#Drabble fillet

[handsofred]

Steter and number 43 for @iamaslutforjatp

Song: Got it in you (Acoustic) - Banners.

The city lights that he can see through he window of his high rise reminds him of the woods of home and the fireflies that he used to chase as a child, together with his sister, capturing them in jars and watching in awe as they created their magic.

He's dressed in slacks and his shirt is half unbuttoned, sleeves folded over his forearms. Peter breathes out slowly, heavily, as he follows the flickering lights down below, watching as traffic weaves its way through the city, even this late of night.

It's silent in his place, the only sound that escapes is when he raises his glass of whiskey to his lips and he gulps down the amber liquid. It burns his throat as it goes down but it's a taste that he adores and welcomes after such a hard day in court.

But he feels like he's burning out, that the fight for his clients were running him down, dragging him under the waves of case after case, human monstrosity after monstrosity.

It's the slide of arms around his waist, long fingers dragging across fabric before skin to rest over his heart as a chin rests against his shoulder. He feel's the warmth of his partner, his lover, his life against his back, feels the breath against his flesh, his heartbeat starting to calm his.

''You can do this.'' The words are whispered as he looks out over the city twinkling away. ''You have it in you and even when you're beaten down and tired, you get up and fight tooth and nail for those children you represent.''

The words soothes over his aches and the drowning sensation, he feels the heart of affection curling in his chest, the weight of Stiles' words dragging him back to the shore again, turning on the lights to lead his way back home to soil ground. He always knows how to centre him, to anchor him once again.

''She'd be proud of you, they all would.''

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

[minminbunny]

Hybrid AU - Black Panther Hybrid! Lee Minho/Older Undercover Cop Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

Minho growled, his fur up and standing from your curious gaze. He snarled, baring in claws and fangs within the confines of his cage. You eyed him with an icy look, keeping your persona as an underground cop. Minho glared at you his posture wary and bracing to attack. The auctioneer pat on your shoulders, "A hybrid that one, black panther. His base price is around 1 million at least, if the owner kills him they'll still have a fur coat to make," he chuckled, hitting the cage with a static staff. 

You clenched your jaw, "Seems profitable, let's see how it goes," you said, trying not to blow your cover as your eyes lingered on him. It didn't take long for the raid to take down the market. Quick, efficient and thorough. With some old-fashioned torture, they should be able to dig up the information they need. You went back to the room, cages of hybrids glaring at you with fear and anger. 

You took out your badge, "You're not going to be sold. If you have family, let me know. I'll alert them," you said, removing your hat to show your genuine gaze. Most of the hybrids, relaxed after seeing the badge, except for one. Minho glared at you, his stance never changing since you first met him. You knelt down in front of the cage, "Do you have a family?" you asked, seeing the wary hybrid in front of you. 

Minho huffed, shaking head. You pursed your lips, "Maybe I'll adopt you, but for now the nurses have to check your well-being and such," you said, giving him a subtle smirk. Minho blinked, taken aback by your blatant words. You chuckled, grazing his ears through the cage, "See you then, cutie," you teased, waking away from the cage.

"Thanks," you said, waving at the men who helped you move Minho to your house. You opened the latch and stared at him, "Still wary?" You asked, seeing Minho curl up at the back of the metal box. You sighed, placing down the necessary meal for him,  "It's not laced or expired. Eat when you want to," you said, walking away from him. Minho gulped, his mouth pooled with drool at the sight, he slowly but surely went towards the meat. His tongue grazed the flesh, there was no odd taste or texture. 

Minho huffed through his nose and chewed on the meat. You walked down the stairs with a towel around your shoulders as you dried your hair. Happy to see him eating. Minho flinched, dragging the plate deeper into the box with him. You chuckled, heating your dinner, "I'm not going to steal it, kitty. No worries," you teased, watching the microwave. You carefully placed your meal on the coffee table and looked at Minho through the darkness. 

Minho licked his muzzle, wiping his face with his paw as he cleaned up the blood. You chuckled seeing the plate get pushed towards the opening, "Done already? I'm pretty sure I placed 6 fillets of steaks," you teased, seeing the licked-clean dish. Minho gave you a low growl, his tail flicking with annoyance. You nodded, eating your dinner, "Okay, okay. I got it," you said, giving him some space.

The routine stayed the same, once in a while Minho would allow you to wipe the sides of the box clean. You always loved those moments, it made your heart swell to know that he was comfortable. One day, you find yourself crying from exhaustion. Minho begrudgingly, got out from his box and laid by your feet. You chuckled through your tears, hand graze through his thick coat. 

Minho huffed but didn't move away. He allowed your hand to stroke and grasp even with your tears dripping onto his ears. It didn't take long for you to pass out on the couch. Minho huffed again and jumped onto the couch, he nosed your nape, his muzzle close to your jugular.  One bite and you would've died right there but he didn't. Minho laid half of his body across your lap. His big paws slowly made biscuits on your thighs as you slept.

Whenever people came by, Minho would stay in his box. His low warning growls were enough for people to stay away. It didn't take long for you to notice your clothes disappearing from your closet. You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking that you might have forgotten them at the dryer or something logical. Until it came a day when you had to clean Minho's box and found a stash of your clothes in a makeshift nest. 

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow and only got a huff in return. You cleaned up but didn't mess up the nest, "Have you been shifting when I'm at work?" You asked, crossing your arms. Never once did you have to clean his faecal matter. Minho was through with those urges. He walked into the bathroom, did the deed, and walked back out like he had never shifted. Minho looked at you with a deadpan look and went back into the box. You sighed, "You could've just asked, silly cat," you said, letting him be.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

 "Noona," Minho whispered, grinding your pillow while you were at work. His hips made quick movements as his tail pressed down on his leaking cock. His back arched as his orgasm shuddered through his body. Tremors of pleasure deafened his hearing for a moment. Just enough for you to witness his orgasmic expression without him knowing. You stood by the door, hesitant to make a move. 

Minho opened his eyes and shifted back in shock. His cock dripped onto the pillow and his tail shot up straight. You smiled, "It's alright, kitty. We all have our needs except I didn't expect you to be using my pillow to get off, that's for sure," you chuckled, feeling bolder to stroke his ears. Minho purred at the stimulation, his cock throbbing against his torso. 

He huffed, shifting back into a human, "Please have me feel good?" he rasped, voice husky from the pleasure and lust. You cooed, pulling him onto your lap, "Noona's got you," you said, kissing his nape as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Minho groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You chuckled, pumping his cock at a languid pace. Your thumb rubbed the underside of his cockhead. 

Teasing that sensitive frenulum. Minho groaned, his thighs tensing up at the pleasure. You gulped, cock throbbing beneath your pants, "Such a pretty cock, kitty," you said, voice deep and breathy. Minho whimpered, moving your hand faster. You chuckled, picking up the pace to pump quicker, "Yes, yes. Noona knows," he teased, flattening his palm against his cockhead as you stroked his quick. 

Minho's eyes flew open, the pleasure surging through his sense, "Hah, hah, cumming," he gasped, squirming within your hold as ropes of white painted his torso. You cooed, messaging his swollen testicle, "Look how much milk you made, kitty," watching Minho's cock spurt out more and more semen as he messaged there. Minho mewled, licking your nape with his barbed tongue. You winced at the rough drag but you knew he needed something to ground himself with. Minho purred, slowly drifting off to sleep as you took care of him.

AMAB

 "Hyung," Minho whispered, grinding your pillow while you were at work. His hips made quick movements as his tail pressed down on his leaking cock. His back arched as his orgasm shuddered through his body. Tremors of pleasure deafened his hearing for a moment. Just enough for you to witness his orgasmic expression without him knowing. You stood by the door, hesitant to make a move. 

