#whoops tag vomiting

[faggottonystark]

mom i frew up😭

[serenanymph]

nine people I'd like to get to know better

thanks for the tag, @mister-writes! gonna tag uhhh @writingamongther0ses, @faytelumos, @halfbit, @digitalsatyr23, @thatndginger, @aziz-reads, @toribookworm22, @scribbling-stardust and @e-klair (no pressure ofc!!)

last song: baumkuchen end by eve!

fav color: honestly I like most shades of blue but there isn't one that stands out in particular

last tv show/movie: I just started watching the pjo tv series today! I've only watched two eps but it's really good so far

spicy/sweet/savory?: I'd say sweet and savory are pretty evenly tied, but I have a low spice tolerance

relationship status: single

last thing I googled: is this in general or for writing? because the last thing I googled in general was about a game I was downloading, but for writing I think it might've been something about crows. I've been reading a lot about crows recently

[arbitrarygreay]

Continuing to try to put into words why Sanctuary's episodes are markedly different from WH13 and Eureka's, despite the surface level genre show elements they all share. And I think that it comes down to the fact that Sanctuary doesn't have much of an episodic structural formula, as most of their episodes are high-concept and relatively more unified. Eureka (especially as it goes on) develops a strong episodic structural formula (science project goes wrong, the cast investigates, gets caught up in the effects, a red herring cause/solution, project goes catastrophic, Jack has to physically implement a solution while accounting for additional obstacles caused by the project intensifying). Even when it does have your usual high-concept premises (bodyswaps, characters get stuck to an emotion, etc.), they exist within the framework of this formula. Warehouse 13 does not adhere to a structural formula much. Every episode is an artifact hunt, but the shape of those investigations varies quite a bit from episode to episode. In addition, the artifact's effects don't always dominate the plotting, especially as the show often has multiple storylines going on. Per my previous post, this doesn't matter in the watching of the show because the cast chemistry carries the day, but it does mean that the show doesn't carry a legacy for its episodes as much (as opposed to individual sequences/scenes). And then, for both WH13 and Eureka, the episode plotting is mostly just a stage upon which the relationship stuff is played. Sanctuary, meanwhile, clearly doesn't have much in the way of planned long term thematic character arcs. At most, there's the slow increase in Will's leadership responsibilities. But there's no sense of "here is how the character should grow", especially not for Magnus, who self-actualized a long time before the show begins. Instead, each episode is a focused unified premise and tonal exercise, to which the characters are servicing. Character development is more of "here's another facet to the character the audience didn't know about before", rather than the traditional case of "and now the character changes because of the events of the episode", as is the case with Eureka and WH13. So, the episode plots aren't about facilitating a change in the characters, and it's more about looking at how they react to these specific situations. In Sanctuary, they pick a movie (a specific tone/atmosphere/setup) that they want to emulate, and then drop the main cast into that. "What does the character look like through e.g. a survival horror lens? How does the character act if they were in a film noir story?" One might also compare this to fanfiction that deliberately does not seek to emulate the source material. "Sanctuary is like browsing FIMFiction" the galaxy brain take lmao. Sanctuary also likes doing extreme focus on 1-2 characters going through an intense gauntlet (and if the other characters show up in the episode at all, only on the fringes). Isolated character showcases. Quite striking. They strip away any elements that would distract from the premise they are focused on. (Obviously Eureka and WH13 have examples of this kind of thing, but the point is that it's very noticeable when they do it, as it breaks from their usual formula/tone.) Something that really sticks in my mind is how Sanctuary aired a found-footage episode (S01E11 Instinct) in 2008, while Dr. Who wouldn't get around to theirs (S09E09 Sleep No More) until 2015.

[chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise]

i’ve got you

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

summary: an anxious Y/N feels overwhelmed while partying with the pogues at the boneyard, and JJ does his best to calm her nerves.

warning(s): underaged drinking, panic attack

a/n: a big thank you to anyone who enjoyed my last maybank!sister snippet. i hope to write a lot more for JJ in the future, so feel free to leave any requests if you have any specific ideas of what you’d like to read!

also please let me know if i should make these shorter. lol. i'm never sure.

Y/N screwed her eyes shut, trying and failing to keep her hands from trembling as they dented her red solo cup. Her heart was beating so fast that her head could barely keep up, the loud music and sweaty bodies that enclosed her doing nothing to ease her mind.

It was a picturesque summer night out in the boneyard, which of course meant that the Pogues just had to have a kegger. Y/N had grown used to the routine by then, tagging along as they went out to buy the keg and an insane amount of plastic cups that Kie always complained she found littered all over the beach the morning after. Y/N typically helped in the prep for whatever wild evening lay ahead, and had even served as a DD the few times that the Pogues got plastered enough to willingly allow a 15-year-old to drive the Twinkie. However, despite her brother's constant pleading and nagging, she'd never actually attended one of their infamous beach parties.

At least, not until tonight.

Y/N had always been shy, the complete opposite of her elder brother and all of his wild impulsivity. She hated big crowds and loud noises, and even though she would occasionally drink one while out on the Pogue, she wasn't even the biggest fan of beer. But JJ had begged her to join them all day long, poking and prodding at her nerves in his attempts to finally get his baby sister out of her shell.

"Come on, Y/N. You really wanna spend the rest of your life cooped up in the chateau?" he'd said dramatically, throwing his hands up in desperation. "You really oughtta live a little sometime."

You really oughtta live a little sometime.

His words had haunted her well into the evening, and at the last minute she'd finally decided to bite the bullet. JJ was right, after all. While most kids her age were busy making memories and taking risks, she spent her evenings curled up with a book in her lap.

Sure, it wouldn't be the most comfortable experience, but what was the worst that could happen? After all, like her brother always said, stupid things had good outcomes all the time.

She made a mental note to correct JJ on that stupid motto as someone pushed past her, blowing chunks into the bushes only a few feet away from rigid form.

Y/N covered her nose, averting her gaze just in time to notice a familiar head of blond hair breaking through the mess of bodies whooping and grinding on one another.

"Holy shit!" JJ hollered wildly, dimples painfully visible in his state of drunken bliss. "Tom, that's some gnarly shit, man! Trust me, you're gonna feel that tomorrow." He gave the boy a pat on the back as he retched, though thankfully the steady stream of vomit had ended.

Y/N only stood and watched. It was clear that JJ hadn't seen her, but maybe that was for the best. The last thing she wanted was to ruin his night.

"Yo, Y/N/N!"

Too late.

JJ made his way over in sloppy strides, and Y/N turned up her nose at the stench of alcohol clinging to him. He pulled her into him with an arm slung over her shoulders.

"Hi, Jay." Y/N hoped her brother was drunk enough not to notice the tremble in her voice.

"Where'd you go, kid? I've been looking for you all night." He was leaning on her now, gleefully unaware as he slowly crushed her beneath his weight. Y/N groaned with the effort it took to keep her brother upright, struggling not to remind him that it was in fact he who left her to do some shots and never returned.

"Yeah I was . . . I was j-just--"

"Shit, I didn't know you were drinking. That's my girl," he slurred with a wink, pointing at the cup Y/N was damn near close to dropping. It was all getting too much for her—JJ's weight boring into her side, the overwhelming stench of beer, the screaming mouths and dancing bodies slowly closing her in. She felt like a caged animal, her lungs tight and chest heavy.

"Hey, you seen Pope yet? I lost him an hour ago—saw him walk off with some blonde chick with a tramp stamp. Oh, you need a top-up? You should go now, 'm pretty sure the keg's getting low."

JJ continued to ramble on as Y/N crumbled underneath him, her eyes searching desperately for somewhere to go.

"Aw man, I love this song!" Y/N gasped as JJ began jerking her around, forcing her to sway back and forth with him. "Yo, Kurt! Turn that shit up bro!"

Y/N felt blood rushing to her ears, her hands growing clammy as her nerves took over. You're fine, she told herself. You're fine, you're fine. But it wasn't working—she couldn't hear herself think over the music blaring from the speakers.

"Come on, loosen up Y/N! Let's dance!"

"No!" Y/N reached her breaking point, escaping from beneath her brother's outstretched arm. JJ stumbled, just barely managing to catch himself and get a good look at the fear etched into Y/N's features.

"What? Y/N—" He held out a hand that she cringed away from, breathing raggedly as she did.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Y/N!" JJ called after her as she ran off, not knowing exactly where she was headed but intent on getting away. She wound up crouching behind a small hill across from the bustling core of the party, far enough away that the music finally fell to an acceptable volume.

Y/N brought her knees to chest and buried her face in them, fingers tugging at her hair as tears spilled from her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she be dumb enough to let JJ convince her that this would be a good idea? Y/N forced her breathing to slow as her chest tightened, coughing in her feeble attempts.

Y/N had listened to a few songs run their course by the time she managed to get a grip on herself, her breaths steadying as she counted eight-second inhales and eight-second exhales. Still Y/N rested her forehead against her knees, so dead-set on staying calm that she didn't notice the sound of JJ's footsteps in the sand.

"Hey." Y/N gasped, her head shooting upright as she scrambled to back away from whoever had found her. "Hey, calm down. It’s alright, Y/N." She sighed in relief when she recognized JJ's outline in the dark, her brother crouched before her shrunken form. "It's okay. Just me."

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"'S okay. Didn't mean to scare you." He awkwardly held out another cup to her, which she observed warily. "Don't worry, it’s just water. Figured it might help more than beer."

Y/N smiled, accepting JJ's peace offering gratefully. "You'd be right about that." She greedily drank it all in one gulp, only then realizing how dry her mouth had gotten. "Thanks, Jay."

"Least I could do, since I forced you to come her." Y/N sighed, noticing the guilt swimming in her brother's blue eyes.

"You didn't force me."

"Well, I might as well have."

"it's not your fault, JJ." He rested a comforting hand on her knee.

"Sure it is. I knew you didn't like this kind of scene and I dragged you here anyway." He ran his free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as regret consumed his intoxicated mind.

"It's okay." Y/N shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. JJ ruffled her hair. "Sorry I can't be a party animal like you."

"Ah, don't sweat it. Makes my job a lot easier, anyway." Y/N giggled, shoving him lightly, and JJ couldn't help but smile. "So, what's the plan? Want me to drive you home?"

Y/N scoffed. "I don't even think you could if you tried."

"Oh, Y/N," He teased her with a smile, "you severely underestimate my driving skills."

"And you severely overestimate my willingness to die." JJ chuckled at that. "Plus, who said I wanted to leave?"

"You’re gonna stay?'

"Yeah, why not? I mean, I've made myself a pretty comfy hideout over here." JJ pouted.

"I guess . . ." He looked down at his sister with a smirk. "Or you could try the party again."

Immediately Y/N felt that skin-crawling uncertainity take over once more. She bit at her bottom lip. "I don't . . . I dunno, Jay."

"Look, I promise I won't leave you this time. We can just sit around the campfire—maybe try to find Kie or something. What'd'ya think?" He held out a hand to her. "We'll take it slow."

Y/N considered this for a moment, eventually taking hold of her brother's hand. "Okay."

"Sweet!" JJ tried his best to stand, but only wound up falling back on his ass. "I'm gonna need some help getting up, though."

Y/N laughed, hoisting her brother to his feet with a grunt, and JJ smiled as she allowed her hand to linger in his while they walked. The very same way she did when they were little.

Just like JJ promised, he found the two of them a space to sit by the blazing campfire and never left Y/N's side.

・❥・

Hours had passed before the kegger had begun to die down, their beer long gone and speakers long dead. The rest of the Pogues had finally joined the Maybanks around the fire pit, and the group listened comfortably as Kie plucked at the strings of her ukulele. "Y'know what, Jay? I wouldn't mind trying this kegger thing again."

JJ smiled. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it." She snuggled closer to his chest, absorbing whatever extra heat his body offered. "As long as you're there to hold my hand."

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (3) (teaser)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Teaser wc: 391 Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, more in the official posting...

Release date: April 6th, 2024 at 6pm EST

masterlist || playlist

Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple. 

I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”

He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”

The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”

“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”

I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”

Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him. 

Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening. 

“When is later?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.

“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae

Let me know if you want to be added/deleted from the taglist. -Lex

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 16

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 |-| Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Warnings: Some angst but mostly WE'RE SO BACK

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @ginabaker1666

The ATS depot was quiet once more, crickets chirping in the long grass beside the road as Frankie worked away, squinting up at the underside of the jeep she was lying underneath, a pair of pliers clutched in one filthy hand. In the two weeks since The Riveters had gone down, she hadn't touched a plane, let alone stepped foot inside one. Her father had told her to do what she could. But she couldn't go anywhere near a bomber without thinking of what might have happened to Rosie - how scared he might have felt. The feeling made her want to vomit.

"I just think, y'know, that she needs to butt out and mind her business," Ken shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the tarmac beside the car as he picked at his sandwich, ready and waiting by the toolbox for her to have need of him.

"Oh, one hundred per cent. I mean, Helen didn't invite her, I know Gwen didn't - wrench," Frankie interrupted her own gossiping, holding out her hand as Ken pressed the tool into her palm. "No, not that one, the 5 - thanks. But yeah, fucking out of order. It's like Charlotte's wedding all over again."

"... Frankie you didn't go to that."

"I know. But I hang around the ATS now, I'm learning a lotta shit."

Ken opened his mouth to speak again, but his jaw snapped shut at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, turning to stare as George jogged towards them. There was a letter clutched in her hand, sweat beading on her brow as she approached.

He hadn't seen her running like that since...

"Frankie," He uttered urgently, slamming her toolbox shut.

"One sec," Her muffled voice came from beneath the car.

"No - now."

She felt his fist wrap around her ankle, tugging roughly until she finally relented, sliding out from her spot as she wiped a hand across her forehead. "God's sake, what-" Then she saw it too. "...George?"

"Frankie!" George cried, hurrying towards them as the pair scrambled to their feet, brows drawn in identical stares of confusion. When she'd first spotted her, Frankie had felt a jolt of fear shoot through her, panic rising in her chest. But the closer she came... she was smiling.

A huffed groan escaped Frankie as George collided with her, slamming her body against hers as she threw an arm around her shoulders, the other hand pressing the crumpled letter into her chest. Wide-eyed, she glanced back at Ken, who could offer nothing more than a shrug as George pulled away, still beaming.

"George, wh-" Frankie trailed off, pausing to unfurl the letter. But before she could even make out its first line, George was blurting the words.

