Your writing a lovely delight Your shimmer a happy joy

So many things anew Yet though old they may seem For you bring it to life Like it's been awoken from a dream

Thank you for being you And doing what you do

Thank you all so much for bringing joy to my day! I hope I'm able to bring some joy to yours as well!

And maybe I'm alone in being me But I do think it nice to tell about those that are kind

In a world so cruel I want to prove there can be kindness as well

I find it pretty funny that it took so long to post this In part because I kept remembering so many fun people⠀

Huh... maybe my friend is right? I am pretty much always happy⠀

Maybe you all have something to do with that?

[om-nom-snom]

For the morning routine headcanons, could I request Grusha? And whoever else you wanna add? Two of my f/os are in the other post you already have.

[Morning Routines]

Grusha x Reader, Raihan x Reader, N x Reader

Part 1 here

Grusha <3

Grusha is honestly pretty normal when it comes to his mornings

He likes to stick to a set routine, but he doesn't freak out if he sleeps in or needs to shuffle things around

Wakes up at 7am every morning and tumbles out of bed in a giant hoodie with a rattatas nest for hair

Boils the jug for his coffee and feeds his Cetitan, trying stay quiet enough that he doesn't wake you

Once you do wakes up, Grusha is drinking his coffee on the couch and has already prepared a hot drink for you too

He might already be on his second coffee but you don't need to know that

You're more than welcome to snuggle up with him on the couch, enjoying your drink as whatever sport he's watching plays in the background

When it's time to start getting ready for the day he'll be very appreciative of help taming his bed hair

Sit him down on the ground in front of you while you're on the couch so you're comfy while brushing it

"You can put a braid in if you really want... But only a small one."

You'll be there a while, but he's already worked that into the morning schedule

Other than that, he really doesn't take long to get ready and after a few good bye kisses Grusha will be out the door

Raihan <3

Raihan basically sleeps on top of you

There's no need for a weighted blanket when your boyfriend is basically a living one

You'd best be prepared to be stuck in bed for a while too, because if it's not gym challenge season there's no way he's waking up before 11am

And once he does wake up he needs at least an hour minimum to doomscroll on his rotom phone in bed

He does it while still lying on top of you, naturally

If you desperately need help to get him out of bed, flygon can be convinced to help

The dragon pokemon is happy to get all up in Raihans business and help roll him off you

Once Raihan finally makes it out of bed, he wanders into the kitchen wearing only what he sleeps in

Aka his briefs

He'll ask if you like the view while he cooks you guys brunch

"Feel free to take a photo, babe, it'll last longer."

Raihan's happy to take the mornings with you nice and slow while he can

And that includes plenty of pictures of you two and more than one 'outfit of the day' post

N <3

We have a total insomniac over here

N falls asleep very late at night and wakes up very early in the morning, but he'll stay in bed the whole time you're sleeping

On the morning he wakes before the sun comes up and knows he won't be able to fall asleep again he'll grab a book

With a soft bedside lamp on, zoroark half on his lap, and you by his side he's more than happy to read the morning away

He's the type of softy to brush hair away from your face as you sleep

Should you wake up early with him, then he'll open up the curtains in your room so you can both watch the sunrise from bed

Pulls you into his chest and wraps both of your shoulders in another blanket too

As usual, N's zoroark joins in with any cuddling going on and is a very welcome heat source in winter

He's in no rush to get out of bed, but once you're up for the day so is he

N always starts off his morning with breakfast, but I feel like he's a cold breakfast person

He'll cook for you though if he knows you like a hot breakfast

If you're not a breakfast person he'll also low-key guilt you into eating something for your own good

"Eating is a non negotiable, love. Now, do you want me to make you some toast?"

He's so sweet and domestic-

[tactical-jellyfish]

Wisdom Teeth (drabble)

I've been mean to y'all. Too much angst. Take some fluff for the winter (me having a test this week)

Warnings!: Wisdom tooth removal. Bloody spit, at one point reader is in enough pain to verbally request an opioid pill. Pain and pain medication. Fluffy <3 prob leads up to poly, they're fruitcakes about it.

The SAS teams have had to pause ops for a wide, wide range of reasons. The odd health complication is very much among them.

That being said, Price never thought he would have to pause a mission because one of his star players got a wisdom tooth infected.

You had been off on Tuesday, chewing on only one side of your mouth and not drinking anything that was even a little hotter than room temp.

Kyle gave you funny looks for it, but that was all.

Wednesday, you didn't leave your room for much at all, but that was fine. Resting up before an op wasn't uncommon. Simon did it all the time.

However, at some point between you disappearing and Johnny saying he heard crying from your room all bets were off.

The door was kicked in, to reveal a grown sergeant, teary-eyed and crying a little as they clutched their cheek with a hand.

Kyle was already at your side, trying to coax you to open your mouth for some painkillers. It wasn't working well.

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

You cried a little before the surgery. Maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of pain, but the nice nurse was kind enough to ignore it as she explained that you would be waking up in a few hours down four whole teeth.

She explained it to you as you sat in the stupid fucking chair, she repeated it as she gently tucked a I.V. with a small blister containing medicine into the veins of your arm.

"Alright, first the anti-anxiety drug will be administered, okay?"

She doesn't wait for your confirmation, but gently pats your shoulder and continues.

"You should start to feel a bit fuzzy, then, you'll sleep."

It takes a few sickening seconds for you to actually feel the drugs kicking in. You want to get out of this chair, to scream at something.

You never liked the dentist.

But then... the world starts to fade out. It's like you're being locked out of your body as your mind turns itself off.

You hear her counting with the surgeon–a much more awkward woman, though no less polite.

Three.

Two.

On-

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

The waking up is slow, and messy.

Cotton pads lie in either of your cheeks, and you can't do much but oblige as the nurse gently coaxes you into a wheelchair, giving instructions to the bearded man who's standing in the corner.

"Make sure they don't sleep for at least a couple hours, okay? I know it'll be hard, but try to have them keep pressure on the site."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remember the usual course, and we're also giving you five opioid pills. Only in case it gets really bad."

"Affirmative."

You know this voice, but when you see the boonie hat and the slightly furrowed brows, a spark of muffled recognition fires off beneath the haze of anesthetic and misery.

"...Old man."

Your voice is slurred, foreign to even you at this point, but he seems to know it, because he sighs frustratedly before taking the chair by the handles and steering your down the hallway out.

"I swear to- mgh, olright. Better than Soap at least."

You're loaded into the back seat of the car with the most basic consideration.

Dumped in like a sack of flour, actually. Your butt hurts now, but there's Kyle.

He snorts when he sees you, reaches forward to wipe whatever is dripping from the corner of your mouth.

It's bloody spit, but he doesn't seem surprised.

The car ride back to base is quiet, but Kyle keeps you awake.

Beyond that, there's nothing you can remember. Not till the next morning.

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

Johnny is perched at your bedside, scrolling through his phone until he sees your eyes blearily opening, hears your groaning as you recognize a new pain in your cheeks, and he gently coaxes your mouth open to take out the bloody gauze.

"Och, there ye are, bonnie wee thing. You look like an eejit, just thought ye needed to know."

Your tired glare is met with a laugh, but followed shortly by a pat to the shoulder.

"A'hm kiddin', leannan. Just jokin' with ye. Brought ye breakfast."

He holds up a small container of yogurt, shakes it like one would cat treats to entice a stray. You grimace as much as your painfully swollen cheeks allow, but when you open your mouth to tell him off, there's a sharp twinge that makes you close it.

This seems to earn Johnny's sympathies, because he gently guides you so you're sitting up on the bed, holding one of your shaky hands as he peels back the foil on the cup.

"Easy. Still fresh, aye?"

Your wet-eyed nod is met with a sympathetic huff.

"Aye. Dinnae fash. I'll help ye."

You should smack him for implying that you need help eating yogurt, of all things, but... you kind of do need the help.

Your body is still lethargic, sluggishly stumbling through its tasks with hazy edges and poor motor control.

He raises a glass of water to your lips, and has you take a few sips.

Breakfast takes a long time, but before you fall asleep again, he gently sets a painkiller in your mouth, and tells you to swallow.

When you do, he smiles, and bends down to kiss your forehead while you drift back off.

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

So, here's something you didn't know before getting your wisdom teeth out.

You can't swallow for a couple days.

It's gross, yeah, but you're supposed to drool out the bloody spit in your mouth, so you don't get dry socket.