Minho opened his eyes and shifted back in shock. His cock dripped onto the pillow and his tail shot up straight. You smiled, "It's alright, kitty. We all have our needs except I didn't expect you to be using my pillow to get off, that's for sure," you chuckled, feeling bolder to stroke his ears. Minho purred at the stimulation, his cock throbbing against his torso. 

He huffed, shifting back into a human, "Please have me feel good?" he rasped, voice husky from the pleasure and lust. You cooed, pulling him onto your lap, "Hyung's got you," you said, kissing his nape as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Minho groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You chuckled, pumping his cock at a languid pace. Your thumb rubbed the underside of his cockhead. 

Teasing that sensitive frenulum. Minho groaned, his thighs tensing up at the pleasure. You gulped, cock throbbing beneath your pants, "Such a pretty cock, kitty," you said, voice deep and breathy. Minho whimpered, moving your hand faster. You chuckled, picking up the pace to pump quicker, "Yes, yes. Hyung knows," he teased, flattening his palm against his cockhead as you stroked his quick. 

Minho's eyes flew open, the pleasure surging through his sense, "Hah, hah, cumming," he gasped, squirming within your hold as ropes of white painted his torso. You cooed, messaging his swollen testicle, "Look how much milk you made, kitty," watching Minho's cock spurt out more and more semen as he messaged there. Minho mewled, licking your nape with his barbed tongue. You winced at the rough drag but you knew he needed something to ground himself with. Minho purred, slowly drifting off to sleep as you took care of him.

[monimccoythings]

Masterlist of fics

𝓗𝓪𝔃𝓫𝓲𝓷 𝓗𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓵

Alastor x Daughter! Reader (platonic)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Alastor and his child!reader headcanons

Cused!Cat!Alastor and daughter reader

Devotion

Runaway I

Marvel​

Eddie Brock/Venom (msm 2017)

Awakening

Eddie and Symby Headcanons I

Eddie and Symby Headcanons II

Accidental heroes

Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Hello Neighbor (Cavillrine x Reader)

Wolverine going down on you

Logan (X-Men: Evolution) x Bartender!Reader

Mending Each Other's Hearts I

Mending Each Other's Hearts II

Like Father Like Daughter

Not That Handsome

Headcanons (X-Men 97' Logan x Reader)

Brief SFW and NSFW Alphabet for Logan

Home (Cavillrine x Reader)

Logan as a retired family man

Mama Wolf (pregnant f!Logan x m!reader)

The Beast Within

The Way We Were (TWWW I)

Till We Meet Again (TWWW II)

For Better or Worse (TWWW III)

By Any Means (TWWW IV)

Domestic OldMan!Logan and Laura

Werewolf!Logan Howlett

Feral!Logan drabbles

Double Trouble

How the other X-Men would react to Logan's crush (X-Men 97')

Logan becoming more feral as he gets older

Shine Bright like a Diamond (Emmarine)

Primal Instincts

Dad Bod

Cigarette Break

Friday Nights

Logan with a reader who uses flavored lipstick balms

Sleeping Beauties

Uno Reverse Card

Worst Logan fucking you throught your pregnancy drabble

Behind Those Hazel Eyes

Being in a Relationship with X-Men: Evolution Logan

You and Worst!Logan leaving your kids with Wade to babysit

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Ex!husband Matt Murdock Headcanons

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞

Arlong x Human!reader

Headcanons

Parenthood I

Parenthood II

Human!Healer I

Human!Healer II

Human!Healer III

Four Encounters

Under Your Spell

Sore Loser

SFW Alphabet

Wedding Crashers I

Wedding Crashers II

Wedding Crashers III

Little Siren

𝕋𝕄ℕ𝕋

Ray Fillet

Provisional headcanons (Pre-movie)

Remake (Post-movie)

𝗡𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼

Bowser:

SFW Alphabet

Cuteness Overload

Classy Turtle

Tiny and Cute!

Progress

Bad Pick up Lines

Others

𝔊𝔞𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔩 𝔙𝔞𝔫 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 (coming soon)

[thatonedogart]

Did someone say Mouthwashing AU??? NO??? WELL THATS TOO BAD!! [open full screen for high res]

Welcome to my version of Mouthwashing, where we find out what happens if curly didn’t burn to near completion and instead suffered from a minor (major) breakage of his mental well being while still being par cooked like a fillet

ITS CABIN FEVER BABY!

Watch out Jimmy, those responsibility are gonna start piling up.

Now please enjoy some in AU cannon writing Drabble from the wonderful nurse Anya

Curly

“I can’t feel it anymore, I can only feel you, rotting in the back of my mind.”

Captain Curly, one seriously stubborn patient. Between ripping off his bandages and being insistent on disobeying bed rest orders he makes for an exhausting handful. That’s not even mentioning the side effects from the oxycodone.

-took away his boots, not only were they burned but he’d most likely break an ankle

-not that he’s said much but the current change in appearance is upsetting him

-don’t mention the small bald spot and grey hairs growing in from the explosion

-he barely makes sense, waking in stints of 2-3 hour intervals

Jimmy

“He’s clearly lost his mind. Don’t listen to him.”

Current head captain of the ship, Jimmy, doesn’t allow anyone to check him over since the crash. With curly waking up he’s only become more irritated, keeps suggesting curly needs more medication. Maybe it’s stressing him out to see his ex captain and friend in such a state of harm?

-still wears clothes from day of the crash despite barely washing the blood out

-stated multiple times curly had lost his mind and tried to attack him

-frankly I don’t want him in this office, even if he was hurt

-curly doesn’t tolerate his presence anymore

[no longer allowed to give the patient his meds or provide assistance]

Daisuke

“Everything’s fine. Right? Right. Everything is fine.”

Jittery anxious intern, very welcoming to any and all needed checkups. It’s clear he’s suffering from some developed anxiety disorder, the stress of the situation is becoming to dire. Aside from spraining an ankle on the day of the crash he’s been in perfect physical health.

-rarely seen above deck since Curly started waking up

-now hoarding most of the small adhesive bandages as he’s been biting his nails

-still up for small chat but something is definitely keeping him wired

-“the hello kitty ones are the best” said the bandage thief

Swansea

“I’ve seen too much bad shit happen in long hauls before, leave me out of this.”

Our master mechanic Swansea, has had zero things to report to medical. Always clear and straight to the point he wants to be left out of the fuss. Especially with the current conflict between our captains.

I wonder what his family thinks of him.

-conversations are rare

-most of his time is preoccupied with the master controls in the cockpit and Daisuke

-had a momentary relapse with alcohol before curly started waking up

-our weakest moments are not our proudest but it doesn’t change who we are

Anya

“When you wake up from a bad dream, the dream is supposed to end.”

Nurse Anya, nothing to report. Taking care of curly has been my top priority, fatigued and strained I may be but I swore I would help people.

-nauseous, no medication on board to help

-exhausted, curly keeps me up even if I manage to fall asleep

-could really use a hot shower

-it feels ridiculous making notes on my own self.