"He's alive."

The air was unceremoniously punched from her lungs, ripped away so suddenly that she could do nothing more than croak.

"Frankie. Rosie's alive."

She looked down at the page, but found that her vision was suddenly blurred with tears, the letters merging into an indiscernible smudge. Ken was laughing, his laughter turning to whooping as he enveloped George in an embrace, the two spinning slightly on their heels as they wore matching grins, consumed by the euphoria of knowing it wasn't over. Frankie still couldn't quite breathe, pins and needles pricking at her fingertips once again as her heart pumped out of her chest. Everything was moving so fast - so uncontrollably, wonderfully fast that she wasn't sure how much longer she could go without losing consciousness.

"He's... He's alive?" She asked, barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah," George smiled, nodding as she raised her hands to cup Frankie's face, keeping their gazes locked. "He landed behind the Russian line - I dunno where he is right now, but he's coming home, Frank."

Finally, Frankie let herself smile, something between a sob and a laugh tearing its way out of her.

"He's alive," She breathed, collapsing against George in another embrace as she began to weep, smiling even as tears streamed down her cheeks, clutching at her friend so tightly it was as if she were keeping her from shattering, holding every piece of her together at once.

He wasn't gone. That future of hers, which she'd come to take for granted, wasn't gone. She'd been making do - powering through even when she didn't want to, accepting that nothing would ever get as good as it had been. But now it was. Now he was coming back, and it didn't matter if it took a day or a year, because she was going to see him again.

She was going to see him again, and she was gonna marry the hell outta him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tucking and re-tucking her hair behind her ears over and over again, muttering curses under her breath because why the fuck did it always look wrong? Why couldn't she get it to fall the way it usually did - and why did she care? Frankie Bevan had never once been concerned with appearance or vanity, but suddenly this was the most important thing in the world to her, and the more she untucked and re-tucked her hair, the more she wanted to burst into tears.

"Frank," George spoke softly from where she had been hovering in the doorway, watching silently for the last few minutes.

"It doesn't look right," She complained, frowning back at her tired reflection. "Why doesn't it look right? It never looks like this."

"It... looks like it always does."

Frankie gnawed at her lip slightly as she blinked away the tears, embarrassed that they were even forming. "He'll notice the difference."

"Frank," She scolded. "He will not give a single shit. I promise you, there is literally nothing Rosie cares about less right now than what your fucking hair looks like."

She'd refused to go out to meet him - refused to reunite in front of dozens of crewmen, all aching to congratulate him on his return. She wouldn't deprive the men of that moment, but there was nothing she wanted less than to insert herself into it. She needed to do this part alone.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked towards the infirmary, each step feeling like she was treading water, seaweed tangled around her ankles and tugging her downwards. For a regular afternoon in March, this sure was the hardest and bravest thing she'd ever done. But why? Why was she terrified to step inside, to see her Rosie?

Because what if he wasn't her Rosie?

What if whatever had happened to him in the month he'd been gone had changed something, flicked some switch inside him that she couldn't turn off?

And - least rational, but most terrifying of all - what if he didn't need her anymore?

It was as if the air had been sucked from the room the moment she stepped foot in the infirmary, freezing in the doorway as she spotted him, sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to her. The doctor seemed to gesture towards her before swiftly making his exit, and as Rosie turned to her, indescribable relief washed over his expression, the tears welling in his eyes visible even from this distance. He leapt off of the bed without hesitation, choking on his words as he hurried towards her. "Frankie-"

It had been keeping her up at night - the realisation that she had no idea what she'd say to him in this moment. But in the end, it hadn't mattered, for the second he uttered that first word to her, she had burst into tears, falling against him as his arms were held out to her.

"I thought you were dead," She sobbed, heaving in a breath so forceful it rubbed her throat raw.

"I know, baby, I'm so sorry," Rosie uttered against her ear, and from the way his voice tremored, shoulders shaking, she knew he was crying too.

Frankie pulled away, although every muscle in her body was screaming at her to never let go, and she gave herself a moment to really take him in, brushing the curls away from his face as she began to smile, every line and dimple in his skin precisely where she'd left them. Unwrapping her arms from around his body, she lifted her hands to his cheeks, wiping with the soft pad of her thumb at the tears that had begun to fall. "... You're ok?"

"I'm okay," He nodded hurriedly, wrapping his hands around her wrists as he rubbed gently at the skin, simply holding her in place, desperate to feel her against him again. "... I told 'em all about you."

Her head tilted to the side slightly in question. "Who?"

Rosie chuckled. "Anyone who'd listen." A grin broke its way across her face, and she leaned in to press her lips against his, tasting the salt of tears on her tongue as she did - though whose they were she couldn't tell. His hand was in her hair, the other on her back, melting against her as if they could merge into one, blurring into each other until there was nothing left of the individual self. It was as if his palms had welded to her skin, so resistant were they to ever break apart, foreheads pressed together once they finally came up for air.

"I'll tell you everything," He breathed. "One day."

Whatever had happened, he was haunted by it. She could feel it in the way his fingers trembled against her, the way his eyelids fluttered, shielding his gaze from having to meet hers when he spoke of it. But then their gazes locked, his breath fanning her face, and a gentle smile curled Frankie's lip, her thumb skirting across his cheek.

"Tell me when you're ready. I just need you here."

He smiled in a shaky mirror of her own, pressing another kiss to her lips, which she accepted with a hum, beaming up at him as it came to an end. Despite the exhaustion tugging at his features, Rosie managed a smirk.

"Y'know, I seem to remember you making me a promise last time I saw you."

Frankie let out a low chuckle, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You sure? I'm not sure I remember, sorry."

He grinned, cupping her jaw in his palms. "Think you need a reminder?"

"Might be an idea," She nodded. Their heads tilted towards one another, their noses brushing slightly.

"Well, in that case... Frankie Bevan, will you marry me?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wasted so little time that it was a miracle the wedding came together at all, a hurriedly thrown together affair in the slightly shabby village hall, as it was the only venue they could find close by that wasn't a church. George had leapt into action as if it were her life's very purpose, exiling Blakely on a one-man mission to bring Frankie's father whilst she set to work decorating and haggling to secure as much food as possible. Frankie had never been one for these sorts of things - she wasn't an organiser or a decorator - she had no sense for aesthetics nor taste for formalities. But what she could do was watch George take the reigns, sinking in her element, and accompany her with an open mind and excited smile as everything fell into place.

"Aha!" Frankie declared, holding up a hand in victory as she retrieved the only dress in her possession from the bottom of one of her suitcases. A navy blue tea dress, she'd almost lost count of how many times she'd tried to get rid of it, only for George to intervene, warning her that someday it might come of use. As always, she had been right.

"This works, right?"

"This works," George nodded in confirmation. "As long as you iron out the creases - that's your job while I go make sure Croz has got the rings I sent him for."

Frankie chuckled, splaying the dress flat across her bed. "This delegation stuff seems to be going well, then."

"Well, that's what happens when you ask for a wedding in four fucking days, Frank," George grinned somewhat sarcastically, already on her way out as she spoke, a clipboard with a checklist firmly planted beneath her arm. It was a wonder she had managed to organise anything at all with all the work they still had to do - although Blakely would later inform her that George hadn't done much of her job at all in those four days, spending most of her office hours wrangling anyone willing to help and dishing out tasks. If anything, she could be sure that George's own wedding would be a sight to behold.

When the day itself arrived, Frankie found that she couldn't have cared less what she was wearing or how she looked, scarcely sparing a glance at the mirror as she paced the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. Her father, George and Alice crowded the room, chattering amongst themselves and practically ignoring Frankie as she wandered around, grinning giddily - she suspected they hoped she'd tire herself out, as if she were an overactive toddler who'd had too much sugar.

"Where's Jill?" She asked, suddenly pausing in her strides as she noticed an empty chair, the little girl nowhere to be seen.

"With Rosie," Alice shrugged. "She wanted to be a groomsman instead."

Frankie and George let out matching snorts, exchanging a smile. Of course - it shouldn't have surprised her. Since the day she'd first brought Rosie into the house, Jill was gone, utterly uninterested in anyone else. It was charming really, quite how quickly he managed to endear himself - to get under people's skin and stay there, comfortably familiar.

"Traitor," Frankie teased, attempting to balance on the heel of one shoe. A sudden, sharp knock at the door made them all start, Frankie almost falling over as she wobbled for balance, watching George hurry to answer it.

"Hi!" Ken whispered, prying his face through the tiny gap in the doorway as far as he could. "You look pretty!" He declared, shooting Frankie a thumbs-up.

"D'you need something?" George asked.

He paused momentarily, as if uncertain. "Oh, yeah. We're ready for you in there."

Frankie grinned so hard her teeth were beginning to hurt, reaching out to help her father to his feet. He accepted her hand with a smile, patting her arm affectionately as he hauled himself up with a grunt. "You ready?" He asked.

"God yeah," She scoffed, feeling him squeeze her shoulder. She could see it in his eyes that every step was its own private torture. That goddamn leg had never fit him properly, not since the day he'd come back from the Somme and they'd first strapped it onto him in some shabby hospital. He'd always told her that it had felt fine at the time, but she'd never quite believed him - especially not when she discovered the attending nurse had been her own mother. Frankie suspected a certain amount of bravado had been involved in the decision.

"You sure you've got this?" She asked quietly as they shuffled out, voice hushed to ensure no one overheard.

"Love. I'm not missing this for anything," He beamed, and Frankie nodded, knocking her head gently against his shoulder as they reached the end of the corridor, opening out into the main hall.

All eyes were on her the second she entered the room, but all she saw was Rosie - waiting in his dress uniform, hands folded at his front, smiling so wide she thought he might pass out, tears welling in his eyes visible even from the other end of the hall. Frankie raised a hand, offering a wave before she could think better of it, and from the way his grin parted she could tell he was laughing, even if she couldn't hear it from here. She found her gaze wandering towards her father, tracking his feet as they walked until he pinched at her arm, a silent reminder not to worry about him. She could have moved a million miles away, but she'd never stop worrying about him, never stop looking to him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

She wished Bucky were here.

As they reached the front of the room, her father squeezed her hand, departing with a smile and a nod and an affectionate pat on Rosie's shoulder, taking his seat without a word.

"Hi," Frankie smiled, voice scarcely even a whisper.

Rosie chuckled, his face flushed scarlet. "Hello."

She swore she must have zoned out for most of the ceremony, too distracted by the excited thumping of her own heart, for when Rosie began to speak it was as if she'd been jolted awake from a deep sleep, blinking in a rapid burst. He held both of her hands in his, squeezing her palms as she met his gaze, lips twisting slightly as if trying to restrain himself from grinning.

"Honey-"

"One sec," Frankie interjected before he could speak his vows, the room falling to awkward silence. For a split second, he looked terrified, and she wanted to scream at how poorly she'd handled the interruption. "... Could we do this bit on our own?"

His lips parted in a smile, beaming down at her as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah - George?"

George was on it before they even had to ask, suppressing a grin as she rose to her feet, herding the other guests out into the hallway until only the pair of them remained. As Jill passed, she frowned at Frankie with such outrage one might have guessed she'd witnessed some sort of heinous crime, but she exited without protest nonetheless. Left alone in the village hall, the room became an echo chamber, the sound bouncing off every wall as Frankie let out a snort.

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe I did that."

Rosie shrugged. "I think it's a nice touch."

"Ok - go, go," She nodded hurriedly, squeezing his hands in return as she bounced on the balls of her feet slightly in a way that made him chuckle.

He opened his mouth, taking a deep breath. Then he stopped.

"Can I be honest with you? I think I just forgot everything I'd written down."

They both began to laugh, leaning forward and only narrowly avoiding headbutting each other in the face. Frankie couldn't stop grinning, cheeks burning red as she nodded. "I lost the piece of paper I'd written mine on this morning - George thought I'd be able to come up with something on the fly, but I don't think I'm that good."

"Is that why you wanted everyone to leave?" Rosie asked, skin creasing with the weight of his smile.

"... A little," She admitted with another snort, and he let out a burst of laughter. "Just make something up, honey, it's good."

He nodded along, squeezing her hands in a vice grip as he began to speak. "Honey... I love you. And I know I say it a lot, but that doesn't make it mean any less, not to me. I have never been so grateful to have met someone in my entire life, and I can promise you that saying yes to marrying you was the easiest decision I have ever and will ever make," Rosie sucked in a deep breath, the air coming through shaky. "When I went down, the only thing I cared about was getting back here, 'cause the idea of leaving you behind was torture. Every time I went up in that ship, I could think about you and then I knew I'd make it home. I woulda crawled outta hell for one more second with you, so now I'm not going anywhere."

Frankie was smiling so hard that she almost hadn't realised she was crying until Rosie lifted a hand to her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "Aw shit," She laughed, leaning into his touch. "I should've gone first. Now whatever I say is gonna look rubbish."

He laughed, shaking his head. "D'you need me to leave the room too?" He offered. She guffawed, smacking him playfully across the chest.

"Shut up! Ok, I've got it," Frankie nodded, taking a breath. "I... never used to think about my future - about where I'd go once this was over, and what I'd do, and who I'd do it with. But... since I've met you I think about it all the time. Because whatever I do, I wanna do it with you. I used to think of myself as someone who just had things happen to them, not someone who did things. But I'm not - and when I do things, I want you to be there. I want to live with you, I want to... fuck it, I mean - we could have a baby - I think I could do that," She nodded somewhat frantically along as Rosie resisted the urge to chuckle, beaming at her every word. "But whatever happens, you're gonna be there, so... It's gonna be okay."

The moment she finished talking, Rosie had swooped in, cupping her jaw in both hands as he pressed his lips to hers with such force she almost lost her balance, grinning against his lips as she threw her arms around the back of his neck. The sheer ridiculous informality of it all hadn't ceased to be anything but hilarious to them since the moment the others had left, and they found that the kiss quickly dissolved into laughter, the pair giggling against each other's lips as they swayed slightly to an imaginary rhythm.

A sudden burst of applause caught them by surprise, tearing themselves apart as they turned to face the end of the room, where the double doors were now open, their friends and family huddled in the doorway cheering. Ken and Blakely were whooping noisily, whilst George and Frankie's father clapped along, until she had to rummage in her pockets for a tissue to dry the old man's tears. Frankie had never seen him blubber, but it was certainly a sight to behold. Squirming her way through the small crowd, Jill appeared from somewhere behind Crosby, sprinting across the hall towards the couple, footsteps echoing noisily against the polished floor.