Thankfully, Kyle is there for this.

He sweeps your hair back as much as possible (to the point of getting bobby pins from the corner store for the baby hairs), and rubs your back as you drool out your toothpaste.

"I feel disgusting."

"I know, luv. You're not gonna feel good for a while."

Still, his mother's cure is the only thing he trusts himself enough to use on you. Warm, salty water. A childhood staple.

He's sympathetic to your plights, rubbing your back again as you clumsily swish it by turning your head to the sides, cheeks too swollen to move properly.

"Good job. One more."

A firm, warm hand pats your back again as you "spit" (if you can even call it that) for the final time, offering a sweet smile just for you.

"Perfect. Now you can lay back again, yeah? Nice n' easy."

You're not suffering like you were yesterday. It's new.

Your motor function is back, just sluggish.

No, no, your biggest issue right now is the swelling. Your cheeks were so puffy it hurt, and you had them on ice as often as you could.

This is where you have to thank the lord for John Price. Your captain, distant as he can be, must have at least three sets of cheek-size ice pads, because every time you come into your room, there's a new, fresh set waiting for you.

Kyle gently guides you to sit in your bed, offering a sympathetic smile as he eases you backward until you hit the pillow-ramp Johnny had built so your head would be upright.

"You wanna sleep, luv?"

"No."

Your voice is still quiet, limited by your stupid cheeks, but he smiles anyway, and sits next to you.

"You wanna hang out, then?"

"Yes."

The afternoon is good, for you.

Kyle is there. The whole time.

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

Of course, every surgery comes with the odd fuck-up.

No one should be up, but you're going insane with pain.

It's a sharp, stabbing thing, focused in the gum of your lower right jaw. Almost as sharp as the tooth's initial infection, but more than enough to bring significant distress.

Simon is an odd man, and you two have never been the closest, but when he opens your door in a t-shirt and boxers, you don't even care a little bit.

"Wha's happenin'?"

The Mancunian gruffs concernedly at you, watching as you hold your cheek and shakily take in vain breath in the hopes of calming yourself.

"Get an opioid, Lt. Please."

"Fawk."

Right after that, he's off like a horse to the races, and you're in the silence again, holding your cheek as you try to ignore the way your eyes swim with tears that you refuse to shed.

It's a mercifully short two minutes, even if it feels like half an hour.

Simon's hands are gentle, opening your jaw and setting the horse-pill on your tongue, looking into your wet eyes as he raises the glass to your lips.

"I know, I know. Jus' swallow."

He stays with you as you pant for the breath you've lost, wide, scarred hands on your shoulders.

He exaggerates his own breathing so you see the clear rise and fall of his chest. His lips lose their frown as you slowly start to mimic it.

The dispersal of the pain med is fast, thank goodness, but then Simon has a tired you to deal with, still trembling in the fingers from the sudden spike of debilitating pain, though you can't feel it.

"Are those skeleton boxers?"

He's starting to think your favorite pastime is asking stupid fucking questions, but still, some part of him feels relief.

You could have asked about the lack of mask, but you didn't. You just wanted to know about the halloween boxers.

"Sergeant."

His voice isn't as firm as it should be, but when he sees your exhausted look, he still sits down on the mattress with you.

"Stay. Jus' till I fall asleep."

You don't have the balls to ask for it. Not when you're this vulnerable. So you treat it like an order.

Simon won't be chewing you out for it.

Not now.

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

Kyle and Johnny stand in the doorway to your room, snickering to themselves.

Never thought they would see big boy Lt with the firecracker that drove him up the wall, surely.

Still, after taking a couple pictures (blackmail for Johnny, photo album for Kyle), they just... stand and stare a little.

"Ye ken... we could jus'... join in?"

Johnny poses the question. Kyle nods.

"Yeah. To make sure they're sleeping well."

They both know damn well that's not why. But fuck it, a cuddle pile never hurt anyone.

Especially not you, considering how gentle the pair are when maneuvering your sleeping form.

If Simon opened his eyes and just so happened to see this buffoonery in action, he closed them right back up after.

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

Price sighs in exasperation when he sees it, but smiles as he tips down his cap just a little.

"Fuckin' rookie. Gonna be the death of me."

But he knows you won't. Because he sees the way Simon's lips curve up in sleep, or the way Johnny and Kyle cling to you.

He should call Laswell, finalize your placement.

The boys wouldn't complain.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Random Headcanons (18+)

Mirage!Michelangelo x reader

A/N: Last Random Headcanons (18+) for the Mirage boys! Feels like a milestone at this point, to be honest😂❤️

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Uhm, sex, lol.

Even if Mikey’s surroundings were bleak and dark, leaving little to no light or happiness in his and his family’s life, he was surprisingly happy and positive. Even you, who lived a somewhat normal life (except for the fact that you were dating a mutant ninja turtle), at times had a hard time being as positive as him. And Mikey really brought that happiness and positivity into your relationship, and especially into your sex life.

Sex with Mikey was lighthearted and an absolute joy. It was exactly what you needed after a long hard day, where the whole world just seemed to turn against you at every corner. There had been times where Mikey took you from behind, with his arms wrapped around you, giving you slow and hard backshots, whispering the sweetest yet nastiest things into your ear, making you smile and blush at it all, at times making you wonder what you would do, had you never met Mikey.

Mikey didn’t really have any major dislikes when it came to sex. As long as you were okay with it, so was he. But if you wanted him to bend over backwards, as far as his shield allowed him to, with you on top bouncing on his member, he would do it. It probably would make you happy, and it would probably be a good story for the two of you to retell later down the line.

But though Mikey liked to turn sex into this fun orcation, with sweet, funny and dirty comments strewn about, he could very quickly turn a very passionate lover, being very focused on you, your beauty and your pleasure. You have once before found you and Mikey starting you lighthearted, with you riding him and making small talk, only to suddenly get flipped over when things started to get more intense, with Mikey pounding into you, all small talk being replaced with loud moans and encouragements to keep going.

It was very rare that Mikey didn’t stay for aftercare, and if he didn’t, it wasn’t his own choice. Mikey truly loved aftercare. It was soft and nice, and usually a perfect way to finish whatever kind of session the two of you have had that day. He was a real cuddler, clinging to you, enjoying the warmth of your skin against his, and if it was up to him, he would never have to leave you. But sadly, the life of a mutant turtle wasn’t always predictable, and as much as you tried to keep the dark out of your bedroom, Mikey sometimes had to leave you early, in order to fight the dangers of the night.

[haytan]

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

[jawllines]

OH. MY. GOD.

Chefrry would be the death of me. It's the hottest thing I've ever read probably and we aren't even in the filthy part yet. I usually see your fics in two categories... FEEL GOOD AND WARM and FEEL HOT AND HORNY. And this is definitely at the top of FEEL HOT AND HORNY. God!!! Liv everything about part 2 was so perfect, like every detail and every dialogue. Chef's kiss really. I need more and more and more. It was really cruel where you ended it but I love a slow burn so I'll take it

I would like to mention something I especially loved that...like scratched a weird itch in me that other fics with this kind of storyline couldn't. Y/N liking the puppy thing and feeling empty without his fingers in her mouth and then coming to conclusion that she liked these but it's only because Harry is the one doing it. If it were anyone else she wouldn't like it. Not being experienced in kink but still being ready to give her body to a "kinky sadist" to make decisions over. Her feeling pathetic and desperate that she's ready to do anything he says but realising that she's ready to look and be pathetic if that's what he likes and he'd finally do something with her, but she won't do it for anyone else. This....this realisation that she wouldn't probably like this shit from anyone else, it's just for and because of him, she'll do anything for him without any shame...this made me feel soooo... I think comfortable? Like I'm not a submissive by nature but I'd definitely be one if I'm interested in someone this much and attracted to them so intensely that I don't know if I'm actually having a situation with them or just hallucinating and imagining. It was relatable. And her becoming desperate for him to do something and then taking the risk and saying something so he'd know that she wants the same thing too. It was understandable.

Her constant back and forth in her head whether or not he wants her, thinking that she's not pretty or sexy enough for him to want her was relatable too. It makes sense why she was having trouble reading hus intentions because the way he was having interactions with her felt like edging on its own. One day he was being subtly suggestive that he indeed wants to hit it and the next day it was totally calm like nothing happened. He's been mentally edging her for weeks even before the physical edging happened. Which also makes sense given the kind of person he seems to be. And it also makes sense he'd treat her like a pet. He'd probably even call her a kid just so he could see her whine and protest that she's in fact an adult. It all perfectly makes sense.