[gofishygo]

dark! konig x reader drabble ; about 350 words

warnings : sort of ooc! konig (in my opinion) , descriptions of violence , murder , blood , brief mention of body horror , obsession , not proofread

konig never thought he'd murder someone before .

the men he'd eliminated in his job were nothing to him. an order given by whatever upper force was controlling his team at the time. no thought or rhythm in tearing knife through the neck of some guard, methodically wiping off brain matter from his gun. those weren't people to him, before or ever, only another opponent. he was the killing cog of some machine far higher than him, some monopolised philosophy he was paid enough to never question.

and only now, after years of working for kortac, he'd truly killed someone.

it's with his own hands, the cloying scent of blood reverberating in his head, adrenaline clawing a hive inside of his chest . he can't remember the name of the man sprawled out beneath him, with ribs split open into some macabre human fillet, only having remembered his voice . his wretched screams that echoed against silent walls , his sleazed and rotten tone when he'd tried to buy your body with his words . when he'd tried to

buy you .

you , with your shiny eyes, and you, with your sweet words, and you, with your charming smile . you, a part of konig that had grown like some tumor, clinging to his insides and warming what was left, youyouyou . so it's no question to cover your eyes and tell you to go home , to grab some jagged rock and take to the man's head with a smile in his eyes .

because when he's handed the gun, when he's given a knife, when he gets to pick the target, you are too . and when he tucks himself in with you, kisses your closed eyes and whispers whatever sweet words materialise in his brain, he's holding the only part of himself that he truly considers alive, clean. even if you dont realise it yet, even if you've never wanted to hurt a soul, you're another part of his twisted mind, the little whisper in his ear that never ceased.

so the first time he kills, he kills with you .

[halfmoth-halfman]

karma is a cat purring in my lap

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: very minor spoilers for designer dress, mention of animal death, a cat with a vendetta Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: oop the cat drabble got a little longer than i expected but oh well i had fun with it

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

A spiteful little thing so eager to sink its fangs into every inch of flesh it sees, and Price has to wonder how Roach got it into the manor in the first place.

They try to lure it out from the corner it’s tucked itself into, try to coax it from where it lounges just atop one of the massive bookshelves, but every attempt is met with hisses and swipes of those streets-sharpened claws. When the cat decides it’s finally had enough, it resorts to slinking across the higher shelves and knocking off the thickest books it can find. The heavy tomes land with a loud thud every time until one falls onto Soap’s face and blood bursts from his nose.

They let it be after that, resigned to allowing it to nest atop that bookshelf where it watches them almost smugly. 

Rudy tries to tempt it away at the end of the day, shaking a bowl of freshly filleted fish and ground meats in the cat’s direction. The cat watches him, tail swishing back and forth against the spines of the books it’s perched upon, but it never moves.

Rudy gives up after half an hour, leaving the bowl behind in a frustrated and defeated huff. 

Roach checks on it the next morning to find the bowl empty, curiously looking around the room for any sign of their tiny intruder. It isn’t long until he spots the meat-smeared paw-prints trailing into the kitchen, and when he follows them—

—Roach has never seen such a mess, bits of food smeared across the table, the chairs, even the windows. It’ll take forever to clean properly, and Roach wonders if the cat actually ate any of the food before it turned the dining room into a meat-based Jackson Pollock painting.

A small chirp catches his ear, and he turns to find the cat sitting in the doorway, head tilted, paws licked clean, and whiskers twitching. It chirps again, almost like it’s…laughing at him? Surely it couldn’t—

Roach takes a step forward and the cat turns to run with lightning speed, taking its place back atop its books.

From there, the cat’s behavior only worsens.

It only acts at night when everyone is asleep, picking its targets at random; a suspicious display of intelligence that sets the house on edge.

Ghost is its first victim, waking up early in the morning to find his bedroom door cracked open and his collection of masks lying in shreds on the floor. He storms through the manor searching for the culprit in a blazing fury only to find the cat lying in front of the fireplace in Price’s office on a bed of shredded cloth. The cat darts away the moment Ghost catches it, evading him with surprising nimbleness to disappear into the manor. 

Alex is a repeat target, much to his frustration. It’s following him, he thinks, but every time he checks his surroundings there’s no sign of it. Yet it somehow always manages to appear whenever Alex decides to eat, knocking something over to distract the man only to take a swipe at his plate the moment Alex looks away. Alex cleans five meals from the dining room rug before he goes to Price.

The cat never stops in its journey of torment. It chews König’s socks and boots until they’re deformed and soggy, sneaks into Price’s closet to tear at his clothes, steals Valeria’s jewelry to hide it in the houseplants, and screams at the top of its little lungs outside Alejandro’s room at random hours in the night. 

They have to do something, but they can’t get the cat to leave. It outsmarts them at every turn, disappearing into crevices of the manor they never knew were there. 

Price doesn’t care how it’s handled, whether they choose to let the cat live or get rid of it another way. He gives his people free rein to deal with it how they see fit with only one exception: keep the cat away from Canary. 

Their relationship is so precarious already, and he wants her only focus to be on recovering. The last thing she needs is this tiny demon to ruin her clothes or destroy her meals. 

The next day is spent with a manhunt for the cat. 

They search every corner of the manor, leaving no stone unturned and no room unchecked. Every inch of the manor grounds is scoured in search of the hellion, but the cat seems to have disappeared. There’s a small murmur of disappointment, but mostly relief as they conclude that the cat must’ve finally tired of them and run off.

Price finally relaxes the tension from his shoulders, weaving through the manor halls to check on Canary. 

He’s never been a cat person, and this kind of nonsense is exactly why. If he’d had his way they would’ve taken that damned cat and–

“Are you warm enough?” Canary’s soft voice drifts out of her room, a light, happy tone that Price hasn’t heard from her in so long. 

Her door is slightly open, and Price inches toward the gap to peer inside. He’s careful not to make too much noise and startle her, not wanting to disturb her in any way. Not if she’s having a good day. 

He’ll just check on her, and then he’ll leave. 

“Oh, what a big stretch!” Canary coos. 

Price nearly trips in his steps, catching himself at the last minute. 

Who is she talking to–

Oh. 

When he peeks inside, he spots Canary in bed, lying on her side to face the door. She’d see him easily if she were to look up, but she’s too preoccupied with the cat sprawled on its back in front of her. Legs in the air, it bats softly at her wiggling fingers as she pokes and rubs its belly. 

The cat rolls onto its stomach, lazily crawling up the bed until it reaches Canary’s face and gives her a gentle lick on the nose. 

Canary laughs softly, and it’s the best thing Price has heard in months. He’s craved that sound for so long, begging every higher power for her to find something to bring her joy again. 

Canary shifts to lay on her back, the cat immediately curling up on her chest and nestling its head under her chin. She softly strokes along its head, a gentle smile gracing her face. 

Price lets out a small, contented hum just quiet enough for Canary not to hear, but the cat’s ears twitch. Those wide, watchful eyes snap open, staring straight into his soul. 

He’s never seen a cat glare before, but he’s certain he has now. It looks downright threatening, daring him to come closer and disturb their little sanctuary. 

He understands now. This isn’t some random stray that decided to make the manor their home. This is the answer to his late-night prayers, his pleas for Canary to be happy once again. She’s been handed a new friend, a creature to give her the affection and comfort she so desperately needs, but they have been delivered a harbinger of retribution. Canary is too healed to try and give them the karma they deserve, but this cat has proudly taken up the job for her. 

Somewhere in the world, a finger's just curled down into the palm of a monkey's paw.

Canary shifts, a small wince as she moves her head too quickly and the bandages catch. 

The cat purrs loudly, nuzzling as far into her as it can, and Canary’s wince slowly turns to that stunning smile Price has missed so much. 

Price has never been a cat person, and will probably never settle with the future havoc this cat is sure to wreak, but if that possessed creature is able to bring Canary even a small amount of solace? 

He’s willing to try.

