#Jean 'oh shit this all actually has purpose and meaning if I want it to and I had to lose my city and my best friend to see it' is so

[thelastsirenssong]

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18+ mdni | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

part one

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝓍 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

* dom/sub dynamics

“Was that Harrington I just saw sneaking out of your window, princess?” Eddie’s deep husky voice startles you after returning from your bathroom in an effort to wash the leftover cum taste off of your tongue. Not that you didn’t enjoy it, you just really didn’t want Eddie to taste it on you.

“Huh? Oh um yeah. He came by to bitch about the book report I wrote for him.” You giggle before wiping your chin of the left over dampness.

“Mm, I see… so then what was the deal with him buttoning up his jeans while he was walking to his car?” He asks with a raised brow. Eddie didn’t actually witness that, Steve was already in his car by the time he pulled up, but there was no harm in fishing.

“Oh—”

“Did you fuck him?” He growls through clenched teeth.

“Does it matter, Eddie? You’re my dealer who I occasionally sleep with. We’re not together.” The way his face drops after those words leave your mouth, has you internally wincing. It’s not that you didn’t like Eddie, you did, a lot but you were also undeniably into Steve; even though he was the biggest asshole in Hawkins, not to mention your bully. You just couldn’t help how weak in the knees he made you, but you wouldn’t tell that to Eddie. You didn’t want to hurt him and you’d never be able to explain the deep attraction you have for both boys, that conversation just seemed way too daunting.

“You sure about that? Had you screamin’ how much you loved my dick…what, like three days ago? Sounded like I owned that pussy then. But what, now king Steve comes along and you’re not mine?” He rasps with a deep chuckle, eyes boring into yours as he makes his way to stand in front of you. Gazing down at you like a predator to prey.

“Yeah, yeah mister hot shit. Did you bring the pre rolls?” You hold your hand out with faux irritation, not missing the way Eddie continues to inhabit your space.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time, princess. Did. You. Fuck. Him?" He’s now so close you can smell the tobacco and mint on his breath, god it’s a fucking crime the way these two assholes make you feel. Steve with his mean commands and degradation and Eddie with his possessiveness and dominating presence.

“No Eddie, if you must know. We did not have sex…but I did blow him.” You say flippantly, with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You…blew…him?” He repeats slowly, as if taking in the new information was just too much to comprehend. “Now why the fuck would you do that knowing I was coming over tonight?” His eyes are blown wide and there’s a grit in his voice, he’s pissed.

“Well, I purposely bombed that book report and he was really angry, so he said I owed him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way you’re telling him this as if you’re talking about the weather, like this is no big deal. But it is, it’s a big fucking deal to him, you’re his. Steve is a rich, pretty boy who gets everything and anything he wants. But you’re so fucking off limits, and Eddie’s prepared to tell Steve just as much, come tomorrow.

But right now, Eddie’s ego is a bit damaged and he feels as if he needs to prove himself by fucking you into your mattress, to remind you who you belong to.

“Take off this little nightgown, angel. Then go lay on your bed. Face down, ass up. Now.” Excitement runs through your body like electricity. You don’t even think twice before slipping off the thin nightie and making your way to your bed, crawling into position over your soft pink duvet.

You wiggle your ass in the air impatiently, as you bury your face in your sweet sugar and vanilla fragranced bedding.

A deep hum sounds behind you followed by a chuckle of the sadistic nature. You know that sound all too well, Eddie is gonna punish you, no doubt in your mind.

“So…my sweet girls really just a desperate little slut, hm?” The mean tone in his voice causes your whole body to shutter. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s fucking thrilling.

You hear the slap echo throughout your bedroom before you feel the sharp pain.

“Fuck, Eddie!” You didn’t mean for the muffled scream to be so loud, but the hit to your tender flesh was like a shock to your system.

“Uh uh, you know what to call me, bunny.” He whispers into the marked up, reddened skin he just assaulted, giving the burning area a quick kiss before pulling something out of his back pocket. You could see his movements in the body length mirror hanging beside you, which you were grateful for in hindsight.

The flicker of something shiny captures your attention, and your heart speeds up when you realize it’s his switchblade.

“Don’t worry, just gonna get this shit outta my way.” He mumbles before cutting your white cotton thong clean off of your body. You gasp when the back of the cold blade touches your skin.

He throws the little piece of fabric across the room in a haste of excitement to get back to playing with you.

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked. Is this for me or Steve?” The pitch in his voice shoots higher at the mention of Steve’s name, and you were very aware that he was mocking you.

“You master, I’m wet because of you.” It’s a half truth but you’d never tell him otherwise.

“Oh yeah? Mkay, well let’s see how many smacks to this ass it takes before you’re begging me to fuck you.” He states with a wicked chuckle.

“count.”

You couldn’t help but to shriek at each blow to your ass. By the tenth spank you were a sobbing, begging mess.

“Please, please master. I’m sorry, please fuck me. Please!” Tears were dampening your sheets as you sobbed for relief.

Eddie dug his long fingers into your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling you up so that his lips were right beside your ear.

“You think you deserve cock, bunny? After you just sucked off another?” His hand tightens in your hair at the mere mention of what transpired before he got there.

“Yes. Please.” Are the only words you’re able to form, you’re so utterly turned on and desperate for his cock. The pain is everything you need and more. it’s all consuming, delightfully delicious. You can’t get enough.

Without another word Eddie is slamming into you hard and fast, his thrusts never falter as he does just as he intended; fucking you into your mattress. You were so dazed you didn’t even hear the rustle of his belt buckle or zipper being undone. Your sore ass burns with each slap of skin on skin, but the pain only causes more arousal to pool around your dealers cock, filling the room with loud squelches that almost embarrass you. But you’re far too cock drunk to care.

your body begins to shake, your cunt clenching around Eddie like a vice. Your toes curl and your fingers grip your sheets for dear life as you convulse from a brutally intense orgasm.

“Where’d he cum, bunny? Hm?” Eddie rasps, pumping into you sloppily, his own orgasm nearing.

“In my mouth.” You squeak out, the hard pounding thrusts making you hazy from overstimulation.

“Then get on your knees.” He demands with one last rough smack to your bruised skin.

You move on shaky legs, dropping to the floor and sticking your tongue out for your second load of the night. “Yeah that’s it. Take it, like the good little slut that you are.” Eddie groans as his spend hits your tongue, you flinch at the first spurt making him smirk with amusement. Once your tongue is dripping with his essence, you savor his taste before swallowing.

“Let me see.” Eddie commands, and hums in satisfaction when he sees your pink tongue void of his cum.

He grabs your cheeks roughly causing your lips to pucker, his thick rings digging into your skin.

“Tomorrow, that pretty boys gonna learn not to fuck with what’s mine.”

part 3 coming soon!

[hxltic]

pt.2!! (i know that cliffhanger was menacing) 800 followers hello?!

part 1 | part 2

It was weird. It felt weird.

You sat with your chest bare, Kenma contemplating his own conscientiousness and conscious before you. Should he have any integrity, he would turn you around and fulfill what you came to do.

But he doesn’t. Intrusive thoughts win, so he dives straight into you to suck on your tits like a fucking baby.

Just watching in amusement as he tugged and nipped, it looked like Kenma was genuinely enjoying himself when he licked the bud in a single stripe, cat eyes gazing into yours devilishly by the way he could feel your back has a slight arch to it. His pale hands roamed from the small of it to your shoulder blades.

Your manicured fingers tread through the black locks that cover his tinted cheeks and reveal his long, black eyelashes. You mentally curse him for having them. Your upper back begins to stray away; Kenma just follows.

You connect strands of hair behind his ear (which he greatly appreciates you for) because he needs to see you, your curves, and body in all the bright rainbow light from the edges of his setup.