The girl let out a squeal as she barrelled into Frankie's arms, swooping her up off the ground and swinging her around, their laughter blurring into a single sound as she held the child comfortably against her hip, Jill wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Frankie looked back at Rosie once more, and found he was already staring at her. With a smile, she leaned in and kissed him once more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Music bathed the room, blaring out a beat as people filled the floor, stepping and twirling in time as friendly chatter threatened to drown out the tune. Frankie sat sideways in her chair, leaning back against Rosie's chest as his arm drooped over her shoulders, hanging down across her front as she sipped at the beer bottle in her hand. Bailey had spent the evening ensuring no one ever wanted for a drink, making so many trips to and from the bar that she was sure bystanders were beginning to grow concerned, but as long as he kept her topped up she wasn't going to say anything.

"So..." Ken grinned, taking a sip of his own drink. "Sergeant Rosenthal?"

"What makes you think he's not Major Bevan?" Frankie teased, and Rosie gave her shoulder a small pinch as the briefest flicker of panic crossed Ken's expression, as if he'd somehow been caught saying something he shouldn't, relaxing as she let out a snort of amusement.

"Rosie!" Alice's voice echoed from across the hall, waving to him from the edge of the dancefloor where Jill waited impatiently beside her.

"You owe them a dance, Major," Frankie grunted as she pushed herself up and off him, patting him on the thigh. As he moved to stand, he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"If you don't hear from me in the next hour, send a search party," Rosie uttered, making the others laugh as he left to join the girls.

As if on cue, the moment he had left, George swooped in, taking his place as she stole his seat and seized Frankie in a sideways embrace, burrowing her head into the crook of her neck. Accepting this without a word, Frankie wrapped her arms around George's head, partially obscuring her vision as she rested her chin atop her scalp, chest vibrating against her as she chuckled.

"You still love me the most, right?" George joked.

Frankie scoffed. "Oh, obviously," She nodded.

"Even though you're gonna move to America with him like a fucking traitor," George grumbled, pinching at Frankie's side.

She batted her hand away with a chuckle. "Don't say that like you're not coming too - you'll be engaged at the least by the time this is over, I don't think Blakely can hold out much longer."

"... You think?"

"God, he's such a teenager about it - he's always bragging about you when you're not there, it'd be really annoying if it wasn't so sweet."

"Do I need to be here for this?" Ken interjected flatly, staring blankly at the pair as he steadily drained his cup.

"Dude, I don't even remember inviting you to this," Frankie joked as he rolled his eyes. "Get the fuck over here," She grinned.

He stood up somewhat reluctantly, sliding into the seat on her opposite side, and before he could move away she had wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him in against her other shoulder so that Ken and George were both clutched to her sides, laughing to themselves.

"This is pretty good, huh," Frankie nodded, letting out a huff as she looked out across the hall, chuckling as she spotted her father, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with a group of Red Cross girls. "... Y'know, as shotgun weddings go."

George smacked her across the leg, bolting upright, she and Ken sharing identical looks of alarm. "You're not-?"

Frankie snorted, shaking her head. "Nah, I'm taking the piss," She confirmed, and the pair relaxed once more, leaning back against her. "... I did tell him earlier that I thought we could have a baby, though."

"That's way more information than I wanted from you," Ken pointed out, voice muffled against her shoulder.

"D'you think I'd be good at it thought?"

The pair offered up non-committal hums of agreement, hissing as she punched them both in the shoulders. "Jesus!" George yelped. "No, obviously you'd be great, Frank!"

"Thank you," She nodded firmly, suddenly realising that the idea really meant something to her - that the possibility that they didn't think she could do it had hurt. It hadn't been until she'd spoken those slapdash vows - until the words had spewed from her without even thinking - that she'd realised it was even something she might have wanted.

But then she caught Rosie's eye, and he smiled at her from across the hall, holding Alice's hand in one of his and Jill's in the other, the three of them dancing in time to the music. They adored him - truly, utterly adored him - and they had done since the very first time they'd met. If he could do it with them, if he could make those girls love him so much from only a handful of meetings, then how wonderful would he be with his own? Even if the whole thing didn't come naturally to Frankie, she felt safe knowing she had a man like Rosie, a man whom any child could love without having to try, a safety blanket when things got tough.

Maybe it wouldn't have worked with anyone else.

But it would with him.

[to-thelakes]

built to fall (5)

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

series summary; after having a rough month, the feelings that you had been harbouring for your co-worker finally come to the surface

series warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, smut (later on), mutual pining, discussions of mental health, reader gets drunk, vomiting, suggestive themes, sexual tension, cases that the bau work are also mentioned so the usual warnings for the show apply

warnings for this part; MDNI (minors do not interact) sexual content, fluff, tired reader, tired team, jj being nosy (we love her), smut, fingering, squirting, praise kink, soft!dom luke, self-indulgent smut, needy reader

notes; okay, hello my lovelies, i'm literally just dropping this and then crawling back into my hole because i woke up feeling atrociously tired and worse than i have since i got the flu in december, i will save you from the grim details but safe to say, i'm exhausted, but i gave this a little edit this morning and it's literally just self-indulgent smut and like just a little hint of what is gonna come for these two, we get a very very small smidge of luke worshipping reader hehe. like this is written entirely to my taste so whoops but anyway, i hope you enjoy <3

tags; @smurfenijsje12 @xoxomoonlightbabe

ao3 / masterlist

previous chapter

You were the last one to arriveto the jet after you had to stop off at your apartment to get a to-go bag together. You had rushed around like a headless chicken, regretting not being more prepared for this but it served as a good distraction from the wetness between your legs. 

By the time that you had clambered aboard the jet and dropped into the seat beside Emily, you had completely forgotten about the ache that Luke had left behind. Then when Emily began to talk you through the case, any arousal that still lingered was squashed. It was hard to think about how much you needed Luke when you were staring at pictures of mangled corpses. Really, your job was the biggest buzzkill.

Garcia popped up on the scene as the jet took off and the usual routine ensued. You discussed the case and came up with any preliminary theories before Emily told you where all of you needed to go when you landed. And you weren’t entirely sure if it was a curse or a blessing that she sent you and Luke to assess the latest crime scene.

Part of you was glad to spend the time with Luke but the other part of you didn’t want to have to try and keep your composure around him because you knew that would basically be impossible. 

However, you kept your mouth shut and the team then split off to do their own private theorizing and reading of the case file or just take a short nap before you landed. That meant that everyone was sufficiently distracted enough for JJ to quiz you about your late appearance and what Garcia had told her about you being at Luke’s.

“You got something you wanna tell me?” JJ asked, cocking an eyebrow with a wry grin on her face. You looked up from the casefile, furrowing your eyebrows as you ran through every possible scenario that she could be talking about. At first you assumed it was something about the case but then you caught how her eyes drifted to the mark on your neck.

The mark that you had forgotten Luke had left on you.

“I stayed at his place,” You shrugged, looking back down at your casefile. You wanted to talk to JJ about it but also you didn’t want the entire team knowing your business. You and Luke had just spent the weekend together and you hadn’t even discussed what the two of you were. For now, it was simply the two of you enjoying each other’s company in a less than conventional way.

“You just stayed over?” She asked. You glanced around and noticed how Luke’s gaze had lifted. He had clearly caught on to you and JJ’s whispering and you sent him a smile but that just made him lift an eyebrow.

“Yeah, stayed over, met Roxy, we went on a few walks and he cooked for me,” You forced your gaze away from the man in question to look at the blonde in front of you, “His cooking isn’t as bad as you’d think.” You had to bite back the smile that spread across your face. JJ narrowed her eyes before she nodded her head, “And we obviously kissed,” You said, lowering your voice even more. JJ grinned.

“Just kissed?” She asked and you nodded your head.

“We got… interrupted,” You mumbled as you stared down at the case file. JJ couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped her lips.

“What? By Garcia?” She asked, baffled. You nodded your head.

“Duty calls,” You mumbled. JJ bit her lip, hiding her amusement as she glanced over at Luke. He had returned back to his work, reading through the file and pretending like he wasn’t listening to the two of you gossip.

“No wonder he seems so frustrated,” JJ commented. Your head snapped up and you stared at her. She was quick to throw her hands up defensively, “I’m just saying what I see.” You scoffed and looked back down at your case file.

“He at least got a release,” You muttered under your breath but JJ caught it. Her gaze flicked to Luke and then back to you before she felt herself internally cringe at the image that popped into her head. But she didn’t bother to say anything else, it was a conversation for another time when the two of you were alone and not looking at mangled corpses.

-

To put it simply, this case was exhausting. The team had been up for most of the night, investigating and setting up with the local PD. You and Luke had checked out the scene and gathered everything you could about the sadistic killer. But then you had returned back to the station where you settled in for the next few hours. It was a long night and your investigation dragged out long past the rise of the sun.

By the time that night fell again, the team was exhausted and had hit a brick wall in the profile. It was clear that nobody was really feeling their best so Emily ordered everyone to head back to the hotel and get some rest so they could take another crack at the case the next day. You were glad of the break. The exhaustion had made you feel brain-dead and you needed to switch your brain off for a few hours.

You, JJ, Luke and Emily took one of the cars back to the hotel and when the two women had taken off to their rooms, Luke walked you to yours. It was the gentleman thing to do - he had said - which just made you laugh. Both of you were exhausted and you couldn’t help giggle at him. You also knew that he wasn’t just being a gentleman.

He had dropped his bag into your room earlier so you didn’t even bother discussing whether Luke would stay with you. He was going to and he let you tug him inside once you had slipped into the room.

“I feel like my brain is melting out of my skull,” You muttered as you closed the door behind the two of you. Luke walked over to his to-go bag, an amused chuckle escaping his lip at your comment. You watched him from the bedroom door, a smile spreading across your face. He looked so cute. He was clearly just as tired as you were but he was keeping a brave face. You assumed that he was probably used to not sleeping amazing. 

But you wanted him to sleep well tonight. So you wandered over to him and leant up to press a kiss to his lips. He smiled down at you before he pecked your lips again. Then he told you to get ready for bed. So, the two of you switched into your pajamas and you curled up on the bed. Luke was still in the bathroom as you buried your face in the pillow.

Now that you were alone with Luke again, that familiar ache had reappeared between your legs. It was really not the time and you just wanted to sleep but seeing him shirtless and looking so domestic as you brushed your teeth together had you reminded of the weekend. The way he held you, kissed you and his moans and whines and the way that he had used you for his own release. It had all been so much in the best way and the memories were making you want him so bad but you were on a case, you couldn’t do it now. As much as you wanted to.

“Everything okay?” Luke’s voice brought you from your spiraling thoughts. You nodded, sending him a slightly fake smile before you shuffled to the side on the bed so that he could get in beside you. You hadn’t even realized that your thighs were squeezing together to get some sort of relief until you had to shuffle. The ache was worse now. 

Once he was comfortably under the covers, you moved towards him, ignoring the wetness in your panties in favor of snuggling up to him. His arm wrapped around your back, tugging you closer and you settled down, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Luke,” You muttered after a moment. He tilted his head down as you looked up, meeting your gaze, “I didn’t cross a line when we got called in, did I?” You asked softly. You would have asked him earlier but between the case and the rush to get to the jet, you hadn’t really got a chance to check in with him.

“No.” He said firmly. You nodded and rested your forehead back against his chest, “Just wish I could have repaid the favour,” He mumbled. You shrugged,

“You’ll just have to make up for it when we’re home,” You retorted. He let out a ‘mhm’ of agreement but his mind seemed distracted. You glanced up at him, feeling a sudden change in how he was holding onto you, “What’s wrong?” You asked quickly. He looked down at you, a devious look in his eyes.

“I want to fuck you in my own bed but I can still repay the favour in a different way,” He said as he moved his hand to cup your jaw. Your eyes fell closed, the thought of him finally giving you the release that you desperately craved just making you wetter, “And it might help you sleep a little better. I can feel how tense you are, carina,” He whispered in your ear. You bit your lip before you forced your eyes back open, looking at him.

“Please,” You whispered softly. He grinned and then he moved to sit up, his back against the headboard. He tugged you between his legs, your back pressed against his front and your legs hooked over his, spread out for him. Your head moved to rest back but the tension in your shoulders was still present. He leant down and slowly began to kiss against your neck, hoping that the soft kisses would relax you a little.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” He asked, his voice low in your ear. His hands were resting against your thighs, open for you to take. You bit your lip before you shifted your hand to grab his, slipping it under your pajama shirt. His hand engulfed your tit and he gently squeezed it, “Just there?” He asked, teasing a little. You shook your head and took his other hand, slipping it under the waistband of your pajama pants and underwear. His finger nudged your clit as you guided him to your slit and you twitched against him, “Fuck,” He breathed out. Your hand slipped away from him as his fingers began to move of their own accord.

He ran his fingers through your wetness, collecting it between his fingers before he dragged the fingertips up to your clit. He circled the bud and you let out a breathy whine. Your head fell back against him, your shoulders relaxing.

“Good girl,” He whispered into your ear as he began to move his fingers into a steady circle over your clit. It was a little slower than what you usually did to get yourself off but the slow build up of pleasure was tantalizing. He then shifted his hand against your tit to gently pinch your nipple. You let out a shaky breath, eyes falling closed as he moved, “Tell me if it’s too much,” He said after a beat. You nodded your head vehemently.

“It’s good, it’s so good,” You whimpered as he continued his movements on your clit. His head moved down to press a kiss to your hair before he shifted. His hand that had been pinching and playing with your nipple, trailed across your stomach and down to the waistband of your pants.

“I wanna take these off,” He said as he fiddled with the waistband. His movements on your clit hadn’t let up and the build-up was making you squirm. Part of you wanted him to go faster though. You knew that if he just went a little faster, you’d get that release you’d been craving, “Carina,” He whispered against your ear and you groaned softly, tilting your head up. You forced your eyes back open but they were half-lidded as he looked at you.

“Go a little faster, please,” You begged. It quickly became clear to him that you hadn’t comprehended his request which only made him smirk.

“Okay, baby, I can do that.” He was quick to comply, moving his fingers a little faster. You bit your lip, throwing your head back against his chest. Your back arched against him and he grinned against your skin. He was going to have fun with this. You were breathing heavily as your hands fisted into the sheets. 