[piedpiperslists]

heyyyyyyy wondering if you have a list of innocent oc/experienced jk or the other way around fics recs

Hi. I'm going to assume you mean experienced in sex? These fics I included aren't necessarily innocent x experienced, but more of them being "inexperienced".

This is over 25 fics, so I put it under the cut.

* s - contains smut sm - social media format

Inexperienced!Reader:

Love Me by mono-moonchilds - drabble (s) / producer's daughter!reader, idol au Summary: Girl, I fuck who I want and fuck who I don’t. Got that A1 credit and that fillet mignon. She said, “I never wanna make you mad I just wanna make you proud.” I said, “Baby just make me cum, Then don’t make a sound.”

Angel by pixieknj - one shot (s) / wc~5.2k / fuckboy!Jungkook, university au Summary: After giving your virginity to the university’s most notorious fuckboy, he’s on a mission to slut your innocent ass out and take all that he can get... [or] small collection of fuckboy JK turning you out...

First & Last by kookiesjoonies - one shot (s) / wc~4.2k / friends to lovers Summary: During a game of never have I ever, Jungkook finds out that you haven’t had your first kiss yet and decides to show you how it’s done.

Milestone by 1kook - one shot (s) / wc~8.2k / brother's best friend Summary: Part of you is touched that Jungkook really has been there for every milestone in your life. The other part wishes he hadn’t shown up looking so ridiculously sexy.

No Longer Strangers by soft4gguk - one shot (s) / wc~9.4k / strangers to lovers, PWP

Pop Goes the Cherry by 1oserjk - one shot / wc~3.8k / angst, brother's best friend Summary: Jungkook comes back home to find you visiting as well, all grown up — in more ways than one.

Strictly Platonic by jeonqkooks - one shot (s) / wc~19.4k / friends to lovers, fake dating, college au Summary: Sometimes, Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own.

Practice by chryblossomjjk - series (s) / fuckboy!Jungkook, FWB, college au Summary: You usually spend Friday nights on your own. Tonight, however, your friend and campus fuckboy, Jungkook, decides to pay you a visit.

Ruin You by bts-bay-bee - series (s) / FWB Summary: Best friend!JK teaches you the basics of sex, and essentially ruins you for anyone else.

Shiver by hansolmates - series (s) / bad boy!Jungkook, church girl!reader, childhood friends to lovers, FWB Summary: Your childhood crush Jeon Jungkook has changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. When he returns for a Christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. In exchange, Jungkook craves a taste of you.

Inexperienced!Jungkook:

Close the Distance by hearts4joon - one shot (s) / wc~13.5k / college au, neighbors au Summary: Two different adults, living two completely separate lives — in the same neighborhood. A guy who’s overbearing mother makes him carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. A girl who’s parents are all too drawn to her younger siblings to even give her the time of day. While the two fall in an unlikely relationship (very unlikely), they still ravish each and every part of one another in every way — the best of attention, the one they both craved all their lives.

Curiosity by hobidreams - one shot (s) / wc~3.6k / best friend's brother, college au Summary: When innocent Jungkook comes to you with a not-so-innocent question… you decide it’s easier to just demonstrate.

Ghosts Just Wanna Have Fun by sugaxjpg - one shot (s) / wc~20k / med school au, psychic au Summary: When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

Gotcha by whatifyoulivelikethat - one shot (s) / wc~11k / childhood friends to lovers, college au Summary: The color blue. Two white hairpins. “Hey, Jungkook.” A laugh with shaking shoulders that Jeon Jungkook thought he would hear and see forever. Hey, Jungkook. But then those words became a memory, until she was standing in front of him again, sporting the title of “Virgin Killer” and Min Yoongi by her side. Was this his second chance or just another memory?

I Want to Have Sex by jeongi - one shot (s) / wc~7.2k / established relationship Summary: You plan on taking your boyfriend, Jungkook’s, virginity tonight.

Infatuated by namsjunies - one shot (s) / wc~3k / university au

Need to Know by pixieknj - one shot (s) / wc~4.4k / virgin!Jungkook, friends to lovers Summary: Jungkook’s tired of you teasing him…

The Virgin Volume by kpopfanfictrash - one shot (s) / wc~6.8k / angst, college au Summary: The story of how The Rich Man’s Crochet Club Jungkook lost his virginity. Prequel to The Monogamy Monologues.

Here's more Inexperienced!Jungkook but I keep getting an error, so I had to break up the list

Will You Make a Mess Now? by softyoongiionly - one shot (s) / established relationship, college au Summary: Jungkook’s never been touched before and, after a hectic end to his semester, he thinks he wants that to change… Can I Make a Mess Now? by softyoongiionly - one shot (s) / established relationship, college au Summary: Jungkook’s never had sex before but, after realizing that he’s falling in love with you, he thinks he wants that to change.

Twelve Hours by whatifyoulivelikethat - two shots (s) / film director!Jungkook, burlesque dancer!reader Summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

For Science by boymeetsweevil - series (s) / nerd!Jungkook, friends to lovers, FWB, college au Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

Love Formula by kimnjss - series (s sm) / shy boy!Jungkook, fuckgirl!reader, college au Summary: You’re barreling into his life when he least expects it, stealing all his attention until the nights spent studying are replaced with rolling around the sheets. He’s hopelessly romantic and you’re in it for the fun, but no one told you it would ruin your life.

One Time, In Your Room by ubemango - series (s) / established relationship, college au Summary: There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

Both Inexperienced:

Taste the Feeling by 94hixtape - drabble (s) / established relationship, PWP Summary: Masturbation + Bodily fluids.

But We Loved Too Young by jl-micasea-fics - one shot (s) / wc~10.4k / childhood friends to lovers Summary: Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

Helping Hand by minlucent - one shot (s) / wc~3k / ft KSJ, boyfriend!Jungkook, PWP Summary: You and your boyfriend are inexperienced in terms of sex. It is decided that the best way to fix that is to have a little help from a friend.

The Fuckbuddy Code of Conduct by yoongiphoria - one shot (s) / wc~2.7k / fuckbuddy!Jungkook, lawyer!reader, FWB Summary: A little experiment between you and your fuckbuddy leads to an unexpected confession.

[aiher]

ADIPOCERE —ft. kujou sara / drabble. brainrot.

kujou sara with an obnoxious kitsune!reader that teaches her to be a little more selfish, to live instead of endlessly carrying out missions like a programmed dog.

the brain worms hath caught up to me and i love this dynamic. like, you're the coffee intern of the shrine, meaning yae just sends you out to the city every once in a while to do miscellaneous tasks. this time yae has requested you to get an order of fried tofu noodles though your eyes catch a peek of someone's menu, and suddenly your cravings get the better of you.

hijinks ensue, you've just played into someone's fantasy about being a great yokai guardian of the grand narukami shrine, and get some offerings (mora! yippie!) out of it. you order both grilled unagi fillet and yaes fried tofu noodles.

your schemes continue until a certain general catches wind of a scammer running through the streets of inazuma city, parading around and acting as a great yokai guardian. it's safe to say she wouldn't have trouble finding out who the scammer in question was; shrine maidens aren't commonly found in a market.

though, catching this thief is proving quite the challenge. everytime she heads your way—in your vicinity—you break into a sprint. even if your scams have reached it's end, you still haven't compensated the victims, so she's still looking for you.

months pass, the victims in question have received enveloped mora in the mouth of a fox. is this your way of compensating? she ponders.

there hasn't been any other kitsune in the city other than yae miko, and there haven't been any suspicious looking people at the tailor requesting a shrine maidens outfit.

perhaps the next time she pays a visit to the grand narukami shrine, she'll ask about you.