He removes the slim shirt entirely and discards it randomly in the room. He couldn’t care less where it landed. He grasps—literally grasps— both tits in each hand before looking up at you ordinarily, but in an anticipating manner.

“Take the rest of it off.”

“Say please,” you announced. Yes, you asked first, but you could still have a little fun (and refresh his manners).

“You do realize you’re literally in my hands right?”

“…So?”

He just blinks up at you and rolls his eyes in obduracy.

“Please, take the rest of it off.”

You tap a fingernail to your chin, “Hmm… say it like you mean it.”

If you could describe the ravenette’s face right now, it would be the most unamused you’ve ever seen him.

Kenma grabs you and roughs you off him, twists you around, and adroitly unbuttons your jeans from behind you. Done with your shit, he peels them down and brings your panties along. He then pulls you back down to him backwards.

“See? Easy peasy,” he comments.

Slightly embarrassed from being absolutely manhandled, you shuffled against his front and dug your head into his sweatshirt on his left shoulder.

“Are you shy now? Not too long ago you were asking me to—”

“Shut up- Shut up.”

A giggle sounds behind you and lengthy, soft fingers trail up to your plush thighs anyway, then leads more inward. He pats twice to ask you to open up for him. You comply in spite.

With two delicate fingers he spreads you open, a third experimenting by dipping into your wetness. You were already getting throbbing having thought about it all day. Your friends constantly conversed about what their partners did and how good it felt, so you want as close to that as possible, but the problem is that you’re doing it while being unaware of how skilled Kenma actually is. You’re starting to question whether he was the right person or not. Or whether it holds up to its name. Or if you can do it at all.

He caresses you, rubbing the pad of his finger in circular motions against your clit.

“Okay,” his chest rises and falls, “just relax and think about whatever boy toy you want.”

You ignore his taunting. Your eyes trail downwards. He was going so slow, but if you thought you’d have Kenma pawing at you by the end of the night you had to be on something. So, you do what he asks of you and shut down any tense nerve in your body.

“There you go,” as you soften against his front, now two of his fingers locate your nub and continue the circling. Your thighs are spread apart on each chair arm, facing the dark idle screensaver Kenma had, the plush actively being kneaded between his free hand. Your center was tingly but not the trademark “oh my god!” tingly. It felt good but you weren’t screaming just yet.

Almost in time, he curls his hand farther forward and dips a finger into you. It was very slowly done for reactive purposes, and with your sight deactivated, the reaction he expected from your chest was granted. He sinks deeper and deeper until his palm is flat against you. Thanks to his patience, you were definitely wet enough.

He stills inside.

“I can’t do anything if you won’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, and let out a breath you had no idea you were holding. His thumb reddens your clit even more while the other hand releases your thigh and slides up your body to tighten on your breast. You feel used with his hands all over your body, but in a good way.

Your regular breaths graduated to heavy ones, and those graduated to groans. Your voice wasn’t very high pitched anyway. When does the good part come?

The inactive hand rotated to your clit, while the other focused mainly on gyrating through your walls. His long finger reached places yours couldn’t, and adding a second would only increase the chance of him finding that single pile of nerves that could make you go haywire. He was close but he didn’t think to resort to that just yet.

Two of his hands meet around your front like a hug. His articulated digits roll inside you, each roll a tug on your resistance. A little to the left or a little to the right. His hand curled somehow even deeper on the hunt for your g-spot, so he takes a mental note: up and to the right.

“Oh shit,” your hips slightly stutter.

He smiles, “Right there?” and pesters the previous patch. Your hips lift off him the tiniest bit and your hand reaches up mindlessly. Really you just needed something to occupy yourself. He goes at it again and again, your tummy folded yet moving with him as he’s still going too slow when your body is screaming for more.

You rub his nape in an attempt to focus on anything else. Your arm is geniusly wrapped between the two of you by journeying under his neck. Your reflection in the screen is unbeatable, Kenma working you like it was his millionth time doing it. Everything had a job and you just had to sit and take it.

“That’s definitely you,” he mused. He kissed under your ear on the right side. You could say you weren’t feeling much all you wanted, attempting to lower his ego, but your contorted expression spoke differently with inaudible words. At some point his speed increased.

You unintentionally grind on him as your hips falter halfway. He tries his best to ignore it and keep your high ecstasy going because it was: A, the meaning of this entire operation; B, you’d be sore anyway, better to make the best out if it; and C, had he acted on it you would’ve squirted all over his dick. Which option C isn’t necessarily a problem, it’s just he’s almost certain you’d like to see yourself do it.

“Feels good Ken,” you mumble. The squelch sound could now be heard, and you both listened as he slotted himself in the crook of your neck and your head was thrown back on his shoulder. It was dead silent in the apartment, so silent you could hear your own thoughts and maybe even each other’s.

It sure seemed that way, because Kenma persisted with a finger and stimulated you simultaneously. Your head rolled back and forth, your calves flexed, and your pretty pink toes hung off the chair arms. The clip in your hair hadn’t bothered him one bit.

“Kenmaaa,” you insisted.

“I’m here, tell me,” he indulged. Your breaths were practically weights, yet shallow at the same time.

“G’na come soon.”

“I got you. Just let it happen.”

Kenma knew you were close before you did. Hell, he was a part of your body now. Obvious signs were shown like when you tighten around him and your muscles contract, informing him everything was already in motion. The orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, taking you and your brain out to sea, but not your body. In fact, it left your disappointment behind too.

Nothing happened.

It took you a second to realize this though—considering it was still one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had—but also because Kenma hadn’t stopped.

“Please,” unaware of what you were calling for, you turned to his face, but he was already so close like he was waiting for you there. He’d slowed only a bit, but this makes little difference already being hypersensitive. Once again, you’re grinding on him, it’s just rougher now and more effective at getting him any harder than he already was.

You talked face to face and couldn’t decide what eye to look in. His lips were so close, and so very inviting. You kiss him.

Soft lips unite with yours meaningfully. You hadn’t known it would progress to this, however, Kenma now occupies your entire body, being, and mind. If you could dismiss how hard he was overstimulating you, just maybe you could kiss him with the passion you desired—but that was reaching because you couldn’t find the strength to kiss him back at all. Your lips were open yet hushed in all attempts to return the gesture, but your body fails you under the hands of lust.

You felt another coming. Your eyes had this faded look to them as if you weren’t here, so Kenma brought it upon himself to whisper to you.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” His voice was soft in the air.

You respond with a light headed moan. Fuck all that shit about your voice not being high and you couldn’t pornstar moan, because to some extent it was and you really could.

“K-Ken I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupts, “anything you want baby.”

Your hand quits fidgeting with the loomed bracelets adorning his wrists to move down to holding the both of his that were working you. The attempt is futile, because even if you did manage to get one hand away, the other would still be toying with your pussy. The veins that stretched from his muscles all the way to his forearm could be seen clear as day. Kenma adds another finger, and doubles into you as it sinks up and to the right.

“Oh fuck, Kenma, Kenma-” you repeated. You tried pushing him off, except you wanted him to continue, except that you were in no state of mind to make decisions. Your back arched impressively and you were on the verge of crying. This quick?

He constantly acknowledges you, “Uh-huh.”

Kenma almost triples in speed. He continues to whisper to you. “Do it. I know you can. Show me how you come for me.”

You don’t feel it, but Kenma plants his feet and swivels the chair around as your mouth drops. You were pushing outward more than downward, and as Kenma pistons into you, there was no way you weren’t about to squirt. Just preferably, not on his monitor. He kisses at your face now turned away from him. “Just like that, you’re almost there. Open your eyes.���

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god-!” you breathe.

Kenma quickly runs back and forth over your clit encouragingly and doesn’t let up. This wasn’t a wave that rolled over you this time, but one that came up to shore first, dragged you along into sea, and sucked you under. It felt normal until it didn’t and you were releasing all over his carpet.