The pleasure was building in your gut and you could feel that familiar pull of release but you didn’t want this to end. A low moan of his name fell from your lips when he suddenly began to flick across your clit rather than circling it. His free hand shifting from the waistband of your pants up to your neck. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered as he gently squeezed on your neck. You were practically panting as you moved one hand from the sheets up into his hair. You did your best to nod your head, panting out ‘yes, yes, yes’. His lips were resting against the shell of your ear and you felt the breathy chuckle that escaped his lips at your whining and moaning.

“Oh God,” You whined as your back arched further, fingers tugging at the root of his hair. Your walls were contracting around nothing, clit throbbing with each flick of his fingertips.

“You’re being so good for me, baby. Cum for me, carina. Let me give you what you need,” He whispered against your ear as his fingers squeezed around your throat. You were panting, eyes falling closed and his mumbles of praise was the last straw. 

Your thighs were shaking as you threw your head back, moaning his name as you came. The slick gushed out of you and his fingers were quick to dip down to catch it. He smirked against your ear, letting his hand slip from your neck to your stomach. You felt completely boneless and relaxed for the first time in months. It barely took anything for him to have you whining and keening for him and he couldn’t deny that he was high on the power.

As you came down, he pressed soft kisses to the skin of your neck and his hand that had been on your clit settled to rest in your underwear  but away from your sensitive clit. You had sounded so pretty moaning his name and he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to truly repay you for what you’d done for him, “Do you want another one?” He asked softly. His lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You bit your lip, eyes still closed but you did. You really did.

“Please,” You whimpered. He chuckled and slipped his hands up to tug at the waist of your pants and underwear.

“Gotta take this off then,” He said. You nodded and lifted your hips up so that he could slip the fabric down your legs. He didn’t bother stripping them completely and instead let them settle just above your calves. It gave him enough room to work and he was quick to slip one hand to your cunt and the other to your clit.

When he pressed his fingers against it, you shivered. It was still sensitive from your first orgasm but the pleasure from the slow circles he ran around it made the overstimulation easy to ignore. His hand on your cunt ran two fingers through your slit. You were so wet for him and it made slipping a single finger into your weeping hole that much easier.

The feeling of his fingers inside you had you keening but you knew that you could take more than that. It seemed Luke quickly understood that too and slipped a second one inside. His thick fingers filled you up just right and he curled his fingers inside you. Your walls contracted around him and he smirked against your hair.

“Oh, carina, you're desperate for it, aren’t you?” He whispered. You nodded your head, biting your lip as you canted your hips forward slightly. His fingers buried deeper inside you and he smirked, “Want me to move my fingers?” He asked. You nodded, begging him with soft whimpers of ‘please’ and ‘yes’ and he slowly began to move them in and out. His other hand was still circling your clit and the combination of pleasure was making you melt into him. Whimpers and moans falling from your lips as one of your hands buried further into his hair. You were gripping at his curls, canting your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Do you need me to be faster, baby?” He asked. You nodded your head, letting out a needy whimper as you turned your head to look at him. His eyes were hooded, blown-wide with lust as he took in just how destroyed you look. Mussy hair, parted lips, half-lidded eyes and the squelching of his fingers as he shoved into you, you looked beautiful.

“I-” You tried to say something but then he changed pace on your clit again. He began to flick it, moving side-to-side and all that came from your lips was a moan of his name. Your head falling back against his shoulder, “I’ll- your fingers-” You wanted to tell him, you wanted to warn him but the quicker he moved, the harder it became to speak. 

Your mind was becoming a hazy mush as he slipped a third finger into you. Your walls tightened around him, thighs shaking as you lifted up slightly. Body pressed against him, “You’re gonna- make me- fuck your fingers will make me squirt,” You finally managed to get out between breathy whines and moans. Luke smirked and it just seemed to make him move faster. His fingers slipped in and out of you quickly. Your walls were squeezing him, hips meeting his every movement as he flicked your clit quicker.

You felt it. The tendril of pleasure that was about to snap and then it did. It was like everything shunted forward and you squirted. His hands were soaked with it and it dripped down to your ass, soaking the bed beneath you as you panted, whined and moaned his name. He was pretty sure he’d never seen such a pretty sight.

“Fuck,” He groaned as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. They were shining with slick and he couldn’t help grinning. He hadn’t expected to make you cum like that but he couldn’t say it wasn’t a beautiful sight.

“Should have- should have warned you,” You mumbled as you fell back against him. Your head was lolling to the side, rested against him as you panted against the skin of his neck. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to his temple, shifting you forward so that you curled up against him. 

Your legs were shaking still, your pussy throbbing as you turned to the side to rest your head against him. His hands were covered in your slick and he was mesmerized by it, “I’m sorry, it’s messy,” You muttered, clearly you were fucked out. Your eyes could barely stay open as you rested your cheek against his chest.

“Don’t apologize,” He suddenly said. His voice was low, stern and serious, “Nothing wrong with messy,” He mumbled before he leant down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He wanted to hold your face and kiss you properly but he needed to clean up his hands first. You also needed to go to the bathroom.

“Thank you,” You muttered. He pressed another kiss to your forehead before he coaxed you out of your post-orgasm bliss. It wasn’t long before he had taken you into the bathroom and while he washed his hands of your slick, you sat on the toilet. You were so tired but you pissed, wiped yourself up and joined him at the sink. You washed and dried your hands before you trudged up to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso.

He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you against him before he connected your lips into a soft kiss. It was just a few pecks before you pulled back, eyes half-closed. The sleepiness was making its presence known and he knew that you both needed to get some sleep. Also, your post-orgasm bliss had only seemed to make you even sleepier. You seemed more relaxed than you had been all day. He felt bad for leaving you so worked up but it wasn’t going to do that again.

With a gentle tug, he took you back into the bedroom and he checked over the bed. There was only a small patch of wetness which he was quick to avoid as he tugged you under the covers. Part of him felt bad for making such a mess and not having the forethought to lay a couple of towels down before he fucked you with his fingers but he had seen you squirt tonight and so, he wasn’t really sorry at all.

When you both got back into the bed, Luke let you curl up on top of him. Your head rested against his peck, the soft thrum of his heart lulling you into serenity.

“Can’t wait to be back home. Wanna see what else you can do,” You mumbled softly against him. He chuckled, his chest vibrating with it as you smiled against his skin. He moved his hand to rest against your back, running patterns along your skin.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” He responded. You hummed back before finally letting yourself succumb to sleep. Within seconds, you were conked out and he just watched you for a little bit. Your chest rose and fell steadily as you snuggled against him in your sleep. It was soothing to have someone after so long. He wanted you to fall asleep against his chest for the rest of his life and he loved you even if he wasn’t ready to tell you that yet.

<3

next chapter

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

The Bite

pairing: steve harrington x female byers!reader

WC: 5K

warning: cursing, vomit mention, steve being hard on himself. yall im terrible at these.

summary: are we out of the woods?

A/N: ALL PARTS UNDER THE TAG - The Byers Harrington Story-

ONE MORE CHAPTER THIS SEASON!!!!!!

@alecmores​ i threaten them sometimes ( dont worry)

series masterlist / steve harrington

previous chapter  next chapter

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Realizing that your group wouldn’t be able to outrun the Russians, Dustin snagged one of their transport cars. And with you being a little inebriated, you were thrown in the back with Robin and Steve giggling their asses off while Dustin drove shakily with Erica in the passenger seat.

“Jesus, slow down!” Steve yelled as he bumped into the paneling, a hand keeping him upright. You leaned your head against his shoulder with your eyes closed trying to quell the hurricane storming your head.

“Yeah, what is this, like, the Indy 500?” Robin slurred. “It’s the Indy 300,” Steve corrected. Though Robin was insisting she was correct, “No dingus, it’s 500!” “It’s 300!”

“Shut up!” A harsh snap of your mouth. They were quiet for a moment and you were ready to apologize when Robin said, “Let’s say a million.” And they were back to laughing as idiots.

You weren’t sure how fast Dustin was driving this tiny truck or what its top speed could hit, but you heard Erica yell his name and suddenly the car lurched forward flinging you into Steve and some of the car. Everyone groaned from the sudden impact. “You guys alright back there?” Dustin turned in his seat as he asked. More groaning was his answer.

The door opened with Erica and Dustin waving their arms. “Come on. We gotta go, now.” “Come on! Get out!” “Let’s go!”

“Geez! Can we stop yelling?” Pushing yourself up and grabbing at Steve and Robin to pull them forward. “A little help would be nice.” Irritated that they were yelling but not helping with dragging them out.

You stumbled on your feet, Steve tripping to the ground after you and Robin leaning against the truck. You pulled Steve up and threw one arm over your shoulder to help carry some of his weight. “This sucks,” He whined. “I know, baby. I know.” Arm wrapped behind his waist and moved into the elevator.

Once everyone was in, Dustin swiped the keycard and pressed the buttons. The door closed and hummed to life as it hit speed going up. Steve and Robin were acting like unsupervised children, whooping and hollering giddy. Steve standing on a red moving cart with Robin pushing it side to side. “Hey! You look like you’re surfing!” “Surfing! Yeah!”

You stood beside Erica as both of you plus Dustin just watched them. “They seem drunk?” Erica noted. “Why would they be drunk? (Y/n)’s not drunk and she was in the same room as them.” You stayed quiet. You didn’t feel drunk, you were feeling high and you can tell it was slowly wearing off. 

You stepped forward when Robin jerked the cart the wrong way and Steve fell off causing him to roll into some boxes. She laughed and yelled, “Wipeout!” And giggled like a maniac.

Both you and Dustin rush to Steve’s aid. You check over his head for any bumps, smoothing his hair back and Dustin rests his palm on his sweaty skin. “He’s burning up.” “You’re burning up,” Steve mimics.

“Hold him down.” “What?” Confused by Dustin’s request. “Hold him down!” He repeated as his fingers moved to Steve’s eye. “One sec, one sec, one sec. Steve, Steve.” You held his wrist down, but he still was a lot stronger than you, trying to push away your grip. “God, no.” 

“Stevie, it’s- it’s okay.” Hoping to calm him down. He still wiggled against your hold as Dustin peeled his lids apart and you saw how blow his pupil was. “His pupil is super dilated,” Reporting the issue to Erica. “Maybe he’s drugged.”

You released his wrist to hold his cheeks. “Stevie-” He booped the tip of your nose with a finger, lips pulled into a wide smile. He did the same to Dustin as he snapped his finger at attention. “Steve, are you drugged?” Steve scoffed, “How many times, dad? I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.” Poking a finger at Dustin’s cheek.

“This isn’t funny, okay? I need to know what they did to you.” Dustin continued trying to get a straight answer. Steve only chuckled and booped his nose again, head rolling around in your hold. His red eyes stared at you before mumbling, “Pretty.”

“(Y/n), what did they give to them? To you?” Seeing as your coherent understanding of the severity of the situation. The pad of your thumb rubbed delicately at the swollen skin of Steve’s eye, “They- They injected us with- with something. All the same thing, but I- I feel different.”

“Are they gonna die on us?”

“We all die, my strange little child friend.” You looked over your shoulder to Robin who sat down and twirled her hair. Her bleary bloodshot eyes and dazed smile, followed by her ominous words brought shivers up your spine. “It’s just a matter of how… and when.”

Furrowed brows pointed to Dustin. “They’re gonna be looking for us up there, so I need you to tell me where you parked your car.” He turned to Steve looking for an answer.

“Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?” “I would kill for a hot dog on the stick.” Robin leaned her head back with her statement. Steve just whistled in agreement.

“Once we are safe, all the hot dogs on the sticks you want. Just tell us where the car is parked, Stevie.” Hoping his brain would start functioning correctly instead of shorting out. His puppy dog eyes rounded on you, and you knew that was a sign he did something bad.

“Uh-oh.” He sounded like a child. “Uh-oh?” Dustin leaned in.

“The car’s off the board. They took the keys. The Russians, they took the keys.” Hands grabbing at his empty short pockets. “Like, forever ago.” His bad news was punctuated with more squeaky laughter. “That’s a bummer, right?”

You closed your eyes and dropped your head just a bit. Of course, they took his keys. Clammy fingers tingle your cheeks and brows, sweeping to your ears. Heading tilting up just a bit to look through your lashes and see Steve pouting at you. His long fingers played with the loose, sweaty front pieces of your hair while you tucked some of his light parts behind his ear.

“Are you mad?” A deep and quiet inquiry. You were quiet, thinking over which answer is best for this moment. Your thumb scratched over the growing stubble from his last shave as you looked back to his swollen and bloodshot eye. It made you sting with the knowing sign of tears, you were mad, you had a right to be mad when no one wanted to listen to any of your thoughts about this whole thing. But right now, wasn’t the time to blow up in his face again, you were mad and will wait to have a collected conversation when the both of you are home.

So you tucked your bottom lip under your top teeth as you shook your head, “No, no.” Stroking more of his hair, “I’m not mad, just tired.” Steve stared at you, his hands had slipped to sit on your thighs and he squeezed just a bit. He didn’t look too convinced, but it didn’t matter.

“Come on,” Letting go of his face to grab his hands, “Let’s get up. Almost there.” You had to tug most of his heavyweight forward. He was more stable on his feet now, swaying for just a moment but then signing a thumbs up with a dopey smile.

“Okay, when we get out there we need to figure out a plan home.” Dustin stood in front of the door and he had his hands sitting on his hips. “(Y/n), why don’t you call your house and see if anyone’s there? Since no one was answering my transmission…”

“We were underground, there was no signal where the elevator was. Besides you nerds always have those things on, it gets annoying.” Erica stated to Dustin. He just rolled his eyes.

The elevator came to a stop with a jolt then the doors opened. You felt like a giant weight leaving your shoulders knowing you were back in a public space, out in the open air. Dustin and Erica walked forward and they were quiet, as were you. Robin and Steve were the last to exit and their voices filled the night.

“Holy shit!” Steve exclaimed. “Oh, my God, that tastes so good. Ah!” You turned around just as Robin stuck her tongue out. “Steve, can you taste the air?” They were behaving like children experiencing their first winter snowfall. “I taste it! I taste it!”

You ignored their antics when you heard the gate opening and you saw two guards, dressed black grabbing their guns. Dustin and Erica backtracked for Steve and Robin while you ran to open the door. “Okay, okay, okay! Woo!” Robin is still high off her ass while she and Erica run into the service tunnel. “Why are we running?” Steve asked Dustin as they passed you. You yanked the door shut as you followed behind, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum flooring.