And I also liked that she was like ready to do more so he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Yes she was gonna take whatever he gives sure but she was also like "I'm gonna make sure I get what I want". How she held his wrist in place when he had his fingers in her mouth and how she didn't hesitate to huff and whine when he snatched her orgasam saying she was ready even if he wasn't. It's all very much on point.

And don't get me started on her and Niall's friendship. I mean I'd kill to have a friend like him. Encouraging her all the time no matter what and then scolding her when she talks negatively about how she looks and doubting her charms and then telling her that she doesn't need to do anything more for Harry to want her? He's a gem.

I also like Adam and y/n's relationship and how caring he is. Honestly the reason why y/n is comfortable with Adam in the first place is because of Niall's relationship with him. Adam treated Niall as a friend and because Niall and y/n were close he also became close with her. Which is really impressive that he made an effort to get along with his junior employees and maintained this good of a friendship. Because if it wasn't for Adam's openness Niall wouldn't be so comfortable with him and if he wasn't y/n wouldn't dare be so chill with one of her bosses on her own. Adam deserves loads of flowers and chocolates for being so sweet.

Honestly it was so so so perfect in every way. Y/n is still adorably cute and pathetic, Harry is still intimidating, Niall is still goofy and Adam is still Adam. But the air around the kitchen has changed and it smells sexy af. I'm drooling and ready for more. I'd like to see some things in the next part though if you can make them happen.

I'd love to see jealous Harry obviously like I'd give up my favourite things to see him furious over a guy flirting with her but apart from that also I'd like to see the four of them hanging out outside of work where Adam wears those leather pants

Her prick ex seeing her and Harry together and her respectfully telling him to fuck off or Harry doing that for her so he stops bothering her. Harry being protective of her

The last bit also made me really anxious that Harry might just yell at her again for a mistake she didn't make when that hair guy showed up again. And I think I'd absolutely enjoy some miscommunication and misunderstanding and drama between the two of them that'd lead to her crying on Niall's shoulder and being hurt and not very cheery for a few days and Harry eventually begging for forgiveness at her feet. Honestly I'd eat that shit up

Most importantly though, I'd like to really really really know what was the exact moment Harry first thought of her as more than an employee. I need a peek inside his mind. Him paying close attention to her (god knows how long how many months he's been doing that without being obvious), noticing her mood change and making her cake to make her feel good? Him being indirectly caring? I can't wait for the day he becomes directly caring.

Aaaaahhhfghjfsdjn!!!! You're gonna kill me Liv!!! I NEED THE NEXT PART NOW!!!!

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED READING THIS!!!! OMTOGMGOFMGK

MESSAGES LIKE THIS ARE SOME OF THE TYPE THAT JUST GET ME SO STOKED TO START WRITING AGAIN! LOVE THAT HES IN THE HOT AND HORNY SECTION! AND IM HAPPY IT SEEMS LIKE YALL LIKE YN I FEEL LIKE SOMETIMES ITS SUCH A STRUGGLE TO CHARACTERIZE YN WITHOUT DOING TOO MUCH SO SHES STILL LIKE A LIL BIT LIKE A BLANK SLATE BUT ALSO NOT ANNOYING OFKF LIKE I FEEL LIKE WHEN IM READING X READER FIC YN BEING A DUD CAN MAKE OR BREAK IT FOR ME

ALSO THERES NOTHIN WRONG WITH A SEXY YN WHO KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS AND HOW SHE WANTS IT AND ISNT AFRAID TO SHARE THAT….BUT I ALSO KNOW TJATS NOT ME, AND I KNOW I CANT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO FEELS LIKE THAT SO WRITING HER KIND OF PATHETIC AND LOSER-Y IS SO FUN

AND NIALL :-) IM GLAD YALL LIKE HIM THEIR DYNAMIC IS SO FUN TO WRITE

ILL GET TO COOKIN UP A JEALOUS HARRY AND ILL LOOK INTO SOME MISCOMMUNICATION!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! ILL GET TO WRITING :D

[pandaofsecrets]

This convo got me thinking about how Ozai being a good parent and husband would actually be like (and how little that would actually change things), so here's the basics of the AU. It follows comics continuity because I think it's more impactful that way, and also because I really don't want to write two AUs for the price of one.

Okay, so first of all, how do we get here? Let's say that instead of Ozai becoming narcissistic as a coping mechanism (unlikely, but bear with me), he just kinda gives up trying to "prove his worth" and distances himself from his father and brother, distrusting them and trying to avoid their attention as much as he can.

Anyway, Azulon hears about the prophecy and wants Ozai married to Ursa, which. So much for not attracting attention. Azulon's logic here is that while he does want those strong firebenders, he doesn't want any of Roku's line to actually inherit the throne. So, marrying Ursa to his out-of-favor second son it is.

Needless to say, neither Ozai nor Ursa are exactly jazzed about the marriage. They're both essentially forced into it, and Ursa was already seeing someone, thank you very much. But they both figure that it's for the good of their country and that they can't really leave anyway, so they might as well try to make it work. Ozai works to make Ursa as comfortable as possible, and she cooperates with him as much as she can. A few months or so into the marriage, Ursa is pregnant with Zuko.

This is when Ursa notices that no one is replying to her letters. No one at all. Not Ikem, not her friends, and not even her parents. Like, she knows mail is slow, but it's been almost half a year at this point. Her parents at least should've written back by now. So, she does a little detective work, and puts together that Ozai is intercepting her letters.

Unsurprisingly, Ursa is pissed. She'd just begun to like Ozai, and he went and tore her heart into confetti. Incredibly betrayed (and also hormonal as all fuck), Ursa comes up with the very smart idea of writing a letter to Ikem in which she pretty much confesses to cheating on Ozai, reasoning that would hurt him pretty bad.

As Ursa expected, Ozai gets the letter and barges into the room, demanding to know what the hell she was thinking. "I knew it!" she goes. "I knew you've been intercepting my letters!" Ozai is like "Count yourself lucky it was me. What if it was my father? How would you have even begun to explain this to him?" He goes on to remind her that she was to give up contact with everyone outside of court, including her parents. He doesn't like his father's orders any more than she does, but he has to enforce them. He then burns the letter, telling Ursa that she can see whoever she wants, do whatever she wants, but she had better not let Zuko get caught up in any of it. Ozai makes a point to call Zuko his child, both because Ursa's letter did hurt him, and as a way to imply he cares about Zuko and Ursa doesn't.

A couple of hours later, both are feeling bad about the whole debacle. Ursa goes to see Ozai, who's in the middle of his usual "dealing with his angst by training until he straight-up collapses" routine, and they have a chat. Ozai apologizes for trying to imply she doesn't care about Zuko and for putting her in this position in the first place, and admits that he should've talked to her instead of going behind her back like that. Ursa swears she wasn't trying to get them in trouble, she was just so hurt by his actions that she wasn't thinking straight. Ozai promises her he'll find a way for her to contact and maybe even see her parents, so long as she promises to try and be less reckless. She agrees.

I'm skipping around a lot over things I haven't thought of in detail, so cut to a few years later. Zuko is around 7 and has just started his firebending lessons, Azula is around 5, and everything seems to be going pretty good. And then Azula starts firebending as well. Not only that, but she turns out to be a prodigy. Oops.

Ozai being Ozai, he immediately goes for damage control. He holds back Azula's progress under the pretext that it's going to be better for her in the long run, discourages her from attracting attention, and is generally very cagey whenever the subject of her bending is brought up. This is in sharp contrast to Azulon and to her teachers, who praise her for her talents and encourage her to develop her skills. So, naturally, Azula is really confused. If she's so great, why doesn't her father ever acknowledge it? This is made worse by the fact that Ozai can't really explain to Azula why he does things the way he does. So he just comes off as an unreasonable tyrant, which is. You know. Not at all the impression he wanted Azula to have of him. He knows what it's like to be the secondborn who is disliked by their parent, he never wanted to do that to his own child. It honestly feels like the universe is out to get him at this point.

So Azula becomes increasingly recalcitrant, and Ozai resolves to just give her space for the time being, spending more time with the one child who isn't fighting him at every turn. Seeing this as a rejection, Azula takes whatever pent-up rage she can't direct at Ozai and starts directing it at Zuko, meaning Ozai is put in a position where he has to protect one of his children from the other. Ursa tries her hardest to pick up the pieces, but that just ends with Azula writing her off as well. Azula also becomes aware of the fact that Ozai and Ursa are both pretty much powerless against Azulon, and that's where the fun begins.