“You look so fucking good like this. Knew my girl could do it.”

Your hair was fucked from rolling on it. You had came so hard your body tensed and slightly cramped, rendering you idle as he continued until you were done. The clear liquid rolled down your own leg. You felt as if you were underwater. Your head bashed like there was no oxygen. Kenma was a man of few words but after you got what you deserved, he didn’t have shit to say.

He gripped your thighs, lifted them, and slowly lowered them to his. A darker color stained his sweats. Was it from you, or him? Neither of you know. His hand pets your forehead gingerly.

“Your girl?” You ask lazily.

“I think we both know you wouldn’t have let anybody else do this,” he establishes. He was right.

sorry if it’s not as good as first!! it was supposed to come out earlier but my dumbass queued it for the wrong day 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ also did you catch the easter egg😏😏 (I made this a little shorter to match up with the time it takes to…yk… that’s why all of my fics that aren’t penetration are shorter)

@iwouldbangchan @hislaevv @butterflyk04 @lilmisskreideprinz @ahahadumbo @bontensbabygirl @ninefuckingoneone @hwangsyunho @privthemis @anonymoussimper @frenchinator2sickk

[katyawriteswhump]

I hear your voice (and it carries me)

for @steddieangstyaugust day 17 prompt: 'Keep breathing, please."

Rating: M WC: 1700 CW Drug-use Tags: Established steddie, alternate canon season 4 (with details fudged and twisted for my own plotty purposes.)

What if Vecna came for Steve first, not Chrissy? (No actual death, I promise, just guilty-pleasure pop and major angst…)

...

Eddie climbed through the window that Dustin had left open and into Steve’s hospital room. His boots smacked too loud on the floor, and his every muscle tightened.

Steve was wired up to a series of bleeping machines. Plaster casts smothered three of his limbs. His neck was in a brace, and his face was half-lost beneath an oxygen mask.

Eddie knew, of course. Steve had arrived here in a far worse state than this. 

Still one helluva punch in the gut.

He tiptoed to the bed and located Steve’s Walkman, which had been dumped on a trolley. He slipped it back over Steve’s ears, careful not to disturb the mask. Dustin and Robin had played a showstopper in convincing Steve’s mom that Steve would want constant pop. 

Unfortunately, the medical staff kept taking the darn thing off.

Eddie didn’t switch the cassette on right away, however. He anxiously smoothed Steve’s hair.

“God, I’m sorry,” he said brokenly. “I panicked, Stevie. I was too fucking scared. I should’ve broken your fall, and I should never have let you… I… I shouldn’t have…” He pressed his lips to Steve’s cool, clammy brow. A fat tear dripped from his nose. “Keep breathing, Baby. Keep breathing, please.”

“CODE RED, I REPEAT THIS IS A CODE RED! EDDIE, DO YOU COPY?” 

Dustin’s yell blasted through Eddie’s walkie-talkie. Eddie scrambled to turn the volume down.

“Henderson, what the heck?”

“Eddie, the night nurse has started her rounds early. I repeat—she’s started her rounds early. You gotta get outta there NOW.”

…

One week earlier

Steve lay flat on his back on Eddie’s bed, shirtless, and with his jeans tangled round his knees. Eddie was sprawled on top of him—a smokin’ hot mess of sweat and hair—and kissing Steve stupid.

Steve should’ve been in a happy place. He was sucking Eddie’s face off, grinding himself up into Eddie, while Eddie pawed hungrily at his ass. Eddie wanted in, and Steve wanted nothing more than for Eddie to bone his brains out.

If only he could shake these stupid jitters.

Christ, the blood pounding in his ears drowned out the mega-loud Aerosmith track on his latest mixtape. He was also dog-tired, and sick of it. The nightmares had ruined his sleep for days.

And they were all total bull.

Yeah, Steve felt guilty about shit. Not only about Barb, though that was a biggie—there was so much he’d screwed up in his life. He sucked. He got it, blah, blah, blah.

No way was he buying into crazy hallucinations where Eddie yelled and hated on him. Let alone ones where Robin transformed into a squelchy tentacle monster. He was going out of his tiny mind. It was the only reasonable explanation, and the only answer right now was…

Eddie broke the kiss. “You okay, Babe? Still got a headache?”

“I’m fine.” Steve dabbed his lips, shivering because Eddie was too far away already. “I’ll be fine. Gimme more of the good stuff, okay?”

Eddie turned down the music. “Seriously? You mainlined poppers earlier—enough to lay low a daddy buffalo. That shit means business.”

“So I do. Stop being a freakin’ pussy.” Steve wedged his hand between Eddie’s thighs and purred. “I can totally handle it, and if I do turn to mush? Means I can take even more of this big boy.”

“I’m not sure, Stevie… Oh shiiiit.” 

Steve mercilessly squeezed Eddie’s dick, batted his lashes. Yeah, he’d beg if he had to. Anything to feel less tense and haunted, to feel he was actually in the room with Eddie. 

He never had to.

Eddie pulled a dopey face, started rummaging through his stuff. Steve dragged his jeans up with fumbling hands. He maxed out the stereo volume—snickering because Eddie was gonna literally piss himself when the track-after-next started—and wandered toward the kitchen to get more beer.

….

Eddie located a shoebox full of snazzy lil’ multicolor poppers and a sachet of Special K. Then his frazzled brain caught up with him.

He’s already had waaay too much. Okay, he’s still revved as fuck, but THAT’S NOT NORMAL.

He ditched the shoebox, grabbed a jar of Acetaminophen. After tipping all but two pills out, he peeled off the label. He’d tell Steve they were hardcore tranqs. Shifty, but… Screw it, he cared about Steve more than he’d ever cared about anyone. Yeah, Steve had bugged him for downers. Eddie should never have caved. He vowed, one way or another, he’d wean his boy off ’em.

He was, admittedly, launching his campaign the coward’s way. Had to start somewhere, right?

“There you go, Honey,” he said, wandering out. “Boneless bliss just moments away.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks. He dropped the jar. Steve stood motionless in the middle of the trailer. His eyes were lidded, twitchy with the occasional flash of white.

“Steve?” Eddie dashed forward, started shaking him. “Talk to me, Steve. Wake up! Can you hear me? I don’t like this, Stevie.”

Shit! He’s ODd already!

Eddie jostled him, pleaded with him. Right till the moment Steve levitated up into the air and smacked into the ceiling.

Eddie staggered back. The Black Sabbath track blasting from the stereo ended. Silence reigned.

One of Steve’s arms twisted the wrong way at the elbow and popped. Eddie screamed, then actually pinched himself, because this had to be a horrible dream, and then…

‘Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth’

Belinda Carlilse. Belinda fucking Carlilse. Yeah, Steve loved to sneak pop-tastic hits onto his mixtapes. Eddie would always crack up, plus he didn’t hate them either.

One of Steve’s legs contorted with a sickening snap.

‘They say in Heaven, love comes first

We'll make Heaven a place on Earth…’

Steve’s eyes flashed from white to brown. He fell, landing with a horribly crunching smack.

In the blur of the next few minutes, Eddie called an ambulance. He leaned close over Steve’s blue-ish lips, sensed the faintest warmth, though didn’t dare touch him. His eyes bled. He looked so… broken. Eddie prayed to some WASP deity he’d never believed in that he was the one having a really bad trip.

He went with Steve in the ambulance and held his limp hand on the ride. They’d already got that mask on his face, the brace around his neck. At the hospital, Eddie watched Steve’s gurney disappear through swinging doors. He collapsed in the waiting room, buried his face in his hands.

Steve’s parents arrived soon after. They joined the doctors in bombarding Eddie with thunderous glares, until the truth finally glimmered.

They believe I did that to him.

Even if… WHEN… Steve wakes up, they’ll say we were both high as fucking kites. They’ll blame the satan-worshipping freakshow.