++ i think this is how I'd like it to go, believe it or not, my first draft on this idea (about 5ish months ago?) had reader being caught immediately and trying to waffle her way out of questioning (i couldn't write past it, there's no way kujou sara wouldn't be able to stop the conversation from derailing) but there's something abt kujou sara seeking you out, something SHE would like to do. like... she's asking yae miko about the shogun and her wellbeing, yae's responses are obviously halfhearted... that is until kujou sara is about to bring the conversation to an end. she remembers that scammer from a while back, and asks about it. about you. THEN yae's tuned in like "why does the general wanna know abt some random shrine maiden?" and then kujou sara spills the beans......, now u have not only been demoted to the statue scrubber, you have immense calf pain from walking up and down the shrine and to the forest.

and then reader holds a grudge against kujou sara...., so the next time u see her, instead of running you scold her for snitching.

then kujou sara stands her ground, saying that you shouldn't have been scamming people in the first place.... and then well. I'll write abt that later

(didn't know where to say this but i think the reason reader would run is because of the way yae miko talks about her. "a general with a stick up her ass." that'd make you think she's the no nonsense, cold and hard type. and noone doesnt exactly wanna get sent to prison, so..... ur only option is to run and never look back ig??!)

[leggerefiore]

cw: drabble, not a x reader, pokehybrid au, sharpedo Grimsley and Archie, Grimsley being an ass

“Y'see, us Sharpedo hybrids aren't that scary,” Archie argued, “You just have to get to know us! I only get aggressive if the ocean is getting polluted.” He felt quite happy to preach at a group of Sharpedo enthusiasts on the beach. They listened intently. A few were interspersed wearing a familiar banana that he recognised as his crew. It was nice to help teach people that Sharpedos were not some monstrous bunch that lurked the ocean for their next prey. Well, not all of them anyway. Some could be quite violent and brutal – truly loaning themselves to their prescribed title by humans. The bully of the sea. Archie was not that. He was a protector.

Yet, creeping out of the water curiously was another Sharpedo hybrid. Archie wanted to remark that he looked quite sickly, with his pale skin and dark under eyes, but one glance at the tone of his tale showed a different story. He was healthier than one might think. What brought him around? He was not sure. Definitely was not from these waters. That was all he could ascertain. The crowd glanced curiously at the newcomer, clearly interested in who he was or what he might do.

“Oh, man, are we not that scary?” The newcomer questioned, “… I do wonder about that boat that I bit a piece out of earlier then. I did go by quite fast… A risk for all involved.” Archie gasped. He had listened in apparently and was now trying to undermine everything that was said. The crowd seemed a bit more uncertain, but his crew backed him up still. Of course, they did. They knew Archie was not some violent monster that came running at the scent of blood without thought or reason.

“An' why'd you do that?” the bigger man replied and crossed his arms, “What do you get out of attackin' random boats? A harpoon shot at ya?” Archie only attacked boats if they were going into protected zones or actively hurting the sea. He did not really prefer attacking humans if he could avoid it. His mate was one, after all. Best not to upset them. They might fillet him or something. “Don't you have a human you care for?”

Grimsley shrugged and let the waves lull him closer to the sands of the beach. “I do,” he replied, “But, they don't travel by boat.” Archie now felt frustrated. Well, someone might! They had to share the waters even if he did not like it himself. “If they are in my territory, they are just asking for it,” he caught himself before he was pushed entirely onto the shore, “I'm pretty well known back in Unova... Though, I did get chased off. A friend in Alola gave me a place to stay, but I ended up swimming off on a whim.”

“And? You still didn't learn to stop attacking boats after that?” Archie honestly felt nervous, seeing him near all the people on the beach. He moved closer himself.

“I'm a thrill-seeker,” the response was light. His icy blue eyes watched Archie's actions closely. “… Ah, do you think I'm really going to attack humans directly?” a small chuckle left him, “That's a death sentence in my usual experience. Or, well, if you get caught, it is.” With that, he seemed to grow bored with the crowd and treaded back into the deeper waters. Grimsley took one last glance at the people crowded on the beach before disappearing under the waves and swimming off.

Archie swallowed. That definitely would set him back. “… I'm not friends with that knave,” the Sharpedo hybrid could see the panic present on some of their faces, “That's one of the ones you need to avoid. He's probably lyin', too. I can't think of anyone who has gotten away with attacking a human.” He desperate glance at his crew had them gearing to help calm the situation. Now, Archie had a new enemy.

[robindrake93]

Five Finger Fillet (100 words) by robindrake93 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Clarisse La Rue Characters: Clarisse La Rue, Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson) Additional Tags: Drabble, POV Third Person, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Five finger fillet, Amputation, Blood and Injury Series: Part 216 of 365 PJO Drabble Challenge 2021 Summary: Clarisse plays five finger fillet.

[homicidal-mother]

Here's a fun little poll... Out of these (select few) bad things that have happened to me, which do you think is the worst?

I'll write a drabble based off the winner lmaooo

[thewritingcellist]

Late at night, Eddie loves tracing the veins that show on his wrists.

It started out as something small, something he didn’t notice, way back in hospital. The place they sometimes avoid driving past as though it’ll grow Vecna-like tentacles and ensnare Eddie again. The place that Steve swore to god was more his home - more welcoming than his home - with all the time he spent there. And the place that saved Eddie’s life, and Max’s, in that terrifying limbo of After.

Eddie was so still and quiet back then. So pale and faint. Like a pencil smudge all but erased.

For so long it seemed hopeless. For so long all Steve’s life consisted of was ferrying himself and the kids back and forth. Drawing up a roster - an honest to god roster - to allocate time for each to spend with either Max or Eddie that wouldn’t drive the nurses mad. Somehow he’d done it. And somehow he’d ended up always being the last one to see Eddie each evening. Whether it was fluke or subconscious design he still doesn’t really know, but he does know that the quiet in that room unnerved him more than Vecna ever had. So he’d taken to speaking, quietly, about anything that came to mind. Basketball. Repairs. Robin. The car. Even the music he was listening to, music he knew Eddie would side eye him for. It all tumbled out whilst his fingers trailed mindless patterns on the hospital sheets. And interspersed with it, he apologised.

For being too slow. For being that jock. For not getting DnD no matter how much Dustin tried. For realising things too late. For needing Robin to help him understand.

He wishes, when he’s definitely in one of his romantic moods, that it was then that Eddie woke up. That their eyes met, that he frantically called the doctor or nurse to come see the miracle. But it didn’t. And maybe that’s better. Because how it did happen is so much more ‘them’ than anything else could be.

So instead of a dramatic awakening, Steve felt Eddie’s fingers brush his wrist.

Even all these months later, that feeling hasn’t lost its electrifying surge of power.

But back then - the first time - Steve didn’t even notice. He still continued bitching about Henderson’s lack of manners over spilling a drink in his car. Over the cost of cleaning. Over the stupidity of it all. And all the while, Eddie’s fingertips traced idle, undirected patterns over his veins. Butterfly soft, and gossamer light.

It wasn’t until the day after, when he’d been greeted at Eddie’s door by a nurse who reminded him of Robin in fifteen years, that something registered. As she explained that Eddie was responding to outside stimuli, that he was trying to interact, that he was on the cusp of waking up, that Steve had a niggle in the back of his head that he’d missed something important.

Eddie still rips into him over that in the most loving way possible.

So maybe it was because he was looking for it, that he noticed it that second night. And by noticing it then, had an echo of a memory from the night before. The faint callous from Eddie’s guitar playing grazing Steve’s skin. The catch of a nail that needed trimming. He’s not too proud to admit he nearly cried at the touch. At how Eddie was reaching out. Reaching through the coma to pull himself out.