It's a crappy situation all around, but it's about to get worse. Lu Ten dies and Iroh is about to return home from the Siege of Ba Sing Se, so Azulon tells Ozai that he has to give Azula to Iroh. Ozai is like, yep, there it is. There's the moment I've been dreading ever since I got married. Because due to the way this whole eugenics experiment worked, his children were never truly his. Azulon's vested interest in them meant Ozai never had any control over his own family, and Zuko and Azula were always going to be taken away from him sooner or later. But before Ozai can say anything, Azulon drops the bombshell on him. He has to kill Zuko, too. Ozai is like, fuck this. He doesn't care that Zuko was a failed experiment or whatever, that's his son. But he knows by now that his father cannot be reasoned with, so he asks Azulon to wait until Iroh comes home, buying himself time to figure out what to do. Surprisingly, Azulon agrees.

Ozai then goes to Ursa and tells her the tale of what just happened. Ursa goes, yeah, no, we can't afford to wait until Iroh comes back. Because even if they did, Zuko would still die. Ozai is like, well, there's gotta be something we can do. And that's when Ursa gets an idea. She briefly considers telling Ozai, but quickly thinks better of it. Patricide is a strong word. She knows Ozai wouldn't approve, so if she wants something done, she's gotta do it herself. Instead, she just says she knows a way, and leaves Ozai to mope.

Next morning, the palace is in chaos. Azulon just kicked the bucket, Iroh is away, and everyone is looking to Ozai for leadership. Ozai has a chat with Ursa and is like "You did this, didn't you?" Ursa is all "I don't know what you're talking about", and Ozai asks her if she really thinks he's that stupid. He then encourages her to get the heck out of Dodge, because someone is definitely going to trace this back to her and then they'll all be in big trouble, her especially. Ursa counters that she's not the same reckless woman she was 8 years ago, and that she made sure to cover all her bases this time, pinning the blame on supposed Earth Kingdom assassins. They sit in silence for a bit, and then Ozai confesses he can't believe Azulon is dead, and that he doesn't know whether to be relieved or to hate Ursa for murdering him. Ursa says that everything she's done, she's done to protect her family.

So Ozai basically becomes interim Fire Lord while waiting for Iroh to come back, and he does a pretty good job, having basically been acting Crown Prince ever since he came of age (with all of the responsibility and none of the credit, because Azulon was a dick like that). From here the AU can go any number of ways, from Iroh immediately taking over as Fire Lord, to him giving up his claim to the title, to Iroh trying to give up his claim and Ozai refusing.

I don't know if I'm ever going to actually write this AU, so I'm leaving this here, I guess? Lmk what you think.