Convinced the cops were on their way, Eddie fled via a fire escape. While he was holed up at Reefer Ric’s, two teens were murdered. The whole town now believed Eddie was the monster behind those crimes, too.

“Way to go making a play for the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” Dustin said, when he brought Eddie supplies. “If you hadn’t run, those deaths would’ve got you off the hook. Not that you’re exactly innocent. You know your fun-time sweeties repressed Steve’s breathing as badly as the neck injuries? Sent him into that coma?”

“Wow, you’re a real genius! Never dawned on me. Oh, hold on. IT’LL TORTURE ME EVERY GODDAMN MOMENT, OF EVERY FREAKIN’ DAY, FOR THE REST OF MY CURSED LIFE.”

At least the kid had a theory about the attacks, supernatural sorcery shit that blew Eddie’s mind. Also, one of Dustin’s friends, Max, was apparently lined up to be the next victim. For some wild reason, the only thing keeping the killer at bay was endless Kate Bush.

“Eddie,” asked Dustin, while Eddie stared into a box of Cap’n Crunch he’d literally no appetite for. “Is there any music you reckon might help Steve?”

…

‘In this world we're just beginnin'

To understand the miracle of livin'’

Steve was beyond sick of Belinda.

She ebbed and flowed through his consciousness pretty much constantly. Trouble was, whenever she was randomly gone, as she was now, the swirling red fog around him thickened. He was confused, and yeah, he was frightened. He’d not heard any squelching footsteps or booming synth voices lately, but he sensed that thing was still out there.

He occasionally heard talking. People poked and prodded him, and breathing was sometimes a scary battle. He tried to talk himself once or twice, but he couldn’t even open his eyes. He was lost and sick and hurting and… so lost.

Right until he felt somebody stroking his hair. Then a moist feather-soft brush on his brow. 

Eddie.

He’d recognise Eddie’s kiss anywhere, whether rough or dumbass levels of sweet. Eddie was here. Eddie was with him. Steve strove harder than ever to fight free of the choking fog.

“Keep breathing, Baby.”

Eddie’s voice. Broken and distant, but it was him.

“Keep breathing,” Eddie whispered, “please.”

“CODE RED, I REPEAT THIS IS A CODE RED! EDDIE, DO YOU COPY?” 

Steve’s blood literally jumped. Shit, was that Henderson? “Eddie, the night nurse has started her rounds early. I repeat—she’s started her rounds. You gotta get outta there NOW.”

Too much. Steve’s head was too muddled, he didn’t understand. He finally fluttered his eyes open and latched his blurry focus onto Eddie. Who startled like a coyote bit his butt. Steve would’ve laughed, if he’d gotten the lung power.

“Steve? Steve!”

Eddie seemed spooked. Steve’s heart rate skyrocketed. He was in a hospital bed. He’d got some weird plastic mask thing on his face. When he tried to lift his arm, pain lanced hotly. 

Oh God, oh God!

He fixed on Eddie and felt himself calm a little. “Please,” he murmured, his voice a barely-there rasp. “Don’t go.”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand and smiled gently. “Not if I can help it, darlin’.”

Steve faintly registered a door flying wide. A voice cried out, echoed by a wailing alarm. He somehow found the strength to grip Eddie’s fingers, even as Belinda Carlisle launched up in his ears again:

‘Baby, I was afraid before

But I'm not afraid anymore…’

Eddie’s hand was torn away from Steve’s loosening grip, and Steve slipped back into the fog.

...

(Steve is okay, Vecna got distracted and El whipped his ass anyway, then Eddie get off, and it all ended happily... promise!) You tube link to 'heaven is a place on earth' for other 80s pop obsessives

Thanks for reading! All my ST fic on AO3

[biancadjarin]

ʚ Send Me an Angel ɞ

- pairing: mean!eddie munson x bratty!henderson older sister!female reader

- content warning: 18+ nothing too graphic, but I prefer no minors on my blog, thankssss

- a/n: idk what this is lol, I just love fem/bratty reader and intimidating/mean Eddie <3

“Ugh why do your weird nerdy friends have to come here Dusty??” you pout at your little brother as you lay on your stomach on your bed, him staring at you from your doorway.

“I told you, the drama kids are putting on a play or some shit so we can’t play D&D in there.” He says to you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just stay in here, my friends don’t wanna listen to your stupid shows on the TV or watch you dance around to your girly music.” He slams your door shut and your head shoots up off a pillow, shocked at how rude he can be. You scoff and roll onto your back, eyes growing heavy and leading you into your after school nap.

You’re rudely awakened by loud laughter and yelling. You look at the pink clock on your wall. 6:05pm. Their little game has only been going for 5 minutes and you’re already annoyed. You get up and head to your door, swinging it open and heading towards the bathroom for a quick shower before you go make yourself some dinner.

“C’mon Eddie, I wanna cast a spell, hurry up and roll!” you hear Mike Wheeler yell. Little twerp just like your brother. Always running into the house, tracking in dirt, leaving their bikes in the drivew… Wait. Eddie. Eddie’s here. In your dining room. You’ve had a crush on Eddie all year and while you two have talked here and there, you’d be lying if you said his harsh leather metal head look didn’t scare you a bit. You’re all soft edges, pink backpack, frilly white socks rolled over your reeboks, soft hair swaying. You’re not perfect, certainly no Phoebe Cates. But you know you’re pretty, plush lips over straight teeth, cute perky boobs and a butt that jiggles when you walk.

You’ve felt Eddie’s eyes on you at school. Once he even bumped into you when you stopped short to tie your shoe. “Walk much?” Eddie said to you with a glare. “Oh!” You’d said as you spun around, surprised at his proximity. “S-sorry.” You said sweetly, his big brown eyes stared at you and made your tummy flutter in the most amazing way. Your tummy isn’t flat and perfect but that’s ok. You like cookies too much, is that a crime?!

“Actually since you’re here, can you hold my books while I tie my shoes?” you’d asked, voice smooth and sweet like syrup. Eddie stared at you for a second then put out his hands. You assumed that meant yes so you handed him your heavy textbooks. You turned and bent forward, ass almost grazing his crotch. The way the fabric of your white jeans stretched across your cute little butt made him stop breathing. Eddie’s mind went blank, mouth going dry and fingers going numb from the weight. Your textbooks slipped out of his hands and hit the floor with a slam. You squeaked a scared little scream and stood back up quickly. “Shit are you okay?” Eddie asks you as he drops down and picks the books back up, placing them gently into your small hands. “I’m fine. Was just loud. Scared me.” He chuckled, eyes narrowed and and flickered with mischief, making you wonder if he did that on purpose. “I’m sorry angel… I mean-” Your reaction to his nickname for you got cut short when you jumped for the second time in the last two minutes thanks to the class bell ringing. “Gotta go.” Eddie said with a wink before racing past you, your face red with embarrassment.

You giggle at the memory as you exit the shower. Quickly running back to your room to get ready, you think to yourself: How can I get Eddie’s attention but not let him know he has mine? I think he likes me but I don’t wanna look too desperate. Gotta tease him a bit… You curl your lashes and put on your sparkly pink lipgloss. You open your closet and weigh your options… tight jeans?… but you want Eddie to see your panties. A dress? that’s a little too obvious… your fingers reach for your soft pink frilly mini skirt that has a matching jacket that your friend borrowed and never gave back. You slip it on, white and pink lace panties underneath with a scalloped edge that hug your ass just right. A simple white T shirt that’s slightly see through over a matching pink and white lace bra and a couple sparkly silver necklaces finish your outfit. Barefoot you begin to creep downstairs, the sounds of boys whooping and dice hitting your wooden dining room table growing louder as you ascend.