It took two more days for it to work. Two more evenings of a feathery brand applied to Steve’s wrist, as though the touch was lightening the void that Eddie had been floating in since they carried his bloodied body out of the Upside Down. And by the time Eddie did open his eyes to meet Steve’s, there was nothing hidden and nothing able to be misunderstood.

One night, not dissimilar to this night, Eddie confessed why he did it. Why, even after he was discharged and fitter than he’d ever been, he’d still trace Steve’s veins on his wrist.

“It’s life, man. You, you’re so bright to me, always have been, the balance to how dark I can get-” and if Steve hates hearing that, Eddie shushes him expertly with teeth and tongue before continuing “and right here is where we join and meet. Right here is where I felt you alive and near. That’s something heady. Your life just caught beneath this fragile skin.”

So Steve lets him trace his veins, doesn’t even pay it any attention late at night. But it’s reaffirming all the same, this small ritual that has been with them since before the start was even acknowledged. The unspoken bond that tethers them together. And when he feels Eddie’s fingertips seek out the patch of skin, he turns into it, into them, and settles further into sleep.

[the-muses-are-herd]

- Mutanimals: Ray.

Canon: After #8, "The cruel sea".

He could just stay underwater pretty much forever. Should. Ought to. May be better.

Floated up to the surface. Of course the rafters were gone, probably docked somewhere close. The others were all gone --all but the alligator staring at him.

"Satisfied now?" said Leatherhead.

What was it about the man that made it impossible to lie to him.

"No," said Ray, sincerely. "If anything I feel even more stupid."

"Just so you know it doesn't seem there were any casualties."

"Not from my lack of trying, though."

"Ray."

"...I know. I don't..." he looked up, met his friend eye to eye. "...I did want to kill Mossnback, for a moment. I think someday I... might see red for long enough to do that. Even though I know a single person doesn't take care of the whole problem. And yet--"

He was expecting all sort of gestures --a shrug. A dissapointed sigh. A grunt.

But not this: Leatherhead crouching down and offering him his hand.

"That's enough mopping for now. C'mere, get some grub. The guys set up a nice bonfire, found plenty of wild game. And I know you like bonfires. Come."

There is no thinking about it --he takes his friend's hand, lets himself be pulled out of the water, out of his maze of obsessions.

*

[leclsrc]

This req is gonna sound weird but do yk that scene in friends where ross is hugging rachel by the legs? on his knees? could i have a charles drabble w/ that? ty!

the final frame – cl16

You and Charles move in together, among other things.

auds here... this req is from before christmas hahaha. i do not watch friends so i scoured the internet for this ‘scene’, i hope i was right and i hope i did this req justice! this is the last one for now and i’ll hopefully reopen them fr in a minute. title from this

The night’s colder than you anticipated, a cool draft sending goosebumps up your forearm as you inspect the fillet of salmon in the oven. You step forward, off where you’d been leaning on the island, to heave the window shut—the act usually requires all your strength—but Charles bounds into you from behind, pressing insistent, laughing kisses onto your neck.

“C,” you say, giggling yourself, a hand coming up to stroke at the nape of his neck. “Stop, there are people in the next room.”

He bites on your jaw a little and you laugh. “Next room, babe. Like, right in the next—just two metres—!”

Laughing still, he finally lets up and effortlessly shuts the window himself. He pecks another kiss, just on the tip of your nose, murmurs I love you and lets it settle into the herb-smelling air. “Are you tipsy?” You ask, teasing. He winks.

“No—really, though,” you press a little, lacing your hands together. “You’re fine?”

“Totally.” He smiles. “Bit nervous.”

“I was, too,” you start, squeezing his hand, “until I remembered these are literally just our friends. And they’re stupid, and they’ll probably love us even if we announced we murdered someone.”

He nods and smiles, slots your mouths together. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “I love you. You look beautiful.”

Really, you’re just in a two-year-old dress from a flea market in Provence, and your hair is dry and ratty and tied into a bun, but you appreciate the compliment. He’s being genuine, eyes gliding over you with ease as he presses yet another kiss to your cheek; you loop your arms around his neck, smiling up at him. This is so foolish, you think, to be so idiotically in love like this, but it’s Charles, and it makes so much sense.

“You’re glowing, really.” He doesn’t give, still spouting compliments like a broken fountain. 

“You suck.” You’ve never been good at accepting compliments, which seems ironic because you’re with a man who loves words, loves to tell you how much you mean to him, muffled by skin or said through a mic or in French or Italian. You tug him closer. “Should we go?”

He pauses, exhales. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Your friend group has gathered here, at Charles’ place, under the pretense that you’re trying to finish the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine Charles had purchased from France, but really, it’s for you both to announce your moving in together. Little milestones like these have always been celebrated by your group, and this is no different; tonight, Max has even volunteered to fix the clock that permanently reads 12:38 on Charles’ flat’s mantle.

You lead the way from the kitchen into the living room, where everyone is engaged in some kind of chatter or activity. Lily’s legs are draped over Alex’s lap and she’s coaching him through a Rubik’s cube. Lando is busy telling a joke to Carlos and Isa. And Max is three feet off the ground fiddling with a clock, turning deviously to ask: “Where have you two been?”

“Shagging,” you reply with nonchalance. 

“Your hair’s still perfect,” Lily says disapprovingly. “Don’t lie!”

You roll your eyes, stifling a smile as you lean into Charles’ arm that’s wrapped itself around your shoulders. In the future, you’ll tell yourself you should’ve noticed his clammy hand pressed against your arm, or turned and noticed his blank stare, his too-nervous gait. So many signs, you’ll think, and you ignored them all because you felt so damn happy. “Okay, I’m lying. The truth is…”

You turn to him, brows raising. “…you wanna go?”

“I wan—do you?”

“Sure, if you—”

“Just tell us!” Lando yells impatiently, sitting straighter, abandoning the joke in favor of this. “Tell us. Now!”

“Okay, um, we—well, a few months ago we decided we kind of. No, we definitely wanted to live together. And, to save you all the sexy details of getting leases and looking around Monaco for flats—we got one just two weeks ago. So this is—what it is, is it’s, uh, really a dinner to celebrate saying bye-bye to Charles’ flat. Okay? Right. Okay.”

You pause. The room erupts in whoops and cheers—many utterances of the word finally! float across the room. Immediately Isa and Lily are standing, demanding to see pictures of the new place, directions they can input into their cars and phones so they know exactly how to get there. Carlos, Lando, and Alex all cheer, offer alcohol as housewarming gifts. Max nearly drops the clock.

And this is it, you think, the rest of your life’s been decided. With this group, and your Charles, and the flat that will be yours by tomorrow morning.

—

Your house doesn’t feel much like home.

You know it’s an unfair statement, that it’s only really been two, three months of living together. But something has shifted, something you cannot name no matter how hard you try to. It’s just as cold tonight as it was the night you were in Charles’ old place announcing this one, but everything feels different now.

The move had started excitedly, with you sending near daily updates to the group chat with Isa and Lily, of paint swatches and ship-ins from IKEA. They sent flowers, came over to inspect the place, and so did everyone else—Max returned the now repaired clock, nailed it onto a spot on the wall the entire group agreed on. Slowly, bit by bit, the place began to feel like it was yours. 

But the nights without Charles grew long, and the days with him at work or at the gym or at a media affair—some of which he’d easily denied in favor of you before—grew more frequent. The flat, big and wide and lofty in an affluent neighborhood, felt bigger when he was gone. You were alone, a stranger in your own house, without him. 