“Where are we going?” Huffing breaths hoping Dustin had a plan since he knew this space better than you.

You didn’t get an answer until Dustin stopped at one door and slowly opened it. Robin and Steve swayed on their feet and giggled quietly. You saw Dustin look left to right before calling the all-clear. One by one in a line. Dustin, Erica, Robin, and Steve with you last sticking close to the dark purple walls, rushing over the patterned carpet. Rounding a corner and seeing the Back to the Future poster, you knew now. Dustin led you to the movies, a crowded spot to hide in.

“Steve- Steve, no that’s! Ugh!” Trying to push your boyfriend along as he scrambled to grab a trashed bag of popcorn. He just hummed pleasantly.

Dustin threw the double doors open wide and you were greeted by the voices of Doc and Marty. “Oh! What did I tell you?! Eighty-eight miles per hour!” Dustin led your group to the front row where there were a few open spots.

He pointed a stern finger at Robin and Steve, “You two sit here.” They complained as they slumped down. “Dude, these seats blow,” Steve spoke around his trash food. “Then don’t watch the movie.” You could tell he was getting tired of babysitting them, a taste of his own medicine.

“We wanna watch it,” Robin argued. “Then watch it!” Dustin raised his voice loudly causing a man in the row behind to shush them, Robin and Steve shushing back.

“Whatever you do, don’t…go…anywhere.” Making sure they got the message. Steve teased back, “Fine, dad.” And Robin snickered at the joke. Dustin didn’t say another word as he and Erica crouched passed people to the other end of the row.

Not thinking anyone was planning to leave during the movie, you sat on the last step and then leaned against Steve’s chair. You winced while wrapping your left arm over your stomach, your adrenaline wearing off causing the aching from your beatings. The booming film score pounded in your head with the bright screen hurting your eyes. Your limbs felt so heavy, that feeling when your body is naturally shutting down for sleep or accidentally taking a big hit of weed.

So before you could force yourself to stay awake and alert, you were knocked out.

-

Loud commotion and flashing lights behind your lids were your greetings as you were being rudely shaken awake. You were groaning and ready to complain towards Steve, thinking you were home and in bed. But instead of home it was the movie theater and instead of it being Steve shaking you, it was Dustin with Erica just over his shoulder. They both shared frantic expressions and when you took note of the two empty chairs you already knew what his question was gonna be. “Where are they?”

You could only open and close your mouth like a goldfish before you abruptly stood from the step and rushed out of the room with the kids behind you. “Okay, let’s split up. There aren’t many options in and out of the closed mall.”

Your sweep of the theater was quick, they weren’t anywhere. And you should be able to spot them easily, they’re wearing sailor outfits in a sea of normal attire. You walked through the exit and into the mall, hands on hips as you scanned possible hiding spots. A hearty sigh while leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling.

Little white dots and artificial stars in the brick building beamed down. “Wow…” The longer you stare the brighter they get, starting to twirl into a cyclone of heavenly light that was making you queasy and dizzy. “Oh, wow…”

Feet sprinted you to the nearest women’s restroom. You were too preoccupied with not throwing up on the floor that you missed the shocked then concerned looks of Robin and Steve. You made it to the third stall and hurled small chunks into the toilet, barely any food in your system at this time it was practically only liquid and dry heaving. Small shakes set into your shoulders as tiny tears stuck to your lashes, abdomen doing mini crunches with your heavy huffing. A helping hand held your hair away from potential damage and their warmth set into your back as they rubbed up and down, side to side, or just in an endless circle.

“Oh, baby.” Your Steve came to your rescue. “It’s okay, just get it out.”

A whimper from your slick lips, “Stevie…” You weren’t sure why you were calling out to him or what you had to say to him. Maybe just wanting to say his name and have him respond, which he did easily. “I’m right here, baby. Right here.” And he continued to rub your back until you were sure everything was gone and you flushed it away.

Steve’s arms wrapped over your stomach and with a gentle tug pulled you against his chest. His chin sat on your shoulder and he tucked his face into your neck, lashes fluttering your pulse point. Your eyes closed in contentment with a pinch to the front of your brow, hands seeking Steve’s on your body, holding onto them like your life depends on it. A clownish frown downturned your lips as you tried your hardest to keep crying at bay, okay with the baby drops falling here and there on your oily skin. 

“Is she okay?” Robin’s rough voice filled the space. Steve moved his head and you copied the action so you could see eye to eye. His eyes swam with such sorrow and pain it made you feel sick again. He reached a tentative hand out, hesitating before brushing the pad of his thumb over your jaw and cheeks. You assumed dark bruises were slowly blooming on your skin after this past hour or two. He then took his pointer finger and softly ran it on the bridge of your nose, flinching at the feather touch.

“No… she’s not.” A delayed reply for Robin and almost a defeated sigh from him. “Baby, oh my baby. I’m sorry.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. He saw them earlier in the night, he was still sober when you reentered the room, but looking at them with just a few inches of space apart…

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Voice cracked on the third sorry, his hands couldn’t keep still. Going to your cheeks then shifting to your shoulders then finding their new spot on your cracked hands. Steve’s fingers slotted through the in-betweens, waffling your hands tight as he pressed kiss after kiss to the tops.

“I couldn’t protect you. I’m a shitty boyfriend.” His eyes are hidden from view by his diary hair. You gasped at his words, “Steven Harrington, don’t ever call yourself a shitty boyfriend. Especially in front of me.”

You shook his hands off and cupped his cheeks to push his head up. He looked tired, defeated and you couldn’t stand the sight of the boy in front of you. You leaned in as you moved his head forward just a bit, a firm kiss pressed to his forehead. Trying to convey too many words into a simple action.

You pulled back and gazed intently into his heavy eyes, “Steve, it was a terrible situation that we were able to get out safely. The kids are unharmed and the drug is out of our system, it’s fine now.”

He circled your wrist, “If we just-” You stopped him with a kiss, not caring that both of you would have a vomiting mouth, just need him to pour your love into him.  A kiss that was nothing like the one from earlier in the day or your first. It was one where either or both of you are tired from the day, your body giving out the second it hits the mattress, contemplating if sleeping in your day clothes is worth the discomfort and if you’re okay with a pimple popping up in a day from not doing your skincare. How your hands still seek each other out in your drunk-sleepy state, Steve still managing to cage you into his chest with his nose in your hair and hand at your hip. Having a mumbled pillow talk about your day if the two of you weren’t attached to the hip that day, puffs of air from noses in exchange for belly laughs. It was a kiss that was being done blind, both eyes closed and searching out the bullseye in the dark even though the map was memorized. Slow, simple, something grounding and normal; just a firm pressing of lips that followed up with a tiny rhythm before it was enough to satiate you for the night.

You ignore the dull throb from your nose, taking care of Steve was more important. “Let’s just wait until we’re home, clean and in bed, before sorting everything out. It can wait a little longer.” Reassuring him, letting him know that you’re not as mad as earlier, but you have more words to speak. He nodded his head and whispered, “Okay,” Then pressed kisses to both of your palms.

The neutral bubble popped with the banging sound of the door. You both turned to see Dustin and Erica at the threshold, Robin behind them, must have slipped out sometime after she spoke. You could tell Dustin was completely exasperated with all three of you for running off and it was confirmed with his firm, “What the hell, guys?”

-

With everyone sober and coherent Dustin worked on a plan to get out unnoticed. Trying to find different modes of transportation to leave the mall behind since Steve was the only one with a car, and he was against the idea of breaking into his own BMW.

“Well, the movie should be over by now. We just blend into the crowd, leave the mall, and… I don’t know, hitchhike home.” Robin scratched her head as she paced.

Erica caught an attitude, “You want to walk…home? Yeah, I’m not doing that.” Arms crossed as she popped a hip.

“Well the buses don’t run this late and Robin has a bike, but Steve always drives her or us home when it’s this late. And he isn’t willing to sacrifice a window-“ Steve cut you off at your claim. “I don’t have the money to fix a window.” “I could talk to Eddie-“ He scoffs, “Munson, yeah, I'm good.” You weren’t sure why this was a sudden fight and it was making you sad and angry again.

“Guys!” Dustin yelled before your argument could be blown out of proportion. “We’re gonna get out of the mall with the crowd and hit the road. End of discussion.”

A sigh was all you gave as Dustin went to the door and took peeks into the lobby. You caught Robin’s eye and she scrunched her brows with a meek jerk of her chin, a silent ‘What the hell was that?’ and you just shook your head, pushing it away as if it wasn’t important.

With everyone walking to the door, Steve tugged at your belt loops to keep you back. You were prepared to brush Steve off, but he spoke first with a mumbled, “I’m sorry. I don’t want a fight.” You thought about just brushing him off, but you didn’t want a fight either and both of you are just cranky at this point. “I know, Stevie. We’re just tired.” Flashing him a simple smile as he squeezed your left hand.

“Lovebirds, come on.” Robin called. Dustin’s head was poking through the opening and he held a hand up, “And…blend.” They moved forward, Steve linking your hands and pulling you behind him.

Your group keeps pace with the people chatting about the movie, Steve keeping his head down and your hands clasped. “Well, shit, that worked,” Erica commented to Dustin. “Of course, it worked. Now we just have to get out of this place  and home sweet home, here we come.”

“Uh, Dustin?” “What?” Steve groaned a bit, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house.” “Why?”

Steve licked his lips, “Well, I might’ve told them your full name.” Dustin looked over his shoulder, shocked. “What is wrong with you?”

You came to Steve's defense, “He was drugged. He has loose lips when intoxicated.” You could tell Steve was gonna say something when Dustin just asked, “So?” That made Steve stutter, “So?”

“So, you resist. You tough it out. You tough it out like a man.” Dustin acting like he was the one in that scary room with unhinged Russians ready to kill him, instead of the vents snooping around. Steve scoffed, “Oh, yeah, it’s easy for you to say.”

“Guys?” A single word from Robin. All your eyes clocked on the two men from outside asking and checking IDs. You all stopped and everyone parted to the sides, Steve pulling you closer. “Abort,” Dustin declared. The men spotted your group and started forward. “Abort. Abort.” Dustin enforced as he made sure everyone turned around and pushed through the crowd.

With your hand still in Steve’s, he made sure you didn’t get lost. Feet were halted at the escalators with ropes closing off the stairs. You looked over your shoulder and saw how they were getting closer, so just told Robin to slide down the middle. One by one you each went down, Robin, Dustin, Erica, you then Steve following up the rear.

There was enough time to find a hiding spot the top level filtered out and the Russians took a long way down to the bottom level. Dustin pointed all of you in the direction of the food court and he jumped over the Great Cookie counter. You gave Erica a boost over as Robin crawled on the red countertop, Steve held your hips as he pushed you forward, and you dropped to the floor with him beside you. 

“What do we do?” Erica whispered. Her small chest panting. You weren’t sure if there was a way out, you could hear movement, but it sounded like more than the two you saw so they brought backup and you knew they had guns. If you could go through the back maybe, but still, you were easily outnumbered and overpowered.

As your safety blanket, you intertwined your hand with Steve’s and held it close to your racing heart while holding your breath. Eyes closed and speaking to the angels in your head, wishing for any sign of help coming to your aid.

A car alarm starts wailing and it brings all of you to gasp quietly. You didn’t dare look over the counter suspecting it was a trap. The alarm kept blaring and then you heard a loud crash combined with people groaning. When the alarm stopped and felt like the mall was silent all of you slowly pushed off the floor and over the counter. Russians lay on the floor with blood bleeding from wounds and a promotional car was damaged on its side where it was pressed into the Hot Dog on a Stick counter.

Hearing squeaking footsteps all of you looked to the upper level and hidden in the neon glow of store lights, the kids with Jonathan and Nancy stared from above. A wet hiccup of happiness at seeing your brothers safe and alive, as everyone headed to the closed escalator and climbed down. You were the first to rush over the counter and meet them halfway.

Mike had one of El’s arms over his shoulder as she limped with him towards Dustin who shouted as he laughed, “You flung that thing like a Hot Wheel!”

Jonathan and Will both rushed at you and it made you stumble back from their fast impact. It still shocked you that Will was practically the same height as Jonathan, both their chins digging into your shoulders with one arm behind your back. Your arms were thrown over their shoulders and your palms held the back of their heads, tears splashing your cheeks and shuddery breaths as you composed yourself.

“Oh, I’m so happy you're safe. I was so worried.” Petting the back of their heads to calm your shakes. “Where have you been? I just assumed you were at Steve’s.” Jonathan pulled his head away causing your hand to fall to his shoulder. His mouth dropped a bit, his eyes taking notice of your blood and bruises, “What happened?”

“Russians.” Jonathan and Will shared confused and worried expressions at your word. “I’m guessing something equally as bad has been happening above the surface since El’s limping.”

“Yeah, it’s bad. As in bad bad.” Will widened his eyes, not going into detail on what the bad bad was. You didn’t care, you were just happy your brothers were safe and within arms reach. Jonathan looked over your shoulder and his expression hardened, “Hey, Harrington. Wanna tell me why my sister looks to be in a similar state as you? Huh?”

Turning around you saw a sheepish Steve standing close, his hands messing with the bottom of his shirt. He licked his lip and looked at his shoes before backing up, “It’s- It’s my fault. I- I couldn’t…I didn’t listen. Shit, I brought a freaking ten-year-old into this when she didn’t even know. I’m- I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Damn right, Harrington.” “Jonathan, stop!” Automatic backhand to his head, once again mad that Steve and someone were calling him names. They needed relationship therapy at this point.

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt the sweet reunions. But I don’t understand what happened to that car.” Robin, along with Erica were the only ones out of the loop on El and her powers. Not wanting Robin mixed into this has finally crossed its line, there’s no going back after tonight. “El has powers,” Dustin threw a thumb at the quiet girl. 

Robin stuttered, “I’m- I’m sorry?”

“Superpowers. She threw it with her mind. C’mon, catch up.” Steve acting like this wouldn’t be mind-blowing news to Robin who knew nothing about the dangers of Hawkins. Erica pointed at her with new clarity, “That’s El?” Never actually met her, but possibly heard about her from Lucas.

“Who’s El?” Poor Robin. You were gonna point her out when Nancy spoke, in a tone you took a bit harshly. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Again you were gonna introduce her, but Jonathan easily said, “Robin. (Y/n)’s friend.” “And a coworker at Scoops with us.” Connecting her to Steve.