“So uh, where’s your sister D?” you hear one of the boys ask. You stop on the second to last step, leaning in to listen. It’s not Eddie’s voice, but too deep to be Mike or Lucas’s. “Up in her room, she’s so annoying.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe..” Gareth grumbles. “But I certainly don’t mind lookin’ at her.” Everyone busts out into laughter except your brother. “Ew dude gross! Shut up, it’s your turn.” “Yeah G,” you finally hear Eddie’s voice, it sounds deep and tight like he’s clenching his jaw. “Roll the dice before I write you out of this whole campaign.” “Jeez fine. I got a 12.” “Not enough, you lose 18 hit points.” “What the fuck man!”

As the game continues you saunter past the table, only turning your head once to smile and wave politely at the group. You feel Eddie’s eyes follow you all the way to the kitchen. Their conversation continues on, sounding further away now. You begin to warm up some rice and leftover chicken, mixing up a strawberry lemonade while the microwave whirs. As you watch the yellow drink turn pink you feel a warmth encroach your space, the smell of weed and cinnamon gum filling your nostrils.

“Hey y/n.. didn’t know you were here.” Eddie says as he stands behind you. Closer than what would be considered normal. You spin around, big doe eyes looking up and meeting his, small silver spoon that you were mixing with coming up to your lips and sucking, savoring the tangy powder. His eyes fall to your mouth, half hooded, eyebrows raising slightly. You pull it out slowly and lick the tip of it with your tongue, before saying “I live here. Where else would I be?” in your bratty tone.

He shrugs his shoulders, “Friday night, thought maybe you’d be on a date.” He says with a crooked smile. Does he think about me going on dates? He crowds closer into your space, you feel the countertop at your back as you lean against it. “Nope. No date. Maybe you can set me up with one of your friends?” you say as you look past him, over his shoulder towards where Hellfire is. “My friends? You wanna date one of us?” “I don’t know.. maybe. You think they’d be interested?” you ask him confidently but your heart is beating so fast, your breath uneven, chest rising with every shaky inhale. BEEEEEP. The microwave signals behind you. “Eddie! You done in the bathroom yet?!” you hear your brother yell from down the hall. “Sounds like you’re needed out there.” You say to him, beginning to slide past him. His hand shoots up to grab your hip and maneuver you back. Caged in by him.

“Yeah, gimme five minutes!” He yells over his shoulder. You stare up at him, unsure what he’s going to do. He reaches behind you picking up your pink lemonade and drinks the whole thing in one long sip. You watch as his neck stretches back and his adams apple bobs when he swallows. The pale smooth skin of his neck looking irresistibly bite-able. “Sweet. Like you.” He says, low and gravelly. He puts the glass down and drops his chin to his chest, looking at the small space between your bodies. “Is this a skirt or a belt? So fuckin’ short I thought I saw some ass when you walked by.” “Maybe I wanted your friend to see. What’s his name? With the curls… Gareth?” Eddie snorts and throws his head back with a mock laugh. “Gareth wouldn’t know what to do with you.” His eyes sweep down your neck, your chest and stop at where the thin fabric of your shirt and lace bra are barely doing anything to cover the pebbled peaks of your nipples. “Oh and you know what to do with me?” you ask, eyebrows raising condescendingly. He exhales a low growl before reaching to grab the back of your squishy thighs and lifting you up onto the counter.

“I’d have a lot of fun finding out-” he leans forward, hands softly grasping the back of your calves, thumbs rubbing up and down the smooth skin as he guides them to rest around his thighs. “Angel.” he says with a wink. You feel a shudder go through you, ending at your core and making you ache between your legs. Eddie’s standing between your spread thighs, the rough fabric of his black jeans rubbing against your legs as he talks. Everything about him feels so warm. “Listen to me real good now.” He says, lips brushing the shell of your ear causing goosebumps to erupt down the whole left side of your body. “You’re going to eat your little snack. Then go back upstairs to your room and wait for me. Think you can do that?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s backing away and walking back down the hallway. “EDDIE COME OOON!” Gareth yells. “Comin’!” He says back, wide smirk dancing on his lips.

You’re left in the kitchen wondering what just happened and what you just got yourself into…

Part 2 HERE

Masterlist HERE

——————Thanks for reading!—————

[the-lisechen]

~6.7k. gen. copia/f!oc. the cardinal has a cigarette with a fan. from there, it gets a little weird. (or: copia gets into a fist fight at 3am in a denny's parking lot over theology. metaphorically speaking.)

header by the divine @enjoy-my-swearing

(the fic that started it all and has eaten my brain ever since. don't mind me, i just wanted to reformat this one and also have it on my tumblr for posterity)

some kind of cosmic rearrangement - ao3

(full series here)

religious discussion, catholic character that isn't an asshole, unresolved sexual tension. tw: catholicism

Copia stepped out into the night, face paint mostly cleaned off, save for the black around his eyes. He couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. Somewhere in the American South, the air warm and heavy with humidity that felt like silk against his skin. He settled his shoulders against the brick of the alleyway, and sighed, his blood still fizzing from the ritual. The comedown from the adrenaline dump always left him a little hollowed out and shaky.

As he passed a hand over his face, the car in front of him trilled out like a bird and flashed its lights. He turned to the sound of boots up the wet pavement. A small figure, female, dishwater blonde hair, head down, hands stuffed into black skinny jeans. Humming something he could recognize as one of his songs, and that never got old.

He watched her approach, curious. When she at last stepped into the light, she looked up at him, and startled like a deer. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she squeaked out a breathless “Oh shit!” It took her a moment to recover, and my, wasn't that an interesting shade of pink. He’d seen people blush, of course, but this was remarkable, that red, that quickly.

He had to smile, even bowing a little. “Bunoasera, signora."

"Um! Hi! You are very good at your job!"

Her purse plopped next to her feet, and she knelt down to recollect it, the blush deepening to the color of late spring roses. "Sorry, I'm sorry--" she said, hands shaking as she scooped spilled detritus back into her purse, pens and lip balm spilling from her fingers.

He bent over to help her, smiling. "It is no trouble, signora. Not the worst I've seen." He paused, sitting back on his heels, and picked up a battered paperback the color of burnt orange. "'The Liberation of Theology.'" He looked up at her, mismatched eyes sharp, assessing. "This is what you read? At my show?"

The girl-- woman, really-- went still. She got to her feet and took half a step back, widening her stance, her shoulders squared. "Yeah." She tilted her chin up. "Is it really that strange?"

He flipped it to read the back cover, and her spine relaxed a fraction, with his focus off of her. "Perhaps... somewhat unexpected." An understatement. He stood, slow, putting himself further into her personal space, eyes still on the text in his hand. He read the subtitle. "'An instrument in human liberation.' Has it been?" He looked down at her, not exactly trying to loom, but not exactly going out of his way not to. "In your experience."

The woman folded her arms, leaning back against her car. Keeping her distance. "It can be. It should be." She flipped her keyring, once. "And in my experience? Yes, actually. But I am fully aware my experience may be-- atypical."

"In what way?"

"Well." She looked up, exposing the long pale line of her throat, and her Southern accent became gradually more apparent as she spoke. "I converted to Catholicism. Not really from anything, you understand, unless you count the vaguely agnostic Protestant background noise in America. And I did my catechism classes with a Capuchin Franciscan. A lot of mysticism. And a lot of social action to offset the navel-gazing that comes with that. The culture was-- it's different. I mean, how much do you know about liberation theology?"

"For the purposes of this conversation?" He idly tapped her book against his thigh. "Let us say... not much."

"In simple terms: feed the hungry, clothe the naked. Like the guy said in the book, right? It's both defending the poor and taking aim at the structural issues that are actively oppressing people. Real basic."

"You need a God to tell you this?"