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 47

Chapter 47 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie tries to convince the nurse at the VA hospital to let him go back out there with Athena as his backup, while Buck continues his search for Chris, which is getting more hopeless by the second.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: self loathing, injury, minor character death mention, grief

~~~

Chapter 47: Don’t Give Up

Buck has been stumbling around for hours. His head is woozy and he feels weak. However, he keeps pushing, keeps going, keeps walking, keeps swimming. He has to just keep swimming. Like Dory. He can’t let Chris down.

He’s looked everywhere and it seems Chris has all but disappeared from the face of the earth. That has implications he doesn’t want to think about.

So, he doesn’t. He just keeps swimming.

Just keep swimming.

Just keep…

He tilts, but rights himself with a start, before rubbing his face to wake himself up. He can’t fall over now, he has to find Chris. Has to keep swimming.

In the distance, he sees lights. They’re swaying, but maybe that’s just him. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting there. People are collecting there. People are going there. Chris is people. Chris could be there. Buck just has to get there, just has to keep swimming a little longer.

The only thing that keeps him awake is the stabbing pain in his leg. He’s pretty sure that is not good, but he can’t think about that right now. Not when he’s just reached the VA hospital.

“Are you okay? Let me get your name and some help,” a nurse stops him.

“No.” Buck shakes his head. “No.” He can’t be helped yet, he can’t stop. If he stops, he sinks and he can’t sink. He has to keep swimming.

“No?” the nurse frowns.

“I need to find Chris,” he manages to get out. “Christopher Diaz. Did he come here?” Now that he’s close to getting a possible answer, adrenaline courses through his veins, propping him up enough to make it through this.

The nurse checks the papers. Neither of them can know that Christopher is at that very same hospital already, just a few meters away, his name on a list, but one that has not gone around to be updated yet. “I don’t see him on here. You may wanna check over there at the black tent.”

Buck turns slowly to see what the nurse is talking about. The black tent he indicated is a sad place, with body-bags being filled every moment as more and more of the dead are counted. The harsh reality of a natural disaster made visible.

In turning to look at the black tent, he does not see less terrible aspects of a natural disaster. The people that made it through, the people that have found a loved one, instead of lost them. Like Bosko and Ronnie, and even Eddie and Athena.

Athena, who assures Eddie she’s okay as she scans him for injuries, by saying: “Not my blood.”

“Ronnie?” Bosko asks the form on the stretcher, eyes wide with horror. Eddie’s eyes instantly follow her, managing to add it not being Athena’s blood up to it then being Ronnie’s.

However, luck is on their side here, because Ronnie manages to open his eyes, smiling tiredly as he asks: “Bosko?”

“Y- Yeah, it’s me. Everyone’s okay, they’re all okay,” Bosko cries.

“Tha’s- Tha’s good,” Ronnie nods haphazardly.

Bosko sends Eddie and Athena a worried look and Eddie waves her away. He has new back up now in the form of Athena. Bosko needs be to with her Captain. She’s done more than enough for him. He has family in his corner now, Bosko should be backing her own family.

“What’s going on here?” Athena asks, catching on that something is wrong.

“She’s not letting me go back out there,” Eddie answers immediately as he points at the nurse. He feels a bit like a little kid, tattling to his mom, but he doesn’t care. “Buck is out there, ‘Thena. He’s out there and she won’t let him look for him.”

Understanding dawns on Athena’s face and she says: “Bobby said you’d be out there looking. You still haven’t found him?”

Eddie’s throat feels tight as he swallows and shakes his head. “No.” The weight of that word heavy in his stomach. It’s been a while since he’s run into anyone who’d seen Buck and he knows what that can mean, even if he doesn’t want to face it. It’s why he has to go back out there. Has to find him.

Athena closes her eyes for a moment, as if processing a hit. Eddie can relate to the feeling, he’s been feeling it for hours now. He feels like he failed Buck. Like he failed everyone. He has always sucked at being a husband, but at least it didn’t get Shannon killed.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Athena says, seeing it on his face. “He’s out there, you can’t give up.”

His lip wobbles and he feels like he’s drowning, like the water clawed its way up his legs and crawled down his throat, forcing itself into his lungs and into his skull, pushing at his eyes as it fills him, drowns him. With quiet voice, he confesses: “I love him. I love him and I never said and now I might never get to.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Athena sighs, pulling him in a hug.

Eddie buries his face in the crook of her neck. He lets himself teeter on the edge of breaking down, shaking silent sobs, but never letting a tear fall. It’s hard to step back from that ledge when you’re already tumbling down. However, he forces himself to step back, to suck it up and look Athena in the eyes as he implores: “I have to go find him.”

Athena meets his eyes for a moment, then nods, before barking at the nurse: “Why are you keeping this man here against his will?”

The nurse looks surprised by the turn of events as she explains: “We want to avoid people getting lost in the dark, those who make it to the collection points have to wait there until they can be evacuated. I can’t let him go out there until he’s with his unit, especially not with a child.”

“Give Chris here.”

“What?”

“Give him here, I’ll keep him safe and send you out with some of my people, tell them to let you go your own way. Or maybe help you, if you’d like,” she says.

Relief and gratitude wash over him at the offer and he quickly undoes the sling, moving Chris from his back to his hip, before setting him down on the ground. He kneels in front of him, draping the blanket around his shoulder as he says: “You heard that, mijo? You’re gonna stay with Athena, so I can find papi for us.”

“No,” Chris shakes his head stubbornly. Eddie pinky promised that they’d find papi. They as in the two of them. Chris isn’t just going to be left behind.

Much like his son, Buck is stubbornly refusing to take what he’s being told. “No. No. No.” Again he’s shaking his head in denial. That black tent can’t be where today ends. Buck just needs to keep searching, needs to keep going, keep swimming. Chris is out there, he has to be. He can’t have killed Chris. His own son. Eddie’s son. Their child. He refuses to believe it.

An empty void, an ache, claws at his insides. It feels as if the pit of his stomach has turned into a black hole, trying to suck his entire being into it. He cannot continue to exist if Chris is truly dead. If Buck truly killed him. He- He just can’t.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” the nurse says sympathetically. However, it’s clearly not the first time he’s had to break terrible news to someone today.

“No!” Buck doesn’t want to believe it. Chris isn’t on the list. He’s not on there. They might have a list of the dead, but Chris isn’t there and until he sees Chris’s body, he’s not going to believe it. He refuses.

With almost inhuman willpower, he forces himself up. Up and moving. He can’t stop yet. He has to keep swimming. He has to get back out there. He was weak moments ago, but not now, not as he shrugs off the hand that tries to stop him.

“Sir. Sir! I can’t let you leave again,” the nurse protests as he grabs at Buck’s shirt to stop him, but Buck just keeps walking.

“Papi?” Chris’s voice interrupts Eddie’s patient explanation as to why Chris can’t come with him, no matter how badly they both want to.

The switch of his tone is enough for Eddie to pause, then he hears Buck’s voice and his head whips around as he practically gives himself whiplash.

Behind them, Buck in the middle of a commotion. There’s a nurse pulling at him and telling him to stop, while Buck stubbornly tries to walk on, walk back out into the dark.

Buck shouldn’t be standing. His face is all scratched up and there are multiple cuts on his arms bleeding sluggishly. To not even mention the way he keeps nearly buckling, nearly tilting over, even as he puts up a fight.

Despite it all, he looks like a mirage in the desert to Eddie, like a hero from the tales of old, persevering in the face of impossible odds.

Then it hits him that Buck is there. That he found him. That he is about to slip through his fingers once more, because he is absolutely winning that fight. The thought is enough to jolt him into action, calling out: “Buck! Buck!” Athena has Chris, he needs to run now, before Buck is gone. Before he loses him once more.

The yells don’t register. Buck is so focused on getting to the exit, getting out of here, shaking this weight, so he can keep going, keep swimming. So, he’s completely taken by surprise when a weight smashes into him from the side.

He lets out a groan as he is unbalanced. For a moment, he thinks he is being tackled, but whoever hit him is spinning so he can take Buck’s weight. Then the smell hits him. It’s waterlogged and the sweat scent is stronger than usual, however it’s unmistakably Eddie. It’s home.

His senses refocus and he can feel Eddie’s arms around him, hugging him tightly, the mop of brown hair right under his nose, as Eddie says: “Oh my god, I’m so glad I found you. I found you. You’re here. I got you.”

Buck feels frozen. He wants to melt into Eddie, wants to tuck himself into this bit of warmth, this bit of comfort. Today has been the worst day of his life and all he wants is the shelter Eddie has always offered him. The safety.

But how can he? How can he let Eddie comfort him, when he lost their son?

“Eddie…” he starts with no clue how to go on. His vision blurring and throat tightening until noise becomes almost too difficult.

“Buck?” Eddie asks, looking worried as he pulls back to take a better look at him.

He doesn’t deserve that worry, not with what he’s done. Eddie must not know, must not have realized what his presence here means. He’s in his firefighter uniform. He’s probably been out there helping people, oblivious to what has happened.

Right now, the choice to let Eddie do his job while Buck did his, seems monumentally stupid. He is not ready to break this news to Eddie. He probably never will be. However, he can’t keep this to himself, not for his own comfort. Eddie deserves to know. It will break them forever, but Buck is slowly starting to realize this might be something he can’t fix, because how do you fix the death of your child?

Buck takes a deep breath and says: “Eddie… We, uhm- me and Christopher, we were at the- the beach and, uhm- and listen to me, okay? I swear to you, okay, I tried. And I just- but I- Eddie. I- I don’t know how to say this, but I- I lost him.” His voice breaks and tears start up as he gasps: “I lost our son.”

Eddie is shaking his head and Buck knows the feeling. He also didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. It’s what happened. It’s not until he said it, until he’s looked Eddie in the eyes and said it that it became real.

Chris is gone.

Their son is gone.