“She cracked the top secret code.” Dustin awarded her. “Yeah, which is how we found out about the Russians. And why we look like shit by the way.” Steve’s sarcasm winning out.

“Wait, seriously? Those were Russians?” Max blurted in confusion. “Some of them,” Erica looked back at them with indifference on her face. “What are you talking about?” Lucas persisted.

“Didn’t you hear our code red?” Dustin questioned. “Yeah. Couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Mike noted. Dustin groaned, “Goddam low battery.”

“How many times do I have to tell you with the low battery?” And you couldn’t help but to bite back the little grin at Steve acting like such a big brother towards Dustin. “Well, everything worked out, didn’t it?” It reminded you of times when Will was just a baby, you and Jonathan little toddlers.

“Worked out? We almost died.” Erica was not happy about Dustin’s look at the situation. “Yeah, but we didn’t, did we?” He sees the glass half-full side. “It was pretty damn close,” Steve added his two cents.

Everyone was busy arguing about the Russians and the gate. You took the time to look at each kid to check them over for any damage done, everyone looking to be in perfect condition. When you didn’t spot El beside Mike you leaned past Steve to see her in front of the next store, her steps slow and body hunched in. You walked away from the group and reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, “El? Sweetie?” Her hands reached up to hold her ears and she turned slowly for you to see the dark red blood sliding down her nostrils, hitting her top lip. Her knees buckled and she fell like a sack of flour.

“El! El? El!” Grabbing her waist quickly to stop her fall. You placed her gently on the ground as everyone crowded around. “What’s wrong with her?” Erica quietly asked.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked El. Needing to find the root of her problem. She cried, “My leg. My leg.”

Nancy pulled her pants up and Jonathan unwrapped a bloody bandage around her calf. Her skin was stained red, almost orange in the fluorescent glow, with a swollen spot on the top. You held a hand to your mouth, the injury making you feel queasy just looking at it. And to top it off, something was crawling beneath the skin.

“Oh, God.” Muffled into your palm.

El continued to wail and groan, some tears slipping from the corners of her eyes and falling into her hair. “El! El, are you okay?” Mike shook her shoulders as he leaned over her. Everyone was worried and getting emotional, not knowing what was happening and the next course of action to take.

El screamed at the top of her lungs.

-

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*STRIKED MEANS TUMBLR CANT FIND YOU*

[dr-demi-bee]

2024 Writing Retrospect

Thanks for the tags @marlowethebard and @galeorderbride 🥰

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I think the thing I've really learned the most about this year is collaborative creative writing. Getting into narrative style role-playing has informed it a lot - I've definitely learned a lot about how to 'yes, and' and to get into a character's skin. Not only that, but this year I found a community of other writers! And now I'm learning how to be brave and share my work more, how to discuss content without fear of judgement, and to enjoy the process more.

And I think the number one thing I really learned this year has been that there are people that like my work! Genuinely! They like it! They like my characters and my style and- 🥹🥹

How has your writing developed this past year?

This year was a bit of a wild ride. While I got back into writing in general in late '22, started writing fanfic in late '23, and started *posting* fic in even later '23 - I feel like I didn't hit my stride until this year. And that's not to say I wasn't writing well before now - I just feel like I've really started to find my voice (again) and get out of the academic headspace and into the creative.

Good writing habits?

I do it? Haha!

I think, honestly, other than letting myself write what I want and just generally spending time writing - my best good writing habit this year has been allowing myself to be motivated by the enthusiasm of my friends.

Bad writing habits?

Word vomit. Sometimes my stream of consciousness writing is Too Much™️ and I spend way too much time in my own head trying to edit it into something 'perfect'. I'm exceptionally bad at killing darlings.

Favorite thing you wrote?

I know I haven't updated it recently (and I am this close to changing that, I swear) - but my favorite piece is my long fic. It's self-indulgent, but it feels so good to write. And I genuinely enjoy re-reading it every time someone comments on it

Service and Worship are not Love (e.g. the Primalweave story)

Favorite reads?

I've read so many exceptional things this year! It's so hard to pick! But here's a few that stand out:

to admit everything by meownotgood

Axioms of heavenly bodies; an intimate analysis of systems unknown and the pleasures contained therein by @12thhouse-sun

Deeply and Immovably So by @dutifullylazybread

if music by the food of love, play on series by @pouroverpaloma

literally any of the poetry written by @waterdeep-weavemoss

every brain chemistry altering galemance piece by @senualothbrok

Biggest win?

Finishing the October Blurbapalooza! How did I do that! Ah! That was a lot of fun. 🥰

(and secretly, giving myself permission to skip the last day felt really fucking good hehe)

Goals for the new year?

I'd love to finish my long fic. Or at least post a dozen of the WIPs I've got staring at me from the editing pile. (whoops)

What are you excited for in the new year?

To keep going. 🥰 To be in a space where I am comfortable, welcome, and loved - and where I am encouraged to be creative and can support others doing so!

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

Open boops for anyone interested in doing this yourself. Thanks for a good 2024 lovelies 💙🥰 Here's to a safe and comfy 2025.

[imagine-darksiders]

Finding Inglenook

Chapter 1: An Unhappy Reuinion.

Darksiders: Abaddon X Reader

Tags: Enemies to friends, Unrequited crush, One-sided admiration, Post-resurrection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Protective Abaddon, Explicit language, blood, injury, threat, combat.

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As a rule of thumb, the back alleys of Haven City are a region that are best granted a wide berth, although, one could argue that the same principle could be said of any back alley. Even after Humanity's unexpected but much appreciated resurrection, the majority of humans still retain their relative distrust of the dark, narrow crevices that cut between the towering skyscrapers and winding streets of the city they died in.

As you meander slowly through the alleyways yourself one cold, winter evening at dusk, you begin to realise that the majority of humans are right to avoid these in-betweens, these through-roads.

Of all the potential shortcuts you could have explored on your way back to your newly-built home near Haven's outskirts, it would be your shoddy luck that you'd stumble upon a squalid and unscrupulous arcade that had – once upon a time – served as the side entrance to a bustling shopping centre. Now, however, there stands nothing more than a derelict thoroughfare for Haven's less than savoury residents.

Shards of glass from discarded bottles crunch under your shoes, the smell of booze saturates the air like a miasma, inescapable no matter which direction you face. The bad air is trapped down here between the buildings where the low sun rays can't reach, much in the same way you are.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me,” you whine under your breath as you squeeze between a pair of staggering men, doing your utmost not to let your thick hoodie brush against their sweat-stained shirts.

They, like the other several dozen people that have formed a rambunctious crowd across the middle of the arcade, are far too busy whooping and jeering to notice you slip by.

With your head tipped towards the ground and your hood pulled low over your eyes, you can't see what they're hollering at, but from the sounds of grunting, snarling, and the telltale crash of knuckles striking against flesh, you'd bet your last rations you've walked right into a fighting ring.

It's the only likely source of such rowdy excitement. Hardly the kind of place where the 'Horsemen fraterniser' ought to be seen alone without one of the dreaded Four guarding your flank...

Swallowing back a nervous lump, you tug on your hoodie's drawstrings and duck your head, sidling your way through the crowd, desperate to escape to the other side where you'll be home free, provided you can find your way out of this maze of backroads.

Nose scrunched up to defend against the invasive smell of freshly-spilled vomit, you keep your gaze fixed unwaveringly on the sea of boots shuffling along the ground around you, picking your way carefully through them and trying not to think about how furious War would be if he were to ever find out you strayed away from the relative safety of the streets.

All of a sudden, you're torn from your worries by someone knocking into your shoulder, hard enough to send you stumbling sideways into another person before you manage to right yourself, thoroughly startled.

“Hey!” comes a slurred shout from behind you, nearly lost amongst the noise of the crowd.

'Oh no...'

Your heart shoots up to sit on your tongue when somebody – you suppose whoever you've just bumped into - grabs your shoulder and jerks you to a rough halt.

You don't dare turn around to see who has snagged you by the hoodie. The only thing plaguing your mind is the thought that you've been recognised, and now you're about to get a fist to the back of the head for any number of reasons.

As it turns out however, this altercation only seems to have come about thanks to your bungling feet, not your face.

“Watch where you're fucking going, bitch!” that same voice snarls, and before you can even attempt to simply pull yourself out of their grasp and carry on, you feel an unforgiving fist connect with your spine like a battering ram, knocking the wind right out of you as you start to fall.

Stunned, you lose your footing and topple forwards between another pair of strangers who leap aside to let you land jarringly on your hands and knees, feeling flesh tear open on the rough concrete beneath your palms.

Through gritted teeth, you exhale a slow, uneven breath instead of all the uncouth words you want to spit out onto the ground like venom.

You're really beginning to regret not turning around as soon as you stepped into this Creator-forsaken alley.

The crowd around you hardly seems to have noticed your stumble, still caterwauling as you draw your head up... only to find the path ahead of you unobstructed.

Seconds later, you realise why.

You've fallen at the edge of an open space, with the crowd itself forming a ring of people that serves as the threshold for a makeshift, fighting arena.

At its centre stand two figures.

The first and largest has their back to you, and they're the one that draws your attention, yet it isn't their size that holds your gaze, though that in itself is exponential.

No. It's the bedraggled and begrimed wings that dangle limply from the figure's spine, dragging along the ground near a pair of leather boots.

Your eyelids burst open in surprise.

It wouldn't take a scholar to know the creature at first glance.

But what the Hell would an Angel be doing in a place like this?

Your unspoken question is swiftly answered when your eyes drop to the second figure, flitting like a gnat from side to side in front of the angel's impressive bulk, fists raised and purpled with bruises.

You recognise her as well, by name if not by species.

Ivy Harris – Just another human, like you, but with a temper that's as perilous as her tongue. She lives at the end of your street, and she is not shy about her outspoken, visceral hatred of all the other species who have come to share the realm of Earth.

Some humans just... can't get past what was done to them during the End War.

Ivy is one such person.

You always guessed that she was a severely troubled young teen, especially given the trauma of waking up to find that her entire world had fallen apart around her, but to try and take on an angel in hand-to-hand combat?

She must be utterly and thoroughly mad.

Or at least, that's what you assume, until she darts forwards and the angel makes a sloppy strafe to the left, far too slow to avoid the curled fist that socks them squarely in the jaw. Their head snaps up towards the sky, and the crowd around you roars triumphantly at the stolen blow.

Rather than cheer alongside them, you can only stare in bafflement, incredulous than an angel would allow such a wild swing to land. They hadn't even raised their fists to defend themselves.

On hands and knees, you let your jaw hang ajar, gaping up at Ivy as she circles the angel, slowly drawing him around to face you.

Sweat drips from her brows and into her lashes, prompting a rapid shake of her head to clear her vision.

“Had enough yet? Huh? Pigeon?” She spits the insult alongside a globule of saliva near the angel's boots before wiping at her mouth with the back of a wrist. “You think you can just do what you did and get away with it? You fucking wank-splat! I'll cave your ugly skull in and turn it into a fucking plant pot!”

A charming girl, really.

You have to wonder what on Earth this angel did that could piss her off enough that she'd hurl such creative insults and threats his way. More pressingly than that however, you wonder whether you should tell Azrael about this.

Or, perhaps Usiel.

You know the commander is operating in the shipping district, and from the size of this new angel, they could very well be a member of his troop gone astray, if they're even here of their own free-will at all.

You've learned a lot about the theological and physical doctrine of angels, predominantly taught to you via an over-eager Azrael, or through the odd lecture from Jamaerah, the Scribe. One of the takeaways you got from such discussions is that an angel's wings are an extension of their very soul, something you only started paying attention to after you learned the fact.

Jamaerah seldom leaves his station at the Crystal Spire's extensive library, and as such, his wings never really grew from the vestigial state they were when he was a fledgling, many eons ago.

Azrael has always leaned more heavily on his magical abilities rather than take up a weapon in battle. And as a result, his sweeping wingspan grew large and wide over time, losing their bulk but gaining great length in his primary feathers, each of which boasts a soft, blue sigil that reflects his most frequented spells.

This angel however, the one slowly turning to keep Ivy in their sights, looks to have lost every trace of life in their wings at all. It's heart-breaking to look at, now that you're aware of how closely those wings are tied to an angel's health and well-being.

You couldn't fathom why any of the proud beings of Heaven would let their wings fall into such disrepair.

Thin, wispy feathers have been stained almost entirely brown by the unmistakable, rusty tint of long-dried blood, leaving just the barest glimpse of ebony to peek through in sparse intervals, and even that is an unusual coloration to see, far afield from the hue of a typical angel's feathers.

They wings are wide, and you imagine they must have once been very impressive, but now, you can actually see the glistening pink of tendons through the meagre feathers that have somehow managed to cling to the bone of the ulna.

“If only your blows struck half as deeply as your words,” the strange angel thrums in a gravelly voice that pricks your ears for a reason you can't quite wrap your head around, “Perhaps you might actually leave some lasting damage...”

Ivy's response is to thrust her hands into the air, both middle fingers lifted proudly towards the sky.

It would be the perfect opportunity for the angel to get in his own strike, and in fact, you actually wince on behalf of Ivy. But as the seconds pass and she returns to her fighting stance, you realise that the angel has just allowed that moment to pass them by... something unheard of for the strategically gifted species.

What the Hell is going on?

Sitting back on your haunches, you ignore the wayward foot that treads on the back of your calf and instead crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the angel's face as Ivy finally circles to stand in front of you. Perhaps if you can take away a defining feature or two, you could describe them to Usiel so that he can shed some light upon why they might be here, or how an angel might fall from grace to land in one of Haven City's seediest back alleys in the first place.

But it's at that moment that you finally lay eyes on the angel, and all thoughts of solving this mystery fly out of the proverbial window.

Once you look upon the face of what had only moments ago been obscured by Ivy's spry figure, any and all traces of pity or compassion that have gradually been swirling behind your ribcage promptly evaporate in the blink of an eye.

Sweeping in to take their place comes a rancid, bitter hatred and the foul chill of shock that twists your face into a horrified and open-mouthed expression, all within the span of a single second.

The face that looks back at you – or rather, back at Ivy – is one that you recognise, but also one that you'd hoped never to see again, not for the rest of your life, and well beyond that.

Everyone in the alley falls silent, though you're almost sure people are still hollering. It's the ringing in your ears that has drowned out any other noises surrounding you.