He saw her warming to the subject, eyes alight and not quite on his. "Of course not, but it's a useful framework. And some people do! Whatever provides incentive. Besides that, it works on a practical level, if the Church is your primary social apparatus, that's a structure in place to distribute resources if the state is failing. I mean, the Jesuit approach in South America is not quite the same as the Black church in the Civil Rights movement in the USA in the Sixties, but it's not too far off, either. It's like--" and she cut herself off, the blush coming back, eyes cast downward. "It's just what's supposed to happen. What it says on the tin."

He ruffled the pages with a gloved hand a few times, watching her. "Incentive." He gestured at her with the book, halfway to accusatory. "If someone is doing something in expectation of divine reward, then they are, I'm afraid, an asshole."

"Man, I truly do not care about the motive. I care about the effect it has on the world. But faith without works is dead."

"You believe this."

"Yeah."

"You are this passionate about it, and yet you came to see me. My songs are nothing but blasphemy. Why?"

"Look, as blasphemy goes-- and I'm not trying to denigrate anything you're doing here-- this is just not that big a deal."

He stared at her. "I am literally praising the devil. Literal songs about, literally, devil worship."

"Yeah, and it slaps. Can I have my book back?"

He held it out carefully, as if it was a chunk of meat and she was a strange animal. One that might bite. "What is it, then, that qualifies as blasphemy? In your opinion."

She took it, opened the backseat door to her car, and tossed it in, careful not to turn her back on him. "I dunno. Start with that 'prosperity gospel' bullshit. 'If you're rich, it's because Jesus wants you to be rich!' Joel Osteen can bite the fucking curb. It's lazy exegesis, is what it is." Again, he saw her restrain herself, and she ran a hand through her hair, embarrassed. "I can go on. Obviously. But I think if you're getting bent out of shape about this kind of thing, you need to reassess your priorities."

"No, this is-- at least amusing. You haven't chased us out with torches and pitchforks yet, so I will continue to assume good faith." He smiled. "So to speak."

"Trust me, I am leaving a lot of stuff out." She fished around in her purse, picked out a brilliantly blue pack of cigarettes, and tapped them rhythmically on the heel of her hand. "So what's your deal? I don't know a lot about theistic Satanism. Pop the hood on it, man, tell me how it works."

"In simple terms?"

"Sure." She cracked a smile, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack.

"We honor the serpent that brought knowledge to Eve, as a liberator from the oppression of the corrupted demiurge that you call God."

"The snake, this was one of those gnostic things, right? That was, what, the Ophites? I thought they found it at Nag Hammadi."

"Fragments. References. But we have had the Syntagma for centuries. This was Hippolytus, yes? We borrowed a few things from Marcion of Sinope, as well. From those texts, and other pieces of what you would call apocrypha, we solidified a doctrine. Eventually. These things take time, no? Remind me, when did your people decide on the canon?"

"Council of Rome. I wanna say three..." she tapped the unlit cigarette, "...eighty seven? Somewhere in there. Fourth century, anyway."

"Just so. As a, you'd say-- distinct movement, yes? I would say sometime around the twelfth century that we came together."

"Hold on, twelfth century, evil demiurge-- what was this, like a splinter of the Cathars?"

"Not unrelated. When it came to that kind of dualism, we merely decided to side with the physical world."

"By running straight to the devil."

"Eh. No half measures."

"I'm just kinda surprised it got traction in that environment."

"Mostly on the-- margins, you would say? We had solidified the clerical structure some time before, modeled on the Catholic church. Camouflage, yes? But it was with the obvious corruption of the fourteenth century that we started to gain momentum. Acolytes. A whisper network of proselytization."

"That is neat. Like, what, a Dark Reformation kind of thing?"

"...That is, perhaps, somewhat reductive. But not inaccurate."

"Oh that is so cool. It's like finding a whole new life form in the Marianas Trench. No, I can see a kind of sense to it. Get far enough away from Rome, look as close as you can to the actual Church, you might get away with it."

"They did burn us. Your people did do that."

"I am sure that they did," she said, with a certain blithe amicability. "Burnt a lot of Cathars, too, makes sense. Sir-- Father-- I'm sorry. What is the title?"

"Cardinal."

A blink, barely perceptible. "Cardinal, then. Your Eminence, if you want me to stand here and apologize for every atrocity the Church committed, we're gonna be here all night, and it'll get boring quick. And, forgive me, at what point have I attached a moral judgment over your faith?"

He spread his hands, smiling a little. "Very well, I concede the point. You can understand if I am somewhat-- defensive."

"Yeah, of course." She grinned, mostly to herself. "And here I am, a good Catholic girl. Everything you rail against."

"Eh. It could be worse. You could be a Baptist."

She let out a laugh at that, an entirely inelegant sound, and Copia felt as if he'd won something.

"Oh. No. No, I couldn't. Too diffuse. A million different opinions going every which way. I'm also not into sola fide--"

"'By faith alone.'"

"Yeah. Not my bag. If it doesn't inspire you to help your fellow human beings and not just focus on your own salvation, it's probably bullshit." Finally she put the cigarette she'd been fidgeting with into her mouth. "Man. Cathars and gnostics." The woman brought out a burnished zippo and flipped the lid, a faintly musical sound. She didn't light her cigarette, but shot him a sidelong look, eyes alight. "Sounds more like heresy than outright blasphemy."

"Oh, now I'm offended." He was not, in fact, offended. He was fascinated. He wanted to study her under a microscope. "Certainly, that's the first time I've heard that. Maybe I should send you to talk to the-- ehh, how is it? The protestors. What do you call, the evangelicals, yes?"

"They don't like Catholics, either. The veneration of Mary, y'know? Idolatry." Finally she sparked the lighter, her face turning to alabaster in the light of the flame. "We're both going to hell in their lights. Just different neighborhoods." She bent her head to the light. A long drag on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke upwards. "So no, I don't think going to a concert counts as a sin. There's just some songs I can't sing along to, is all."

Copia leaned back against the wall, arms folded, considering her. "You know that your Church would call this blasphemy. What is it, then, that you think I'm doing, if not spreading the word of Satan?"

A long drag of her cigarette. "Sick tunes, man," she said, around the smoke. Shrugged. "It's fun. And fun is underrated, as a concept."

"Signora, I don't think 'fun' is what brought you here." He leveled her with his mismatched stare, and she dropped her eyes.

"No," she said, studying the cherry on her cigarette. "No, fun would not be enough."

He took a step closer, not quite edging into her personal space. "What, then? What could possibly bring you to deny your programming, when you clearly believe with such conviction?"

The back of her shoulders hit the top of her car, but she tilted her head up at him in challenge. "Call it joy, then." A defiant kind of vulnerability. "That's what I hear in your songs. And that's a rarer thing."

"What a monstrous thing, to deny joy. To yourself, to others. That sounds to me like blasphemy. What abnegation of the self. We are not hurting anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Why not do as you like?"

"'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.'"

"Precisely."

"Isn't that, what, Louÿs by way of Crowley? Nineteenth century. I thought your stuff was older than that."

"That is beside the point and you know it. Answer me."

"Because that's where it falls apart for me! To begin and end with 'do no harm' does not work. You cannot always do exactly as you like, you have an obligation in society! Feed the hungry. 'Do what you want, whatever,' that's too passive. And being passive in the face of oppression is oppression! Come on, man, you must know this. You're too smart not to know this."

"I'm sorry, you want to talk about oppression? With the literal Catholic Church? With the colonialism and the forced conversion and the actual literal Inquisition? Even laying that aside, the harm it's doing now, how can you still stay with it?"

"Because that's not all it is! Not all it could be. Because it can be just, it can be equitable, and it can be used as a tool for liberation. I believe that, I do. And if if I'm in it-- and oh boy you would not believe how much I'm in it-- then I have a moral obligation to try to shape it towards those ends. Because those people--" she flung a hand out, gesturing towards what, he couldn't say, and he took a step back. "Those bullshit assholes that want to strip people of healthcare and gut the social safety net-- they're in my house! And they don't get to fucking win."