You can’t pinpoint anything.

You can’t pinpoint the when, the how, the why, the if. To you, everything is vague, and that’s the worst part: how can you fix something you can barely understand? You haven’t shared a cup of coffee in ages, and the most you see of him is half his foot departing the front door in the morning. It could be work, it could be the preparing for the season, but in six years of being together nothing’s felt quite like this. You wonder if it’s deliberate. 

But your texts to Isa and Lily stay the same. Cream or eggshell? Cerulean or slate? And when they ask about Charles, you ignore the bite of guilt and lie instead. C and I just had brunch, he said eggshell, but the truth is, you’re the one settling on eggshell. You’d asked him ‘cream or eggshell’ three weeks ago and he said he’d think about it but he didn’t come home until four, and he hasn’t answered it.

He gets in on Saturday night earlier than usual, eyes dark with exhaustion. He’s wearing a suit, and you don’t know why. You can’t place half the places he’s been lately. His texts are choppy, standoffish. Here. Leaving soon. I’ll see you? “Hi, baby,” he croaks when he sees you nursing wine at the kitchen counter.

“C,” you say quietly. “Hi. When did you get in?”

“Just now, I was driven.” 

“Oh.” You pause. “Want a glass?” You raise the bottle.

He seems to hesitate, stopping in his tracks a bit before nodding defeatedly and pacing toward you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheekbone, then finally your lips. You relish this, because you haven’t had it in so long. This intimacy, this affection, this kiss that isn’t pressed onto you while you’re asleep and he comes home with apologies flowing from his lips.

You pull away, pour him a glass of red. “Isn’t it crazy to think we have a home now?”

His smile flickers a little, and you notice. You try not to sound nosy when you pry. “C,” you say, the lump rising in your throat. Here you are, celebrating one of the happiest chapters of your life, but Charles won’t even meet your eyes. This is it. After months of not knowing, you think, you have to know. Now. “Are you okay?”

The wine is only half-poured. He sighs shakily, shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He sounds so, so far away.

“You’re scaring me,” you say, laughing. But you sound more nervous than amused. He sounds nervous, too.

“Baby,” he says suddenly, like a dam in his mind has broken and everything is spilling out, all the damage, all of it, and it’s washing onto you like a massive wash of water. “Baby, I—I fucked up.”

You cannot withstand the wave. Your eyebrows knit together. “Tell me,” you insist. Even more surprisingly, he crumples to his knees, hugs your thighs and leans against you. You press, anyway. “Talk to me, C. Please.”

“You can’t fix this,” he says resolutely, “you abso—you can’t.”

“I will,” you say. “I love you.”

“I slept with someone else.” This is a great, big, terrible feeling. You really can’t fix this. You’re back to being clueless. Your heart stops, and so does your breath, heavy and heaving. Words are dry when they try to leave your throat, leap off your tongue. Your hand, threaded into Charles’ hair, pauses. You feel him crying, but you feel nothing else.

“You what,” you ask. It’s so dry, everything is desert dry. A whisper, a breath, a murmur in the cold kitchen.

“I’m sorry.”

“C,” you say, and you can’t even cry yet. You’re stunned, struck with dizzy disbelief. “Was it—when, like, last season…?”

His silence answers you, and you stumble backwards, out of his grasp. You shake your head, like you’re trying to quell the tears, the lump in your throat, the nerves in your stomach that threaten to bubble over.

“Don’t say this year.” You shake your head, over and over, shaking and shaking, like it will rid you of the conversation you’re currently having. You think of the paperwork, of the nearly dropped clock, of signing the lease, of eggshell and flowers, of housewarming gifts yet to be unwrapped.

Tearily, you muster, “Don’t tell me, C. Don’t fucking do this to me, please. Don’t.”

“I barely even know her,” he says. “Once. It happened once. It meant nothing.” Your soul crushes, shot and wilted.

“No, it meant everything,” you say angrily. You’re angry now. Angry and sad, and furious and boiling with rage. You’re everything. You’re a house fire, right here in the flat. 

And you stand, feet bare on the tile, thinking about how you’ll have to live with this forever, branded like an ugly stamp. You loved and he did not. Get out, you say. Get out and don’t come back, I don’t care. Don’t fucking come back. You shove him weakly, but he gets the message, ushers himself to the coat rack. You’re not even yelling. You’re just breathing heavy, shaking your head, like you’re denying this ever happened.

You only cry when he’s left, loud, exruciating sobs. He wrestles himself outside still apologizing, saying he’ll be back tomorrow. You’re torn between hoping he will be and hoping you never see him again, crumpled to the hardwood of your brand new house, knees weak, heart weaker. You don’t get up until morning. 

[dreamdaddydutch]

✒️All writing - Master list ✮

🖤  I finally decided to not only update my Masterlist, but to re-do it completely. Below are the current 57 pieces of writing I’ve done for the RDR2 fandom, split into four categories; Headcanons, Long fics - all 18+ explicit so minors DNI, Explicit fics (just shorter or headcanons) and Drabbles. I’ve tagged the characters I write about most frequently, but have written about others/included others in headcanons. Over time I will update this list to include better summaries, word count, clearer pairings etc. But for now I’ve left a rough idea next to each one.  🖤

Headcanons  ★

Time of the Month - How the gang reacts - Headcanons for Charles, Arthur, Javier and Sadie - how they look after you when you’re on your period. Warning for blood/a little smut.

Sleep Paralysis - How the Gang react - Headcanons for Javier, Tilly, Hosea, Lenny & Kieran. Little thoughts on how these members of the gang would help if you awoke from experiencing night terrors/sleep paralysis and the things they’d do for you.  

Time Travel head canons - Self-explanatory - A collection of thoughts regarding the gang and if they time-traveled to our time - some of it involves the reader.

Lenny - Guard Duty Headcanons - Pretty self-explanatory, just a collection of thoughts on what it would be like to be on guard duty with Lenny.

Pottery Date Headcanon - Javier x gender neutral reader. Short head canon imagining going on a date with Javier - it’s basically imagining ‘that’ scene in the film Ghost.

Van Der Linde Gang time travel karaoke head canons - Does what it says on the tin.

Headcanons - Dutch reacting to their s/o being teased - Request.  does wha it says on the tin. Pretty fluffy really and with gender neutral s/o.

Sean Looking after you headcanons - :) Gotta give Sean some love and he clearly likes looking after others!

Javier Teaching you how to play 5-finger fillet.  Long head canon regarding Javier’s teaching methods (he’d be the best and sweetest teacher)

Taking Mary-Beth to a book store Headcanons - Time travel, it’s short and sweet but I love Mary-Beth and she deserves the world.

Headcanons - reader sleeping on Dutch. Request. Honestly one of my favourite things I’ve written, it’s cute and fluffy!

Drawing Headcanons - Request. Fluff. Hosea/Arthur/Dutch and how they react to a reader who loves to draw members of the gang/the camp.

Javier/Charles/Arthur in an argument with reader - Request. CW relating to heated arguments/flinching in case of violence (of which there is none).

Going for drinks with Lenny Fluffy & Fun. Does what it says on the tin. 

Trelawny ‘s favourite plants - fluffy, thoughts on what plants  Trelawny loves and why - kind of linked to my piece ‘Everyday Magic’

Christmas/Yule with Javier 

Arthur being jealous & possessive 

🔞 Long Fics - All 18+ Minors DNI  ★

The Fairytale She Wove Pairing: Dutch x ofc (his s/o) - It’s over 17k words long, it’s easily my favourite thing that I’ve written for this fandom. There’s smut/angst/some violence and a warning for miscarriage. Essentially I wanted to write about what it would be like to be Dutch’s s/o through the years, the good and the bad. I may revisit this and add at some point.