You want to throw up. You want to run. You want to call for War and hope the Horseman is somehow, miraculously within earshot.

You must have gasped, or made some kind of sound, though you don't hear yourself make it, because at that moment, a single, pale eye tears itself from Ivy and swivels down to land on your face. The other eye remains obscured behind an all too familiar plate of solid gold and onyx that serves as a circular patch, fused into the angel's skin but doing little to hide the scars that stretch halfway up his forehead.

You know from Death's many stories that there isn't an eye beneath that patch, just an empty hole that's as dark as the weapon which stole half of the angel's vision millions of years ago.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins as his remaining eye finally locks onto yours and grows wide, perfectly reflecting the same kind of shock you must be displaying on your own face.

Slowly, your mouth drops open of its own accord, and before you can realise what you're about to utter, you've already croaked the name of humanity's most hated angel.

“Abaddon?”

At this point, asking his name is entirely redundant. You'd recognise that face anywhere.

Abaddon – former leader of the Hellguard. Destroyer.

The very angel who owes his continued existence to you, and you alone.

You watch the recognition flash across the ex-General's face, and then you watch his mouth fall open and form the shape of a single word, spoken in a hushed, gravelly murmur, yet somehow it rings as loud as a thunder clap in your eardrums.

“Y/n?”

With the utterance of your name, the noise of the crowd comes surging back to you all at once, and with it, a sudden rush of adrenaline that kicks your brain into gear and sends you scrambling upright onto your feet.

You hear his voice – that awful voice – calling your name again, much louder this time, almost a shout that's half drowned out by the people around him, but you're already turning on your heel and shoving your way back through the ocean of people, this time being far less precious about who you bump into or blunder past.

Another call of your name, accompanied by boos and jeers from the crowd, who're more than likely upset that their evening's entertainment has been put on pause.

Someone elbows you in the ribs as you knock into them, yet you only give a muted grunt and twist your head over a shoulder whilst you run, feeling your heart lurch in alarm as you see Abaddon staring down at you from over the throng of humans.

He'd always been enormous, from what you recall, even when he wasn't trapped in the form of a fire-breathing dragon who attempted to swipe both you and War out of Ruin's saddle that fateful day so many months ago.

You're reminded of the angel's gargantuan stature now. While he's not quite the height or width of a maker, he certainly stands several feel taller than War, and at least two metres higher than your own head.

A thin line of blood trickles from the angel's nose, but that's all you catch a glimpse of before you burst through the back of the crowd and hurtle forwards into a dead sprint, your shoes kicking up stones and grit in your haste to retreat.

As suddenly as you arrived, you vanish back down the alley you'd only just ventured through, with the eyes of a ghost burning holes in the base of your skull.

[kharmii]

I wrote this as a reply to a post, but maybe it should get added to the tags so anybody getting into the ship has a place to look up origins all in one place for context. There are too many people with 'Queen Bee Syndrome' going around pissing in people's cheerios telling them what they can and can't ship. It isn't as bad as they say, yo. It was supposed to be humorous! Anyway....

I've been seeing so much Catholic guilt on Twitter these days where people be like, "I can't believe I used to like Trainwreck! It makes me want to vomit! Why would I think it was sexy to see a guy beating up another guy!" It's either pretentious virtue signaling, or it's coming from scared young girls being brow-beaten by the threat of cancel culture into having to prove how good and perfect they are in fandom. Get over yourselves and check out my collection of vintage Trainwreckshipping posts that (facetiously) explain the context of why violence was funny.

Emmet goes to fight God but Arceus hides behind a pillar and points to Volo.

Manipulative Volo laughs about what he did but...oh no! Here comes the pissed off brother!!

Princess bride meme rough handling of Volo.

Emmet chokes Volo.

TAKE THAT YOU VILE FIEND!! (Emmet punches Volo meme)

Emmet chases Volo riding on Arceus.

Emmet chokes Volo but ends up with a knife pressing into his gut.

Volo plays a mean prank to mess with the twins.

Sexual tension with a knife part 1.

Sexual tension with a knife part 2.

Sexual tension with a knife part 3.

Volo so smug and manipulative; Emmet so crazy.

Death threat.

Emmet bloodies Volo's nose.

Where Volo is actually evil and bad ends Emmet.

Emmet coming to whoop some ass.

Giratina possessed Emmet threatens to assault Volo.

Emmet goes after Volo with a brick.

Brave soul who is still doing toxic trainwreck in modern times.

Oops (It never gets old).

Me taking the piss part 1.

Me taking the piss part 2.

If I missed any, please pm me and I'll add them (and I'll keep adding to this post as I finds 'em).

This might be an unpopular opinion, but if someone gives you a hard time for being into this ship, you could always reply along the lines of, "Fuck you, pretentious, virtue-signaling twat. I don't owe you or anybody else anything. Nobody should be judging a person's morality based on what silly thing they ship" It might not get you any friends now, but I'm holding out hope we one day get past cancel culture. Currently, we give too much power to seasoned bullies who use the current political environment as a way to get around the social stigma of anti-bullying campaigns.

[lostinforestbound]

WIP "Wednesday"

Not Wednesday, but I still have a Wip! Thanks so much @graysparrowao3 for tagging me!! (Happy you're back from Tumblr Jail!!)

No pressure tags: @drizztdohurtin @viennacherries @faerunsbest

This is from Chapter 2 of Third Time's a Charm! This scene is going to be completely rearranged as this is supposed to be in Rolan's POV, but for some reason I wrote it with alternating POVs! Whoops!

Here's a snippet of it! The scene is in Last Light Inn, after Tav and his crew saved him from the shadows. He went right back to drinking after his failure and Tav dragged him to a spare room.

His breath smelled of alcohol, Tav realized. Even then, Rolan grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks him down for a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth. Rolan wanted this kiss to hurt, merciless, and almost cruel. It’s Tav’s fault, after all.

He kisses him back all the time but lets Rolan take the lead even when it hurts.

Eventually, Tav grips his jaw and pulls away from his mouth. “You’re drunk.”

He huffs, “So?”

“C'mon Wizard, you’re smarter than that."

He wants to laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time. Instead, he quickly scrambles to the side of the bed and vomits onto the floor, all of the ingested alcohol fighting back. 

He feels hands in his hair, pulling the strands back as bile keeps rising in his throat, all of it coming out in waves. Tav’s holding his hair back, he realizes, putting a free hand on his back to rub soothing circles.

It's utterly humiliating.

[warlordess]

live and let live

My first (technically pre-)Steddie fic! Yay! Please share, maybe follow me, if you like it. I don't contribute a ton of original content but I do have, like, a dozen ideas for ST/Steddie/Stobin fics that I may work up the courage to type out and share.

TW: Vomiting (a couple times throughout), vaguely interpretable suicidal ideation (just Eddie thinking everyone's better off leaving him behind in the UD). Some mention of blood/injury to varying extents (to be expected considering the setting). I believe that's all for TWs but please inform me if you think there's anything else. I'm really new to this kind of tagging.

Tagging my ST fic bestie, @ataliagold (and hoping that using the term bestie is appropriate; if not then whoops, I take it back). They've been very supportive when it comes to my writing. They wanted to know when I finally posted my first fic.

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Eddie Munson is jarred suddenly back to life not long after he initially left it behind. 

He shudders through one faint, ailing breath, then the next, staring blurrily up through half-lidded eyes at the black and red skies streaked with lighting strikes he can hardly discern. Whimpers and convulses at ricocheting shocks of the most intense pain he's ever felt. Absorbs the sight of the multitude of blurry shadows leaning over his bloody, broken corpse. 

It takes him far too long, or maybe not long at all, to realize he's being touched rather insistently, hands pressing against every open wound, which honestly feels like every inch of him, presumably hoping to cause him as much turmoil as possible. So focused on the agony lancing through his entire being, he doesn't notice the singular voice carrying into one of his ears and out the other before he starts sinking into darkness once more. 

"Hey! I just got you going again!" A hand taps adamantly (nearly slaps) against one of his cheeks, but what really does the job is the resounding series of shots ringing into the distance from what his barely functioning brain can only assume is a double-barreled shotgun. "So don't you fucking dare, Munson!" A brief weighted pause before the potentially disembodied voice continues their agitated muttering. "Christ's sake! I gave you both one fucking job, man!" 

Things are starting to come back to him despite the internal hope that he'll just be able to lay back and rest, finally. 

The shotgun. Nancy. 

The red skies. The Upside Down. 

His one job. 

The distraction. Not the hero. 

A bolt of alarm shoots across his brain. 

"H'rin… ton…" The slurred approximation of the surname barely makes it past his lips, has to gasp for breath after. 

Christ, even talking hurts to do. 

Despite that, he wills himself to continue. To come back to himself. To ask the all-important question in this moment. 

"Dus'n… okay?" 

He can just make out the familiar thick head of hair of the ousted king of Hawkins High through eyes still watering from his radiating pains, sees the slightly colored shadow slow in their harried movements as if to stare down at him. He dares to wonder if Steve's eyes soften at the question, knowing that even in death, Eddie's heart is in the right(?) place. 

Steve doesn't have the opportunity to speak before a loud throaty sniffle from Eddie’s other side catches their ears. 

"Y - you asshole, Eddie…" Dustin whispers. It likely would have been a wail if he hadn't spent a significant amount of time and energy a short time ago screaming for help. As it stands, his voice is about as hoarse as it can get without him losing it altogether. "Can't believe you… How could you do that to me?" 

Eddie doesn't have an answer, or maybe he does as far as his own question goes. If he'd been in a better state of mind he might have mocked Steve's position in the group by calling the boy out for his foul language, however it's clear the situation has offered their youngest party member a pass while they focus on more important things. 

"Steve, we have to go, I'm running low on ammo. And who knows how long the gates back to Hawkins will hold," a more distant voice informs them.

Steve inhales a stuttering breath before his expression returns to firmly grim. There's more shuffling, maneuvering around, tying off what Eddie can only assume are the parts of his body that still attempt to form a whole and he screeches his agony to the thundering scarlet clouds above. Though it comes out more of a cough before he wrenches his head to the side and vomits right there. It lasts a fair few seconds before tapering off into a dry heave. 

"Ergh, Steve!" a fourth voice practically shouts, presumably in response to this event.

Eddie tries to blink his vision clear again, wondering what happened, but his action is waved off by their next step.

"It's fine, Robs. Like Nance says, we don't have time. We have to get going. I'll take Eddie; you help Dustin." 

“Wuss wr’ng ith Dus’n…?” Because he's coming up blank.

“Not now, don’t worry; he’s fine, Eddie.”

He's not sure if he fades away again or not, time seems to span far and wide beyond his comprehension at present. All he knows is that, some insurmountable length of it later, he feels the weight of his every pound of flesh tear away from him as he's turned and lifted up, one arm hoisted over a broad set of shoulders. The sound that claws and curdles its way from his grated and parched throat sounds so inhumane that he thinks the demobats must have returned to finish the job they somehow failed at the first time around. 

In such duress, in such intense suffering, with the stench of his own sick somehow following him around, it's impressive he doesn't puke a second time, even though he falls entirely limp, waters from his eyes and drools out of his open mouth. 

"Fuck, c'mon, man." Steve's voice murmurs softly into his ear before he grunts and tries to even out Eddie's dead weight distribution. "I know this isn't how you wanted to end your day but too bad." Another grunt, a prevailing exhale. "I need you to keep one leg a little sturdy so you don't immediately fall if I lose our balance. Just one, c’mon; help me out a little." 

The logic is sound, or it would be if Eddie was still a semi-functioning human. But every part of him is in tatters, nothing left untouched, so he ends up basically being dragged like luggage across the semi-familiar terrain. He blacks out momentarily once or twice, maybe expires again, but Steve is hyper-aware of his every lack of breath, jostling him just enough to reawaken him as needed.

“... Don’t have time for you to die, Munson, let’s go,” King Steve commands of him. Other voices are filtering in again too.

“Steve, you two are falling behind, you have to keep up!” Nancy.

“Doing our best!” Steve grunts in reply.

“Steve, your wounds…” Robin.

“It’s fine, I told you,” Eddie can hear the person closest to him - Who is it…? He knew this answer a short while ago, he’s certain - breathing a little more harshly now. “We all gotta make… sacrifices at the end of the world…”

“Mmm, you h'rt'ng for me, H’rington…?” The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a corner-lipped smirk.

“Yup, for you, man, whatever it takes. Just stay awake. We can’t stop to resuscitate you again until we’re outta the Upside Down.”

Holy shit; that’s it then. He really did die. It had been an abstract truth up until now. After all, how does one know when they've perished unless someone is there to inform them of the event? The cold, hard fact settles in his gut like a stone, rattling around and becoming the only thing he can focus on until he's forcibly distracted.

"Shit!" Steve curses with a harsh gasp, his grip on Eddie going momentarily lax as he stumbles.

Eddie can still barely make anything out of his surroundings but he knows two things instantly; one is that the ground is coming up on him faster than he can handle and two is that whatever standard throb of agony that had enveloped him before immediately increased tenfold.

His following shout escapes him despite his efforts to bite down and bear the burden of his misery. Somewhere in the middle of his latest howling episode, he feels another wave of bile rake its way up his esophagus and spew from between his lips just as Steve regains his hold and tries to right them. He has half a second to notice that he tastes more copper than he should before he's interrupted.

"Shit! Sorry… M'sorry, fuck; Eddie, y'okay?" Steve pushes them back into upright positions and Eddie does what he can to breathe through the oncoming spasms. He braces himself through the foreboding thought that his apparent savior appears to be slurring his words too. That's likely not a point in their favor.

"Steve, Eddie! Oh man, that's so much blo-!" Dustin blubbers. Doesn't appear to move any closer though.

"It's fine, m'fine, we're all 'kay," he says all in one rushed breath, "L'ess just keep g'ing, like I said before, Dusty, we're all gonna… make t'out." His grip on Eddie's wasted body grows ever tighter, as if doing so further impresses upon them all his oath.

But Eddie can't see it. Can't really see anything at present. All he knows is anguish. Empty words. The encroaching presence of Death's door beckoning him. This group of people already clearly struggling to survive but slowing their progress ever more just to try and see him out too. He can't let them. He can't let them waste their precious limited time on him.

Nancy falls back, grip on her shotgun slackening just so, inspects them both with furrowed brows and a tense line across her forehead. This close, he can actually make out some details, such as the very brief nibble of her bottom lip, a faint fracture in her emotional armor before she puts distance between them and offers a grim nod. 