Grief hits him hard and he has to look away, but Eddie doesn’t let him. There’s a hand on his cheek, on his face and Eddie is forcing him to look him in the eye. Buck screws his eyes shut, not wanting to see the blame, the anger.

However, Eddie’s voice is gentle as he says: “Buck. Buck, look at me. You didn’t lose him. I got him, okay? I got him, you didn’t lose him. You saved him.”

Buck doesn’t believe it, eyes snapping open, but Eddie looks to be truthful and indeed, he can hear a voice that can’t belong to anyone other than Chris call out: “Papi! Papi!”

“Chris? Christopher,” Buck calls back, frantically looking around before he spots Athena coming up behind Eddie, carrying Chris in her arms.

Eddie steps to the side, never breaking the contact with Buck, just shifting so he can take Buck’s weight, while he moves to meet Chris in the middle.

Athena hands Chris over to Eddie, who immediately makes sure Buck can reach him. The two of them falling each other in the arms as it becomes a group hug. Chris’s curls are dry since so much time has passed, still smelling like he used to do as toddler, even if it’s buried under the smell of dirty sea water.

“Oh my god, Chris,” Buck cries, tears rolling down his face and into Chris’s hair as he weeps, hands gripping the back of both Eddie’s and Chris’s shirts so tightly. He never wants to let this moment go, never. He’s never been so relieved before. It doesn’t matter what has happened before right now, because he gets to hold his family again.

“Papi, we found you. We saved you like you saved me,” Chris says, excitedly and proud.

“You did, Superman, you did,” Buck smiles through his tears. It leaves him weak in the knees and he officially buckles as today finally catches up with hi,

Eddie makes sure to soften his descent, holding him closely as he lowers the three of them to the ground. If he weren’t so exhausted, he would be more obsessed with how strong Eddie is that he takes both their weight easily and controlled, even after what must have been a heavy day.

They end up on the ground with Buck sitting sideways between Eddie’s legs, leaning against his chest to stay upright. Chris is more on Buck’s lap than Eddie’s at this point. It shouldn’t be, but it’s the most comfortable Buck has felt all day.

“I got you,” Eddie promises and Buck swears he feels a brush of Eddie’s lips over his forehead when he does.

Though, it must be the exhaustion that overtakes him, because he starts to pass out. Still, the words – however imagined they may be – knit the skin of his heart together. He didn’t break this beyond repair and that brings a lightness to him, even if he only manages a crooked grin as he mumbles: “I know, you always got me,” and then he’s out.

When Buck goes slack in his arms, Eddie’s heart stops for a second, but then he feels puffs of breath against his neck. So when Chris gives him big worried eyes and asks: “Is papi okay?” he says: “Papi’s gonna be okay. We got him. Can you get off or do you need help?”

“I got him,” Bobby’s voice is suddenly next to them, picking Chris up after getting a nod from the boy.

“Cap?” Eddie can’t help but say, not having heard or seen them arrive, however, when he looks, the whole 118 is there.

“He was really out there?” Hen says with a concerned frown. “I mean, I know we’ve been looking, but it didn’t feel real.”

“Yeah, and I need a stretcher, right now,” Eddie calls out. He doesn’t have time to catch up with them. Buck needs him, Buck trusts Eddie to have him. He’s not going to let him down. Not again, never again.

Like professionals, Hen and Chimney spring into action as Eddie calls out orders for them to get a drip for Buck; fluids to replenish what he lost and antibiotics, he’s been out there in the filth with open wounds. There is no stretcher available, but there is a bed for Eddie to carry him to.

Despite not usually being the paramedic, the other two let Eddie push them out of the way as he does it all by himself. They give him some looks, but Eddie doesn’t doubt Bobby recounted his breakdown at the engine of the 136 to them. So they must know something about his state.

He’s probably also being obvious, but he doesn’t care. He almost lost Buck today, he’s never going to let him go, not without letting him know how sorry he is for running and how much Buck means to him. How much he loves him.

Eddie has been running, but trying to find a way back. To have a natural disaster push them back into each other’s orbit feels like a sign. If Eddie is ever going to believe in the universe, it will be because of this, because it gave Buck back to him, because it didn’t make someone he loves leave him again.

Pretty soon, Eddie got Buck hooked up and sleeping on a cot. He is efficient and good at his job and he does nothing but the best for his Buck.

With the work done, Eddie feels his own exhaustion catch up with him. So, he has collapsed onto the chair next to Buck’s bed, his hand in his own, Chris now on this lap. Together they watch Buck sleep.

To assure Chris, Eddie says: “Papi is sleeping like he was in the hospital, remember that, mijo? He had to rest so he could get better.”

“Yeah, he had to sleep for forever,” Chris nods. “It was so boring.”

Eddie snorts, then agrees: “Yeah, it was kinda boring, wasn’t it. But we’re gonna let him sleep, right?”

“Of course,” Chris says very seriously. Then he yawns and mumbles: “But only because I’m maybe a little sleepy too. He’s not allowed to be boring forever.”

“He won’t,” Eddie laughs, kissing the top of Chris’s head as he softly says: “Go to sleep, Chris. I’ll watch over him.”

“Alright, daddy, wake me up if papi does?” Chris ask.

“I will,” Eddie promises.

Chris drops off within seconds. It seems like that is the signal the others have been waiting for, because they move closer from where they’ve been hovering. Bobby speaks first: “Seems like you found him.”

“I did,” Eddie says cautiously.

“Seems like you followed my orders,” Bobby says, giving him a slightly mischievous look, as if he knows Eddie didn’t in the slightest.

Some of Eddie’s nerves settle at that and he grins. “I did. Bosko’s here too. Don’t say you doubted me?”

“Never,” Bobby tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s joking around anymore. Like he genuinely never doubted Eddie. It feels weirdly nice to be trusted like that, even when he knows he doesn’t really deserve it with how he fucked up these past few months.

Hen checks Buck over, Eddie doesn’t take offense, he keeps his fingers on Buck’s pulse to assure himself he’s okay. She looks up at Eddie and asks again: “Was he really out there all day?”

Eddie’s face darkens as he remembers today and he nods. “He was. Must have pulled at least two dozen people out the rubble or to safety on the way. I don’t know how he did it. A hospital’s gonna need to take a look at that leg again.”

“Guess he probably won’t be re-certifying in a month,” Chimney grimaces in sympathy.

“God, he’s gonna hate that,” Hen also sympathizes. “Pretty sure he was climbing the walls with the need to do something. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Chimney asks incredulously.

“I haven’t been home in two weeks,” Eddie says, unsure why he’s suddenly confessing all this. He can’t even look any of them in the eye, just staring holes in Buck’s forehead, to where one of his curls is sticking to it. He should straighten that out.

“What?” Hen chokes.

“You’re in the dog house, Diaz?” Chimney asks.

“I fucked up and I ran,” Eddie says with shame, before determination hardens him again. “But I’m gonna make it right. I’m not going to fuck up like that again. I’m doing better now. I just needed to get back and now I’m back.”

He misses the way everyone exchanges looks behind them. All of them have their own theories about what’s going on, however, this isn’t the moment to prod or push. So, Chimney breaks the moment by clearing his throat and saying: “I’m gonna call Maddie, tell her we found him.”

“Good idea,” Bobby says. “I’ll call the Chief, explain why I’m sending you home and getting some transport for Buck. He needs care for that leg.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, meaning more than just the organization of right now.

Soon, he finds himself carrying a sleeping Chris on one hip, before carrying an equally unconscious Buck into the back of a van. No ambulance, because they can’t spare one, definitely not an air lift, because thankfully he’s not critical enough for that, but a van is already pretty good.

However, a van means it jolts more than an ambulance, especially with how rough the terrain is in the aftermath of a tsunami. So when there is a particularly hard bump, Buck blearily opens his eyes, not fully conscious, but not unconscious either.

Like the stubborn, lovable dumbass he is, he starts to get up, groaning something about needing to find Chris and needing to keep swimming.

“You found Chris,” Eddie assures him, letting go of Buck’s hand so he can push him back down, before he hurts himself. “Look, here. Chris is safe. Rest, Buck.”

“Christopher,” Buck says with a relieved smile when he spots Chris.

“Yeah, Christopher,” Eddie confirms, his heart bursting with love and affection. It’s probably written all over his face, but he can’t push it down, even if he wanted to.

Buck now looks at him, face clearing up as he exclaims: “Eddie! You’re here. You came back.”

“I did,” Eddie says, heart wrenching slightly at how awed Buck sounds when he says that. “And I’m never going to leave you again,” he adds, because he can never let Buck doubt that again.

“You promise?” Buck asks, vulnerable edge to his voice.

“I promise,” Eddie says, feeling equally vulnerable. It makes him a little uncomfortable, laying himself bare like that, so he jabs: “You’re stuck with me, Buckley. Married me and everything. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good. Don’t ever want to be rid of you,” Buck tells him with a goofy smile.

Eddie can feel the blush color his cheeks at that. He doesn’t know what that means yet, but it makes him feels warm and fuzzy inside. That horrible crush – deep love, but shush – creeping up on him and making him feel like a middle schooler writing his last name next to Buck’s and doodling hearts around it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to figure out how to react to that, because Buck slips back into unconsciousness immediately after.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop one of the elderly ladies they’re sharing the van to wistfully comment: “Och, young love,” which makes Eddie’s ear burn. It’s going to be a long drive to the hospital.

~~

A/N:

No, confession, I know, boooo, but I wanted to keep it a Chris moment, because that scene in canon rips me to shreds every single time and then it didn’t fit with the vibes.

However, fear not, the slow burn is almost a flame! (would be kind of rough if it wasn’t with only three more chapters to go, but still). Let’s see if Eddie can keep up that talking streak when outside a disaster zone xp

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Hello again, welcome back to this humble little- whatever. Week five is here, and I just spent the weekend writing nonstop for this fic- there is much much more waiting for you guys in the future :) Special thanks to my bestie, @djosfavewig who will always be the first to know what happens, before it even does. Now, let’s read.

Currently Reading: Part Five

Masterlist