"You must see that this is about control. You are too smart not to know this."

The woman slumped back against her car, and took another long drag on her cigarette, before dropping it and crushing it under her boot, an oddly fussy swiveling motion. "I dunno, man. For me it's about service. You just don't fix something by walking away. And anyway I'm committed."

"I think you are tilting at windmills." He watched her, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke from her exhale the same blue-grey of her eyes, letting the silence linger until the smoke cleared entirely. "What is your name?"

She flicked her eyes back up at him, and then away, coming to a decision. "Sophia Turner." She bit her lip. "Sophie."

"Sophie. That's lovely."

"Thank you. And what do I call you? Feels a little weird, saying 'Your Eminence' to a guy whose faith you don't subscribe to."

He tilted his head in the faintest approximation of a bow, biting back a smile. "Copia."

"Well. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." Her accent more pronounced with the formality, a distinctly Southern drawl.

"You say you're committed. How? You don't have to stay anywhere forever."

"Oh. Oh boy. Um." She looked down at her hands, picked at the edge of a painted nail, and then turned to him, watching his mismatched eyes for a long moment. She smiled, a little rueful. "I am taking my vows in a few months." And to his blank look-- "The Maryknoll Sisters of St. Dominic." He blinked, recoiled a little, and she flinched, turning to look down the street, not seeing the rain on the asphalt, the streetlight shining on the fire escape. "I still don't think it's a sin. But it's-- maybe a little harder to square. After that. Wanted to see you while I could."

Her face composed. No-color hair hanging in grey eyes. He wanted to reach out, to brush it away, to see her clear, to make her look at him. A gulf between them, on the narrow sidewalk. Something twisted in his chest, at the waste of it, the thought of a fire like that locked in a cloister. And yet: "I could never fault someone for devotion to their faith. The discipline is admirable. Truly. But I would-- Are you allowed? To fraternize with the enemy?"

"Well. Maybe in the spirit of friendly ecumenical dialogue." She looked up at the streetlights, shoulders tensed. She chewed at her lip. "We are allowed to have friends, you know."

He had to drop his gaze, at that, a sharp inhalation. "Ah." And again: "Ah. Hm." He looked back up at her, at the tense muscle in her jaw, her face still resolutely turned away from him. "I wonder--?"

She darted a quick look at him, not quite daring to look at him full-on, yet, and made a motion for him to continue.

He had to smile, even if it was with a little trepidation. "Do you have another cigarette?"

That rough bark of a laugh again, and yes, it felt like a victory. "Yeah. Yeah, man, sure." She pulled out the cigarette pack and extracted one, holding it out with the slightest self-deprecating hint of ceremony. He took it between his gloved fingers, careful not to touch her. When he put it to his lips she leaned in to light it in a movement that seemed both courtly and instinctual, an ingrained habit. He couldn't quite look at her when she did it, shocked by the casual intimacy of the gesture. The warmth of the flame through his gloves, the first rough hit of smoke at the back of his throat and the head-swimming nicotine rush. An awful taste, and completely satisfying. He closed his eyes at it and drew in deep, amazed all over again at how much tension dissipated on the exhale.

When the initial wave of the nicotine high had passed, the fatigue settled in, and he tilted his head back against the bricks, eyes still closed, too tired to be on guard. "Where are we? I confess, I lost track."

"...Asheville, honey." A pause."D'jeet yet?"

Well, that certainly got him to look at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, that was very pronounced, wasn't it? My apologies. Have you eaten?"

His brain felt like static. It was all the answer she needed. "What I figured. C'mon, I know a spot."

"I should--" He stopped, inexplicably stricken. "We're leaving in the morning. I don't remember where's next. Charleston, perhaps?"

"I'll have you home before bedtime, scout's honor." He hesitated. Gently: "I don't have designs on your virtue, Cardinal."

He was tired, and sore, and his head was starting to hurt somewhere behind his right eye. He could feel the dried sweat on himself, like a film, absolutely revolting.

"Alright," he said.

She led and he followed, falling into step at her left elbow, almost without thought. "This is the South, yes? We won't-- we might attract. Attention."

"Mm. I might would worry about it somewhere wasn't Asheville. Here'd probably be fine."

"That seems to be an awful lot of weight to put on 'probably.'"

"More worried about someone from your show running into us and losing their minds, be honest with you."

"As in, dropping their purse and squealing?" Was he enjoying this? He was.

"Oh you think you're funny. And I did not squeal."

"Heh. It was a little bit of a squeal."

"Ain't gonna argue the point with you."

The nicotine felt wonderful. He grinned up at the streetlight filtering through a magnolia tree, the orange light reflecting on the leaves, the faint citrus scent hanging in the thick air. He couldn't restrain himself. "You are not, I hope, leading me into temptation?"

"Oh, foul! Foul. Get thee behind me."

"Equally terrible, signora."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Copia came to the last quarter inch of his cigarette, pinching off one more drag before dropping it down a storm drain. The smell would linger, but it had been blissful in the moment. "So."

"So."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Barbecue joint, open all night. Just up here, actually. You had barbecue yet?"

"I have not."

"You in for a treat, then."

They rounded the corner, heading into the jaundiced sodium light of a patchy parking lot, under a flickering red neon sign. 'Little Pigs Genuine Pit BBQ.' It seemed somehow ominous, but the set of her shoulders reassured him. Somewhat. She pushed open the door with its small jangling bell to red vinyl booths, formica tabletops, wood paneling. Vinegar and roasting meat.

He could feel the eyes on them as she ordered for them both, in a dialect so thick it was almost incomprehensible to him. He stepped closer to murmur, "Coffee for me, please, signora," while he surveilled the crowd. Not outright hostile, had seen stranger things, maybe, but a collective flicker of curiosity before sliding off of them. That flat and unsympathetic gaze. Her accent helped. His obvious manners did as well. Still, he was on edge.

He stayed on edge until he slid into a booth opposite her with his back to the wall, and even then it only let up slightly, a background hum to go along with the labored air conditioning. The barbecue was very nearly worth it, salt and sweet and vinegar and umami, along with the blunt force animal pleasure at hot food after a long time without. He looked up at her, making an inarticulate noise of shocked delight through the sandwich, and she nodded in eager agreement with her mouth full. Swallowed. "I know, right?"

"You cannot convert me."

"Okay. Wasn't trying."

"If you could, this might do it."

"Welcome to the South. It's got problems, but there are compensations."

"So I see."

They lost themselves in the food for a little while, and Copia, a usually fastidious man, found that it was actually impossible to eat a barbecue sandwich neatly. After a while he gave up trying, grateful for the strange softness of American paper napkins. It made sense, if the food was like this. He eyed her iced tea, wondering about it, if that was also an American custom, or if it only applied to the region.

She caught him looking after half a second, and passed it over with barely an eyeblink of thought, the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, and you've lost me. This is an obscene amount of sugar."

"They do call it 'sweet tea' for a reason."

"Are you sure that this isn't just colored sugar water?"

"Reasonably so. Might be accentual, brings out the depth of flavor, like. Least it isn't corn syrup."

"This is a nightmare dystopia you live in."

"Could be. Try one of them hush puppies, then you get back to me."

"Mm." Then, after following instructions, "I will concede on the food."

"Yeah. There's nowhere and nothing that's bad all the way through."

"Perhaps." He took another sip of her tea, pleased at her sputter of mock-indignation. "This brings me to where it falls apart for me. An omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God."

"That is the doctrine."

"Why, then, evil? Why suffering?"

"We going with theodicy, then?"

He motioned for her to continue, a little gleeful.

"Which answer would you like, from the, oh, four-five thousand years that this has been a question?" She tossed the rolled-up sleeve of her straw in his general direction, smiling. "Why you coming at me with this shit, man?"