Damned from the start. Request. Quite a bit of Angst. Pairing - Javier x f! s/o. Javier falls in love with Bronte’s daughter without knowing her true identity. Naturally when things go down, it gets awkward and Javier questions his feelings/loyalty. 

Absolution at the base of your Altar - Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four.  Pairing - Javier x afab reader. The reader was at Blackwater and thus carries around a lot of anxiety/survivors guilt over what happened. She thinks of something that may help her process the grief and guilt, but it will take Javier’s help. A lot of content warnings apply aside from the smut/explicit material, there are references to survivors guilt, anxiety, mental health, degradation, religion/theology, spitting during sex, reader being triggered by certain words during sex, hair pulling, choking. 

When It Rains - Hurt/Comfort/Angst . Javier choses Dutch over the one he loves, only later to return to them and beg for forgiveness. 

🔞  18+ only/explicit  ★

Ride of a Life time Part 1 - The Ride of a lifetime Part 2  Dutch x female reader - smut - Whilst the gang escapes in the middle of the night, Dutch and the reader ‘get dirty’ whilst riding the Count. Dutch has a new toy he wants to introduce to her…

First Times - Wax Play - Javier x gender neutral reader - smut - Headcanons (though a lot of bullet points, I got carried away) for the first time Javier and his s/o experiment with wax in the bedroom.

I See You - Charles x gender neutral reader. Smut & Angst/Hurt/Comfort. This broke my heart writing it… The reader was Arthur’s s/o, Charles promises to look after them, after Arthur’s death the reader and Charles process the pain by sleeping together.

Javier (slow, romantic sex) Headcanon - This is just fluff and smut really. Thoughts on Javier being super tender and romantic during love making.

What Do we have Here? - Molly O’Shea x female reader - Smut & some fluff - The reader comforts Molly after a particularly bad argument with Dutch, manages to soothe her by ‘getting into bed’. Of course there’s a chance they get caught.

Coming undone - Javier x John - Smut (a little fluff) To escape a storm, John and Javier decide to stay in a hotel, there’s only one room with one bed left, but that’s okay. After a bath, Javier heads back into the bedroom to find John, naked, in front of a mirror watching his reflection as he gets himself off. Javier intervenes.

Torturous - Dom Dutch x f! reader - (Prompt) - Smut (includes bondage and edging) Dutch is punishing the reader by fucking them incredibly slowly and teasing them a lot, no matter how much the reader begs/whines for more.  

Punishment - Dutch x f! s/o reader - (Prompt) Smut (a little fluff) The reader hasn’t been pulling their weight in camp so Dutch decides it’s time to punish them with a good spanking. Also contains a little over-stimulation and squirting.

A lesson in intimacy - Javier x Reader - Reader wakes to find they got their period during the night, Javier awakens to wonder what’s up. A lot of fluff/comfort and Javier being a sweetheart. Also contains Menstruation sex so please read with caution.

Charles gives a spanking - Request. 18+. Gender neutral reader. The reader opens up to Charles regarding the benefits of a good and loving spanking.

Dutch Face-sitting head canons Request. Dutch x f! reader. 18+ Does what it says on the tin.

HomeComing - 18+ Dutch x gender neutral reader. Imagine what it would be like returning to the gang after several weeks away, especially if you were Dutch’s s/o...

Punishment befits jealousy - Request. 18+ Spanking. Dutch x gender neutral reader. The reader lashes out at Mary-Beth with jealously, Dutch gives them punishment in the form of spanking.

The Lawman’s Uniform - Request. 18+ Dutch x f! reader. The reader (Dutch’s s/o) gets turned on by seeing Dutch in the lawman’s uniform, but is too nervous to say anything. Dutch takes matters into his own hands.

The Lawman - Request. 18+ Dutch x male reader. Dutch’s life is basically saved by a lawman, they’ve seen each other several times, started to get a feel for one another and realise there’s a connection. They decide to commit to this connection.

Take me to church - 18 + Request. Dutch x f! reader. Dutch robs the reader at gunpoint, the reader is in to it....

In A Cave - Request. Javier x gender neutral reader. Fluff. Things are pretty tough in Beaver Hollow, Javier knows that so he joins his love who is sat in the cave escaping the rain to comfort and reassure them.

Snow Request. Charles x gender neutral reader. 18+ In Colter the reader and Charles manage to get a moment away from the others to connect and return to their primal states while escaping the snow.

Pleasant Encounters - 18+ Dutch x f! reader. Based on a dream I had about Dutch. The reader meets Dutch at one of the mayor’s parties and gets to know him really well.

Thigh Riding with the gang - Featuring Javier, Charles, Lenny, Dutch & Mary-Beth. Does what it says on the tin. 

Together - Javier x Gender neutral reader. When things get difficult, sometimes the best medicine is just being close to the one you love.

First time - Dutch x afab reader. Just some thoughts on the first time the reader has anal sex with Dutch, how he prepares them/looks after them etc. 

Caught off Guard. Request. Dutch x afab reader. Set during Guarma, reader should be on guard duty but Dutch catches her pleasuring herself instead. He takes things into his own hands, quite literally. 

Drabbles  ★

What am I to you? - Arthur x gender neutral reader. Fluff & some angst/low self esteem. Based on a prompt I got sent, the reader and Arthur go fishing, Arthur asks a question that’s been playing on his mind. Longer pieces of fiction 

I can’t believe you believed me? Dutch and Hosea (being dads) - No warnings - a little fluffy. Based on another prompt that was sent to me, Dutch decides to try and get Hosea back for all his years of pranks and show the conman he isn’t always on the ball.

Just Breathe - Javier x Charles - gender neutral reader (Platonic) Hurt/Comfort/Fluff. The reader has a pretty awful panic attack and leaves the camp as they don’t wish the others to see. Javier and Charles find them and comfort them and help to coach them through it and calm down. Written in a way that can be taken as platonic, but also potential relationship.

Everyday Magic. Trelawny x gender neutral reader. Fluff. Trelawny and the reader are out on a mission for the Gang, they enter a greenhouse where the reader’s mind is opened to the beauty of plants. They and Trelawny share a heartfelt conversation over lunch which leads to a little more than was expected.

A Prophecy - Fluff/angst/comfort. Arthur & Mary-Beth talk about their future and Mary-Beth’s writing.

The Opera Singer. Request. Arthur is at one of the Mayor’s parties, there’s a female opera singer and he just cannot take his eyes of her. Of course Dutch has to intervene to make it awkward.

The Bird - Javier x gender neutral reader. Fluff/romance. This started off as something that was meant to be a short paragraph but ended up being a mini fic. The reader and javier are in love, they find an injured, young bird and look after it. The bird represents other parts of their relationship.

Singing while Javier plays guitar - Request. Pure fluff. The reader loves hearing Javier play guitar and sing in the evenings, it helps them sleep. Occasionally they join in. 

Molly reading Arthur’s diary - Request. One day Molly finds Arthur’s diary when he drops it, before returning it she has a quick read and within finds his thoughts about her. 

Everything will be okay in the end Pairing: Javier x reader. Fluff, a little angst. Javier comforting the reader when things get tough. Written during the covid days.

Autumn Haze - Lots of fluff, a little angst. Plenty of Javier providing comfort.

Kissing You - Fluff. Javier x gender neutral reader. The reader dreams of kissing Javier under the mistletoe, this fics shows that occasionally dreams can come true.