It starts with Nancy, she begins the story from where it starts. Retelling what you had learned from Steve and the kids, only this time with more attention to details that you hadn’t heard before, it’s only a summarized version, but it’s enough to give you a better idea- and enough for Victor to form his own view.

Then, when she finishes, you take over, from the point that you’ve been present. You tell Victor about Chrissy, letting Nancy speak about Fred, then you come back to tell him about Eddie running, how you found him. You tell him about searching for evidence, the school therapists office, then Max’s experience.

“When he attacks, our friend described it as a trance.” You recall what Eddie had said about what he had witnessed in the trailer, trying to remember what you had read from the papers as well. “Like a waking nightmare. What’s why we think he’s coming for her next. Does any of this, anything we’ve told you, sound like what happened to your family?”

“Victor?” Nancy prompts when he’s quiet too long. “I know this is hard-”

“You don’t know anything!” He yells and the echo of it rings, it continues in your mind even when it’s gone.

“You’re right.” You say, keeping your voice quiet, soft, trying to ease his nerves even as you struggle to maintain your own. “We don’t know. That’s why we’re here. To learn, to understand.”

“We need to know how you survived that night.” Robin says.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more terrifying than humorous. “Survived? Is that what you call this? Did I survive? No, I assure you, I am still very much in hell.”

When he speaks, he reminisces. Its slow, a memory coming to mind that’s not too far gone, one that he thinks of often, maybe even always. A soft smile forms on his lips, out of place with the scars, but whist full.

“I had been back from the war, some fourteen years. Her great uncle had died, leaving us a small fortune. Enough to buy a new home.” He says. “A new life. It was…a magnificent home. Alice said it looked like it was from a fairy tale.”

“Alice? Was this your daughter?” You ask him, hoping that he doesn’t take it as a hostile sign.

“Mhm, yeah.” He nods, and his smile falters as he continues, a happy memory tainted. “But Henry, my…my boy, he was a sensitive child. And I could see he felt something was wrong. We had one month of peace in that house. And then it began. Dead animals. Mutilated, tortured, began to appear near our home. Rabbits, squirrels, chickens, even dogs. The police chief blamed the attacks on a wildcat. This, this was no wild cat. This was an evil. And evil neither animal nor human. This was a spawn of Satan- A demon. And it was even closer than I realized.”

“My family began to have encounters, conjured by this demon. Nightmares. Walking, living nightmares.” The way he reuses your phrase, it solidifies your belief in him, in the evil you’ve become entangled with, the evil you are now attempting to fight. “This demon, it seemed to take pleasure in tormenting us. Even poor, innocent Alice. It wasn’t long before I began to have encounters of my own. I suppose, all evil must have a home. And though I had not a rational explanation for it, I…I could sense this demon. Always close. I became convinced it was hiding, nesting, somewhere within the shadows of our home. It had cursed our town. It had cursed our home. It had cursed us.”

He drops down onto his cot, defeated.

“It took Virginia first. I tried to get the children out- to save them. But…I was back to France. Back in the war. It was a memory, I had thought German soldiers were inside. I ordered its shelling. I was wrong. This demon, it was taunting me, and I was sure it would take me, just as he’d taken my Virginia. But then- I heard another voice.”

He removes his hands from where he had been covering his ears to shield himself from the dark parts of his memory. “At first, I believed it was an angel. And then I followed her. Only to find myself in a nightmare far worse. While I was away, the demon took my children. Henry slipped into a coma shortly after that. A week later he died.”

The crying starts, and it’s horrible, bad enough you have to tighten your fists and dig your nails into your already bruised palms.

“I tried to join them. I tried. Hatch stopped the bleeding. He wouldn’t let me join them!” He’s sobbing now, curled into his cot with his head against the striped pillow.

“The angel you followed…” You ask, though he might be too far gone. “Who was she?”

He doesn’t answer, confirming your suspicions by humming a song, rocking back and forth in the cot in a way that only the most broken man would. Nancy seems not to realize, attempting to try again, calling his name several times louder each- until the cell door at the end of the hall slams open and makes you all jump.

“Is he everything you hoped he would be?” Dr. Hatch yells down the tunnel, in a sinister voice that tells you he’s found out everything you tried to hide in order to get here. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Professor Brantley. Perhaps we should discuss it in my office, while we wait for the police.”

Security removes you, forcing the three of you out of the cell while Dr. Hatch yells, storming ahead to lead you back out of the cells and through the asylum.

Nancy begins to spill everything, about Eddie, Max, and every little detail that her mind can pull up and spit out- and if you weren’t in your own head trying to organize your plan to escape- you would be telling her to shut the fuck up.

They take you through the building and back into the listening room- where your eyes linger on the patients listening to music.

Debussy.

Etta James.

Elvis.

Brenda Lee.

Beethoven.

They shove you out of the room, Robin yells at the guard who had physically pushed her, and you follow quickly. As soon as you’re out of the doors, into the grounds of the inner courtyards and gardens, she pulls you and Nancy close.

“Victor said the night of the attack, everything went on in the house.” She whispers in a hurried manner, eyes darting up to make sure the guards and Hutch don’t hear. “But he made specific mention of music. He said music was playing- and then when we asked him about the Angel? He started to hum-‘Say nighty-night and kiss me, Hold me tight and tell me you miss me-‘”

“Dream a Little Dream of Me.” You remember the title of the song immediately, having listened to it growing up, the radio always on at home as a child. “Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Voice of an Angel.” Nancy says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods, glad that everyone follows her line of thought.

“Hatch said that music can reach parts of the brain that words can’t.” You say, walking briskly beside them, eyes scanning the grounds of the asylum, counting staff members and patients.

Robin nods again, her voice raising slightly, but not enough to alarm the guards. “So maybe that’s the key. A lifeline.”

“A lifeline back to reality.” Nancy mutters.

“It’s worth a shot.” Robin says.

Carefully, you look over your shoulder, at the guards. There are maybe two yards behind, they leave a gap large enough to take a few minutes to close if you run at the right time. They could get you, but only if they expect it and predict your movements beforehand.

“I think we can beat him.” You whisper.

“What?” Robin gives you a concerned look.

“To the car.” You say, ignoring the look Nancy shoots you.

“Okay, I’m warning you right now. I have terrible coordination.” Robin stresses. “Like, it took me six months longer to walk than all the other babies-”

“Just follow my lead.”

Before she can object, you sprint. You can hear her yelling, but she and Nancy fall right into step beside you- the guard quickly realizing and chasing behind them.

The grass is soft, but the ground beneath is firm enough to keep you from tripping. The patients watch with wide eyes, the staff slowly clueing in and rushing forward to catch you. But you run, as fast as you can, as far as you can and then further. Your sides burn, your lungs acting fast in the sudden burst of adrenaline- your heart doubling its natural rate, but you keep going until you’ve lost your shoes and run through the open gates.

The car is unlocked, and you silently thank God that Nancy hadn’t locked the doors before the meeting. The three of you climb in, and are almost immediately met with pounding fists on the windows. Nancy starts the car quickly, Robin yells, and you curse as you scramble for the radio that a familiar noise comes in and out. Static and Dustin’s frantic voice.

“Robin where the hell are you? This is a code red! I repeat, a code red!”

Finally finding it, you extend the antenna and press the button. “Dustin- It’s me. We copy.”

“Holy shit, finally!” His voice filters in immediately. “Please, please tell me you guys have this figured out.”

“What’s happening?” You have to yell over him, hoping he’d listen. “Dustin tell me what the hell is happening right now.”

“He’s got her- She’s- fuck.” The desperation in his voice hurts and you can’t do anything but talk. “What do we do? Tell me you found out something before-”

“Music.” You tell him.

“What? We need-”

“I can’t explain it now. Music, Dustin. Her favorite song, okay? Something that she loves that has meaning!” You speak as fast as you can, Robin yelling for Nancy to drive faster and your heart racing. “Just do it, okay! Her headphones. Get them and play a fucking song.”

“Okay.” He sounds stricken, and the line falls into static, a sign you hope means he’s doing what you hope will save her.

“Is she okay?” Robin asks frantically. “She has to be okay, right? The music? Fuck the music has to work- if it doesn’t-”

“It’ll work.” You tell her, louder than you meant to be but you can’t handle it, not while you have no clue what is happening or where they are. “It will work.”

It might take minutes, hours or maybe only seconds. All you know is that you can’t ease the tension in your body, you’re sitting up, knee bouncing, and staring out the window. Your hands are clutching the radio waiting for a signal. Nancy speeds away from the asylum, and eventually finds a rural road to start heading back home. Robin is chattering nervously, her hands tapping against her legs. None of you attempt to comfort each other, because there is no comfort to give.

Between the three of you, the car is overwhelmed with anxiety and anticipation. Not a single one of you knows that to do or say, and once Robin no longer has breath…It's silent.

The noise of the road is loud in your ears, mingling with the memory of Victor’s humming, the tune of his song stuck in your head like a spinning record, broken, repeating the same segment.

One, two, four clicks later- still no answer from Dustin. Not a single second of static from his end, not a yell, or a cry.

Nothing.

It will work. It has to work.

Even when Robin takes the radio, attempting to call for a response herself, you sit there waiting and listening. All you need is a voice. Dustin, Max, Steve. You need someone to tell you is she alright or is she…is she alright?

No answers. Not the first or the fifth time she tries. And then Nancy takes it, one hand on the wheel while the other holds the radio. No answers for her either.

Eventually, the radio is set on the dash, sitting in the sunlight as you speed down the road toward Hawkins. You count the street signs, watching the mile markers as you get closer. You're passing the sign reading eighteen miles to town, when the radio finally makes a sound.