It's clear that the prognosis isn't great but she's not giving up on them either.

"You're both fine so we keep moving. Make sure you keep up. We're close to the exit."

That leaves it all up to him then.

"J'st… leave'm." He hurtles through the statement so fast, he's unsure if they'll understand. But they need to so he'll say it however many times it takes. Even until his dying breath.

"... What?" Dustin practically whimpers in disbelief. "No!"

"M'done. Dying… dead… wh'tever… Can't let y'guys get… tr'pped here." His vision, what's left of it, wavers in and out and Steve notices, jostles him again, snapping him back to the present.

"Eddie, c'mon, we don't have time to fight over this, dumbass!" Robin reasons with him. "We don't leave our people behind so you're coming with us!"

"N'then what?" he asks, tone sharper than he expects of himself, certain that had been bled from him already. He does what he can to blink away the blurred, darkening edges of his vision because he needs them to understand. "S'a waste. J'st gonna wind up… in jail… Or strung up… 'n th'streets by some… vig'lante mob. S'not worth saving me… S'just leave me here."

The group appears to erupt into chaos at this point.

"We're not gonna-!" 

"Eddie, you moron, we didn't come this far-!"

"Y'r not… listening here…"

"You're one of us, okay? So you're sticking with us-!"

"We know people, they can help maybe, we'll figure it out-!"

"It's a waste of time fighting now. Steve, just keep carrying him out. It's not like he can stop us-!"

"F'ckin' listen to me, d'mmit…" he grumbles, short of breath again now, but perhaps that's the panic attack from his only likely future (or lack thereof) pressing down on him from all sides.

"Shut up!" Steve's tone carries a grave definition, and their entire party stills rather impressively in response. "We're not fighting about this now. Eddie, we just got you back from the fucking dead. You're coming with us. We'll handle the rest."

"But…"

"You do not get to die here. You don't. You don't get to hurt the rest of us that way." And then, after a brief pause, he twists the knife. "Unless you plan to run away like a coward."

Ice drips down to the base of Eddie's spine at that. After everything he'd endured, he deserved his rest, despite it being potentially eternal… but hadn't he already said he wouldn't be that guy anymore…? So then did he have a metaphorical leg to stand on in this argument?

"... S'not worth g'ing back."

"You don't know that, man. This is your first rodeo and, yeah, things weren't looking great before. But, like Dustin said, we know people and they've helped clean up after the Upside Down b'fore. If they can't work it out then we'll save you ourselves. We've 'lready done it up til now, haven't we?"

"Can't… ask that f'ya, man." He's practically suffocating from everything already and trying to think of anything beyond the here and now only exacerbates his condition. "S'is easier to j'st let me go. J'st--"

"Shut your mouth, dumbass, we're done talking about it. Nance, Robs, Dustin, let's move out."

"H'rington, wha' gives you th'right to-!"

"Because, asshole, we're in this shitstorm together until the end. You don't get to clock out early!" And then, as the final nail in the coffin, "If you die, then I die! We all die! It's all or none of us!"

A stark, stagnant silence weighs them all down instantaneously at that. Not to be deterred, Steve strengthens his grip on his apparently unwilling cohort and stalks forward toward their destination, casting a furtive glance at Dustin that Eddie doesn't understand as they pass him and the others.

And Eddie… What can he say to that kind of line? Especially coming from King Steve 'The Hair' Harrington himself? Once again, he's struck with the profound knowledge that this isn't the guy he remembered sharing the Hawkins High School halls with. 

All that being considered, he thinks such a declaration merits a response, and he can't help feeling moved - perhaps even tempered - by it. So he musters up his meager strength and delivers unto his savior his final decision.

"... Th'n I guess… we'll live."

---

I'm a huge fan of callbacks to earlier intense/emotional moments in canon so, when the thought came to me of having Steve use Dustin's line to urge Eddie to continue living, it wouldn't leave me alone.

This is the first thing I've written in a good year, and I only wrote maybe 15k words around then, and hadn't written for a good 5 or so years leading up to it. So, uh, please understand I tried my best for now, clearing the cobwebs. Hopefully it all came together fine.

I'm open to continuing in this "universe", maybe going from pre-Steddie vibes to full-on Steddie. This was just the original premise and I wanted to get it out there. I doubt anything else I write will feel all that "unique" in regards to this scenario (since lots of people have written Eddie-survives fics).

Like I said at the start, please like/reblog, let me know what you think, maybe follow me if you can manage to put up with my mess of a blog that is not 100% Steddie. It will all encourage me to continue my dumpster dive into this ship/fandom.

[david-watts]

tagged by @elecctromechanika - thank you!!

last song: honestly don't remember what I last listened to. planning to play one of the records I got over the past couple of days later though. idk I have to reorganise my 7" collection anyway so I might just slap something on from that and if so I'll absolutely be playing telstar by the tornadoes on loop

last book: I'm tempted to lie and say something a little more cultured but it's 'the railway enthusiast's encyclopedia' by o. s. nock. it was published in 1968 so it coincides with the end of steam on british railways, and also because I bought it from the most fascinating little bookshop it smells like my dad's place with all of his old books. adds to the experience

last film: it was indeed what's new pussycat starring peter o'toole and I swear to god this film is going to take me forever to finish because. well. I keep getting a bit too excited and have to stop. you can fill in the blanks

last television show: surprising literally everyone it's not dr who! it was great rail restorations, which is a five-part doco hosted by peter snow and henry cole where they follow the restoration of four railway carriages. it's actually quite fascinating and it's on youtube as well if anyone would like

sweet/savoury/spicy?: I can for certain rule out sweet. savoury to me tastes bad as a word so even though I think I should be saying that I don't want to... and I'm not averse to spice either. actually it's kinda funny because my uncle tried to raise my cousins to like spicy things and they both hate spice now whilst neither of my parents tried and I ended up liking spicy things anyway. but yeah I think I'll go with savoury even if the taste of that word honestly makes me want to vomit

relationship status: combination of 'I am literally the worst person to be in a relationship with outside of obvious toxicity and abuse' and 'I keep falling for people I can't have'. also I'm aromantic

last thing I searched: 19th century sofas because I was organising my reference folder because it'd gotten a little disorganised and I realised I don't actually have many references for 19th century sofas. yes it is crucial that I have references of that specifically. what do you want from me

current obsession: lawrence of arabia. my dad is so proud of me, my m*ther hates me for it. best result of a manic episode ever

looking forward to: finally fucking dying like man. this sucks. even if I wasn't becoming convinced I am going to die in a way that terrifies me which is honest to god worse when you're half-aware you're crazy and it's not actually happening. I don't want to be aware of that. even though last time when I wasn't really aware it was truly horrible. like even without that my life is pretty terrible and I'm fairly certain that the universe intended to put me in a completely different context to what I am in

favourite drink: that's not discontinued? that green monster energy. or the lava guava mother energy. or gin with pine-orange juice. one of those

song played 24/7: dream/joey by the pretty things ohhh my god that song is. fairly crucial to my being. you have no idea. I need everyone to listen to it you have to in a way to understand me

current favourite character: I'll admit there's a bit of a list because I can't truly choose one singular favourite of all time however for the past few days I've had jc from the ruling class rotating in my brain. literally so embarrassing to recognise oneself through the other in that guy. like. actually I'm not elaborating on that it's bad enough as it is that I'm admitting as much

fun activity you would like to get into: I NEED to get back into archery like. the issue is I'd probably need to go to the meets and I don't have anyone to take me. because I'm a loser who lost his learner's test forms and can't drive yet. whoops

last video game: idk it was probably tetris. or online sudoku. if you want the last story-focused video game I played it was xenoblade chronicles 2

last comic/graphic novel: the last one I looked at was the dr who omnibus with the tenth dr who and emily winter and matthew finnegan. but I wasn't actually reading that I was checking on a quick detail in it so the last one I actually read was evening's empire. which I appreciate more now that I've actually watched seven's era. also it's artistically quite striking

tagging @bbbrianjones @fancycolours @cogneartive @abrighterwound @anynameisbetterthanmyfirstone and @death-of-a-ladies-man and of course, no pressure if you don't want to

[siyurikspakvariisis]

WIP Wtechnically Thursday

whoops neither sleep nor writing for me

I haven't had much writing done lately, as I've been busy reading, playing wargames and also playing obscene amounts of Bannerlord, but I'm trudging through loss.pdf and also a couple of rarepair projects...

Tagging @night-dark-woods, @gaymarasov , and whoever wants to do it I guess!

loss.pdf

it's going... it's not going. my hype was bigger than my ability to write serialized prose back when I posted their meaningless loss so I suffer. I dejectedly poke at different chapters like a meal I don't wanna eat. It doesn't feel great!

have an excerpt, though

"You must be Shadowheart's father." The elf nods curtly. "I remember you from the cloister." And so does Nocturne. She remembers being taught the ways of pain and truth, remembers strapping him on a table to learn how to make lying Selûnite mouths vomit truth instead of light. She remembers a hot poker in her trembling hand and the smell of burning human skin. But didn't she, too, enjoy it? Didn't she laugh at their — Shadowheart's parents, Nightsinger unmake her — cries of pain, too? Didn't she preen at Mother's praise?

my girfriend and I saw you across the refugee camp and we really dig your vibe

Alfira/Lakrissa/Nocturne. t4t4t (tiefling4tiefling4tiefling. two out of three tieflings are also trans). Nocturne gets to bond with people outside of the cult and be something else than a Sharran or an appendage of Shadowheart!

"Maybe they took you for one of us Elturellans," offers Lakrissa, "they've been hassling us every time a house gets looted or whatever. As if Baldurians wouldn't, you know. Well," she gestures towards Nocturne and Nocturne answers with what all three tieflings are thinking. "Well, I'm Baldurian. But do you think they give a damn?" Lakrissa lets out a mirthless laugh. "Chew off a tiefling and feel like you told Asmodeus himself where to stick it. Figures." She sighs. "I gotta get back to work. Stay for as long as you need, alright? No big deal. What was your name again?" The vise of fear eases its grip. "Nocturne."

lakrissa x nocturne thing question mark

not a lot written on this one and I may try another perspective but I do want to do something with this pairing since @linka-from-captain-planet opened my eyes. have an excerpt that I may scrap but that hopefully captures the rancid vibes

She looks over her shoulder to beg with that pretty mouth of hers, "harder", and Lakrissa's hips stutter, driving the glass cock strapped to her hips further into this stranger bearing the face of a dead woman.

[veilder]

please excuse my word vomit but I shortened the hell out of my caption to avoid being annoying and your tags on my art sent me into a frenzy haha

so my favorite pre relationship dynamic for convin (and in my current fic) they start out as enemies with benefits who accidentally develop feelings but are in denial and know the smart thing to do is to stop and so every time they hook up is the last time (until the next time). and you’re right I drew gavin with the pained expression bc he’s the first one to realize his feelings are feelings but he doesn’t think he deserves connor and he thinks connor wants this to stay physical and that hurts but 1. he thinks he deserves the hurt and 2. he’ll take what he can get for as long as he can get it (hahaha ow). I’m allergic to happy endings in my own writing but I wholly support your happily ever after 😄

also no pressure at all just floating the idea but I’d be so down if you ever wanted to do a collab :] anyways yeah I’m happy you liked my pic and your comments always bring me joy, keep on being wonderful

Omggggggg, what a great ask to get!!! Thank you so much for sending this! 🤩🤩🤩 So, one, your idea behind your art is wonderful and fits them both perfectly. Two idiots getting in over their heads and catching feelings? Yep, that's them, lol. Although, I'm already imagining a happy ending for the two of them, even in that scenario, so whoops! XD I know for me, when I saw your art I was thinking that they were set to be separated. Specific scenarios were still up in the air (i.e. investigation gone awry, some sort of terminal condition, human!AU college fling, historical!AU, etc), but there would be some sort of circumstance that would drive the two of them apart. And this would be the scene of them making the most of their last days together, with Connor throwing his whole self into it while Gavin, in an effort to make the inevitable separation hurt less, begins to withdraw, even though it hurts him. And it would lead to a really messy breakup where they both say hurtful things and are just left with so many regrets. But then... there would be some sort of timeskip and they would meet again, both very changed now but never forgetting the impact the other had on their life. And again, something would force them together, whether it's work or some sort of mystery or even just running into each other over and over again. And they would both realize that the other hasn't really changed as much as they initially thought. That he's still the man they fell in love with. And that those feelings are far from dead. And eventually, things would rekindle in a burst of passion and long-held feelings and it would be terrible and beautiful and cathartic and so, so painful all at once. They'd wake to a morning of regrets and, in their fear, again try to sever ties. But they'd be miserable about it and all the life would drain from their days. That burst of brightness they'd slowly brought back to each other has once again vanished and they're both left in the dark. And then, idk, the plot would pull them together one final time and they'd get to have their moments of peril and heroics and emotional confessions. And finally, finally they'd confess their feelings for each other. The feelings they've had for so, so long. And they'd both realize what absolute dipshits they've both been, that they've both felt the same way for years and were just too emotionally constipated to do anything about it. And then I'd probably undercut it with some sort of big BLAMO moment where one of them gets taken out by the bad guy (I've decided that there's a bad guy now XD) and they'd be dying in the other's arms. And you'd think that that's it! That, after so much build up and them finally getting on the same page with each other, that they won't get their happily ever after after all. But then idk, there'd be some clever deus ex machina I seeded into the story early on that comes through for them and they both live and the bad guy goes to jail and everything is GOOD! And then sappy epilogue. XD ...Ugh, see? Look what you're making me consider here with your beautiful art?! I'm plotting. Multi-chapter plotting! UGH! 😫😫😫 No, but seriously, I adore that art and felt so damn inspired when I saw it? I wish I'd had more energy to do something with that, but alas! I was just getting off work and it was very late. 😓😓😓 BUT THEN YOU SENT THIS AND MENTIONED A COLLAB AND NOW IT'S ALSO VERY LATE HERE BUT I'M JUST 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 BECAUSE DAMN SON, I WOULD LOVE TO COLLAB?! Like, I legit cannot make any promises, I've had the worst case of writer's block ever now for a couple years and counting. But even if it's just, idk, discussing ideas or chatting about these idiots or something, I'd so be down for it! Definitely feel free to hmu whenever!!! I'd love to chat!!! :D