Dustin’s voice comes in, quiet, no longer yelling for answers he doesn’t know exist. Robin is the one to pick it up, asks him what happened. And he tells her. She’s alright, she’s sleeping it off now in Steve’s car. They’re heading back to the wheelers.

She’s alright.

====

A loud sound wakes you. Your eyes open slowly, still blurry with sleep. It takes a moment to register that the sound is radio static and a familiar voice coming through.

Sitting up carefully, you make sure not to bump into Steve’s legs, where he’s curled in a seemingly uncomfortable way in an armchair, the same position he had been asleep in when you arrived last night. You search the floor for the radio, before realizing that it’s behind Dustin’s head on the TV stand. Reaching for the radio, you take it and carry it away from the others, who are still sleeping.

In your half asleep state, you press the button in the middle of Eddie trying to reach someone on the other end. “It’s way too early for this, Ed.”

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” His voice lightens when he finally receives an answer. “Um, I'm gonna need a food delivery. Like really soon, unless you want me going out into the world-”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that.” You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “Just stay where you are and we’ll be there as soon as we can, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He responds quickly, barely giving you time to finish. “Listen, um, can you pick me up a six-pack? I know it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves-”

Behind you, you hear the sound of Nancy arguing with somebody. “Hey, hold on. I’m gonna have to call you back-” Eddie starts to protest, but you set the radio aside and hurry back in time to see Nancy shaking Dustin awake. “What’s going on?”

She ignores you, speaking directly to a startled Dustin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on Max watch?”

“Yup, yup, yup- Sorry-”Dustin rubs his eyes, still not completely aware of the empty sofa you’re now staring at.

“Where is she?” She asks.

“She’s right there-” He freezes. “A second ago- I swear, I just dozed off for…an hour.”

“Hold on guys-” You try to reason with them, but before either can listen, they shoot up the basement steps to search for her. “Or don’t. That’s a choice too.”

A creaking behind you makes you turn, your eyes landing on a disgruntled Steve Harrington waking up and shifting in the too small armchair, untangling himself.

“That’s what all this noise is about?” He asks groggily, his voice deeper than normal and his eyes squinted as he grunts, stretching his arms. “Max went upstairs like, thirty minutes ago.”

“Alone?” You ask, dropping onto the now empty sofa and refraining from shutting your eyes, still tired.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s up there with her. Making breakfast.” He runs a hand through disheveled hair, somehow making it sit more perfectly than should be possible. “Are you…wearing new clothes?”

“Sleepover, remember?” You gesture lazily towards your discarded backpack. “I brought a few changes of clothes.”

He hums, his eyes lowering to his two days old shirt and the jeans he’d slept in. For a while you sit in silence, both of you still trying to wake up, or maybe just unsure of what to say. But it’s not unpleasant, rather, it’s the opposite.

When he looks up again, his eyes hold yours, and you find that he’s sharing the same feeling. It’s easy to tell that both of you are tired, and comfortable. Here, beside him, you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t in days. Maybe it’s the quiet slowness of the morning, or the fact that you’re alone, save for the sleeping bodies of Lucas and Robin. And for a while, you both embrace the stillness. But like most things, it only lasts so long.

It’s been over twenty four hours since you’ve decided to be upset with him. And in that time, you’ve lost reason to care about it anymore, there’s not an ounce of you that wants to be upset. It’s long faded- but you still feel a wave of something like relief when he brings it to light again.

“I don’t think it’s his fault.”

You ask, sitting up. “What?”

“Eddie. I don’t think he caused this.” He says, his voice kept low and his eyes not leaving yours, holding them captive without trying. “I don’t think that he killed Chrissy.”

“He didn’t.” You look down at your hands, unable to hold his gaze, whether or not you’re greatful to hear what he’s admitting.

He says your name, and it’s almost too much to hear him say it in this context. Your voices are little more than whispers, trying not to wake the others, but it’s like he says it through cupped hands- loud and demanding your attention.

He doesn’t get a chance to continue.

“We’ve got something.” Nancy comes down the steps first, interrupting with a stack of papers in her hand, Max and Dustin right behind. They quickly wake the others, nearly scaring the shit out of Lucas and making Robin yelp.

“What do you mean?” Steve stands, and Robin clumsily clears the coffee table she had been sleeping on, dazed from her sudden wake. “What have you got?”

Nancy and Max begin to pay out the papers, page by page. They connect lines, the scribbled marks coming together like a spider's web. They continue through each page, fitting broken images together until everything aligns.

“What’s this?” You trace your fingers over the lines, frowning at the distorted images. “A map?”

“Almost.” Max says, taking creased pages and beginning to fold them, red and black shapes being manipulated into something else. “I saw this during… At first I thought it was a random mess, like an upside down junkyard. Everything was disconnected and in ruins, torn apart and separated, but it’s not random, it’s all pieces of the same place.”

Steve leans closer, looking down at the pages as Lucas and Robin crowd around. “Where?”

Slowly, she starts to arrange the folded pieces, Nancy helping to match the lines and shapes together. At first, it looks like nothing, but it’s familiar to you. Then, before the image is fully formed, it clicks into place within your memory. You take in a sharp breath, startling the people around you. “The Creel house.”

“What-” Robin gasps, her eyes wide as Nancy lays the last piece, the stained glass door. “Shit.”

“That’s where we need to go next.” Max says, her eyes locked onto the image. “We need to go there and look for something, anything that could be useful. A clue to give us more time or-”

“A cure.” Lucas says, tapping the papers. “If we get there, we can look for a cure. Then you’ll be safe, Max. We can get you the hell away from all this shit, away from Vecna.”

“Lucas-” Dustin attempts to slow him down, but he ignores it.

“A cure.” He says again, sounding nearly distraught. “We can get her out of it, guys. Once she’s safe we can figure out how to take him down, but if this place can fix her-”

“Fix me?” Max cuts him off.

Lucas freezes, stumbling over his words when he tries to recover. “Not fix you. Fix this. If we can fix everything, then it’ll all be over. But a cure-”

“And what if there’s not a cure?” She asks, her voice raised enough that you take half a step back. “What if instead of a cure, I die? What if we find out that I’m going to end up like Victor? If that happens, you still have to defeat Vecna! You still have to figure out how to stop him, so that no one else dies.”

“Max-” Steve speaks to her gently, his hand hovering a few inches from her shoulder, careful.

“No, Steve.” She snaps her head up to him, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you see the pain in her eyes.

They’re red, her cheeks flushed with the same color, and tears threatening to fall. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger and sadness showing straight through her face. Her voice begins to shake, her hands flexing as she tries to hold herself together. The headphones around her neck sit there as a reminder, of what she’s close to.

“We don’t know what will happen when we get there, but we have to go, okay?” She’s looking at him while she speaks, but she directs it towards everyone in the room. “He needs to hear it- because it’s true. If I die, you need to keep going. You can’t stop, got it? Find out how to kill him, because you fucking have to-”

Steve's hand settles on her shoulder just as the first tear falls, her face crumbling with it. He hushes her, pulling her into his chest and down into the armchair. You can’t see it, because he keeps her face shielded, but you know. You know that she’s crying, her breathing too shallow, even if she falls silent while she cries. She doesn’t sob, she doesn’t yell anymore, she just stays there- and it’s enough.

Nancy clears away the papers, Robin helps her and they step away to talk. Dustin slowly moves across the room when the radio starts to go off again with Eddie’s voice. And Lucas…Lucas doesn’t move. His attention is not once taken off of Max where she’s curled into Steve’s embrace. And you realize that you can’t move either.

For three days, you’ve been involved with them. You’ve only known them for that long, and yet it feels like you’ve always known them. Every problem, you feel you need to help solve. Their triumphs are yours, and their pain…you feel it, every little bit of it. And some moments it seems like everyone is on the same page, because they’re all fighting the same evil. But now, when you look at them, you see that they’re children.

Max, she’s only fourteen. She’s facing a fate worse that anything you can imagine, she’s forced to fear every second- whether she can spare them or not. And now, even while she’s crying, she’s fighting for herself and everyone else. She doesn't deserve it at all, and you wish you could stop it. You wish that you could take all the fear and pain from her, and save her from this monster and every other one that’s looming over.

But you can’t, not now, without knowing how to. And it tears you up, this girl you had met only days ago, that you can’t help her yet. That you don’t know how to, or if you’ll even be able to. It weighs on you, clouding your head with what ifs and wishes you can’t hope for. Things that you never hope to feel again, after everything is over. And it only worsens when you look at Steve.

Only a few years older, Steve is taking responsibility. You can see it in everything he does. He might complain, but he wouldn’t ever leave them when he’s needed. He would never let them be lost, even if it means he has to pretend to know the way. He’s here, holding Max as she cries, as if she’s his responsibility. Because to him, she is. To him, each of the kids, even Robin and Nancy, are under his watch. He doesn’t expect anything from them, and part of you thinks he wouldn’t accept it.

He’s strong, you know it. You see it in the way he talks to her, quietly, trying to sooth her. It’s evident in the way he acts without being asked, in the way he wants to do anything he can. And most of all, it’s in the way he’s able to comfort her while he looks as though he himself might break.

The way his eyes water is nearly impossible to notice. The way his hands tremble on her shoulders, as he rubs her back. The way he has to pause every few seconds to take a deep breath, to keep his voice from becoming unsteady, because he has to stay strong for her.

And it burns a hole in your chest, watching it all unfold, being witness to the unnoticed. But you can’t look away, you won’t, because when it ends, you will be here if they need you.

Because, you have to be.