"Ehh. I want to know what you think. You, not your Church."

She nodded, and poked at the ice in her tea with her straw while she gave the question the consideration it was due. Finally: "I like Simone Weil for this. You read any Simone Weil?"

"Let us say that I haven't."

"Okay." The vinyl booth squeaked as she leaned back. "This isn't necessarily unique to her, it's got a lot of similarities with-- a Jewish creation story, yeah? But creation is where God withdrew. If God is everything, for creation to exist, there has to be places where God is not. If there's places that God is not, then almost by definition they are not, inherently, holy. It's apophatic, unknowable, like John of the Cross or Kierkegaard or what have you-- I'm getting into the weeds here. Evil is the form which God's mercy takes in the world. Affliction-- she's got a specific term for this, she's talking about spiritual affliction more than physical affliction-- doesn't create human misery, so much as reveals it. And it drives us towards God."

"That sounds, if you will pardon me, fucking horrific. The act of a sadist."

"I don't know that I'm explaining this well. We are created matter, and with affliction we are consumed by God. In the Incarnation, God suffers affliction, is made matter, and consumed by us. It's reciprocal. And if you can go through affliction and still love, and recognize your fellow human being as someone else who has suffered like you, then your duty is to help."

"No, still terrible."

"How do your people explain it, then?"

"By not having an omnipotent deity, to start."

"...I walked right into that one. I surely did. Evil demiurge, again?"

"All about control," he replied, amiable.

"Fair enough. I'm not a Jesuit, I could maybe get at this better if I was. My whole thing with it is, there's a difference between affliction-- which is personal-- and, say, generalized oppression, right? The personal makes you more empathetic with the collective."

"I can see the logic there, yes. I do not know if I agree, but I can see it. But do you truly need to suffer to sympathize with another's suffering?"

She turned her glass around in her hands, focusing hard on the ridged plastic edges. "I'unno. Some things you don't understand till you've been through them. Difference between empathy and sympathy, I guess."

"This is, what. You say, 'the personal is political?'"

She cracked a grin at that. "Oh, you done a lot of reading on second-wave feminism, then?"

"Condescending and uncalled for," he said, wagging a finger at her, mock-stern.

She held up a hand. "Fair point, apologies."

"Te absolvo."

"Thank you." She turned her glass in her hands, trailing through the condensation with a chipped fingernail. "My point being. For me. Affliction leads to empathy, and empathy leads you to act. What's the quote. 'Misery as a collective fact expresses itself as an injustice that cries to the heavens.' That's Oscar Romero, I think? Yeah. Oscar Romero. Anyway the thing he gets at-- Saint Oscar Romero, excuse me, did a lot of stuff in El Salvador in the the seventies, but the idea being: turning people into commodities for economic oppression, that's sin. The idolatry of wealth, of 'national security systems,' that's sin. Divine love should be mediated through justice. Gloria dei vivens homo--"

"'The glory of God is the living person.'"

"Yeah, exactly. Romero was on some-- gloria dei vivens pauper, which I think is probably about right."

"'The glory of God is in the poor.' Hm. And how well did that work out for him?"

"Well. They shot the guy during Mass in nineteen eighty."

"A martyr's death. Isn't that what your people aspire to?"

"Not me, man. I wanna live. But yes, he did lean in hard after his friend was killed. That was an inciting incident. I won't deny it."

"So, what, it is acceptable for one death, if it spurs on 'the greater good?'" He made air quotes at her, and she frowned.

"Not gonna debate the very concept of martyrdom with you, but I'm gonna say no, of course not. But like. Me personally? Rather that than have it go to waste. Some right wing fascist chucklefuck takes me out, I'd sure hope my people'd leverage it for all it's worth."

He sat back and tipped his coffee at her. "Bleak."

"Maybe. We each owe a death. And I mean, despite the guy being beatified, he isn't even necessarily the main dude in Latin America. None of these are exactly new concepts, you understand. But as a modern movement, really, it starts in nineteen sixty-eight, with the Medellín conference in Colombia, kind of as a response to Vatican Two, and from there--" she stopped herself, and raised her glass of tea at him in mock-salute. "Minutiae. The point, and I think I'm cribbing from Ernesto Cardenal here, is that while God is love, love can only exist in accordance with equality and justice."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in total skepticism. "I can only say that this has been-- the opposite of my experience. To put it in the most, eh, diplomatic terms possible."

"The Church has done horrible, fucked up things. Continues to do horrible fucked up things. In a space that big, though, there are always going to be practices that are inherently contradictory. This one is mine. And I have the benefit of being fucking right."

"You do see, don't you, how that-- attitude? Mentality, yes? Is dangerous. Even you! Even if I happen to think that you're right. Which I actually do. The benefit of Satanism, I find, is that we do have room for differences. It is, you would say, I think, built in? There is no wrong way to approach. You find your own way. Nobody will lead you, nobody will control you."

"And how far has that kind of rugged individualism progressed the reduction of human suffering?" she snapped.

"At least it doesn't perpetuate it!" he shot back.

They glared at each other over the formica, not quite snarling, equally frustrated.

The diner had gone quiet. Blank suntanned faces, the lone clink of a spoon in a coffee cup, the somehow awful bubbling of the deep fryer. A lot of people, for one in the morning, he thought. They looked at each other in mutual alarm for one tensed breath, and went for their wallets at the same time.

"No," he said, firm, fishing past Euros for American dollars. "You are taking a vow of poverty and I am an actual rockstar." He shot a stern glance at her opened mouth and felt a stab of immense satisfaction when she shut it, apparently- miraculously, even- chastised. He threw down enough to cover the bill and the tip and reached to drag her out, stopping short of actually touching her elbow at the last moment. "Come."

She went.

They escaped with the perversely jaunty ring of the bell over the door into the thick warmth of the night, and she brayed a laugh again, not quite on the edge of hysterics.

"Go, go, this could get ugly." But he was laughing, too. Madness. He'd seen these exact sort of people outside of a venue, enraged, faces red, carrying hateful picket signs. One small woman and one man frankly built like a noodle could be in real danger. Still, their laughter echoed down the gravel-lined drive they had ducked into, their boots crunching in a staccato rhythm in the stones. This was far too much adrenaline for one night, he thought.

While they slowed to a walk, he watched the fireflies darting upwards in the undergrowth, the ascending dashes of yellow-green light seeming fantastical to him, otherworldly. You heard of great masses of them, in America, but in such quantity it was like seeing a fairytale with your own eyes. They thinned out as the landscape started to shift, from residential suburbs to side streets.

"This was-- good. It was good, to get out. To talk. A lot of this, it is, ehh." He waved a hand in the general direction they were moving, to the venue, the concert, the tour. "Movement. Instinct. There is, by definition, no quiet. And that is fantastic, I enjoy it, I love what I do, I am fortunate in that. But it is not often that I get to speak about these things." The thud of their boots, and the high monotonous drone of a cicada somewhere off in the distance, blending with the faraway hiss of a car on the damp streets. "Thank you," he said, soft. "For this."

Her eyes forward, mouth closed tight. It took her a few steps before she spoke. "You are very welcome." She cleared her throat. "And I appreciate the outside perspective."

"Interesting thing, is it not? Having a vocation."

"Being called. Yes."

"What I do not understand-- and I do not wish to, as you said, litigate the very idea of martyrdom, of course--"

"Of course. That's above my pay grade anyhow."

"But the denial inherent in your practice. The self-denial. It seems to me a, hm. Turning away from joy. You say your God is love, very well. This is removed from my experience with Christians, but I do understand that it should be the intent. To claim that divinity is love and then to willingly cut yourself off from the experience of love seems to me contradictory. Not merely the physical, although that alone seems hideous. Some people of course are not interested, but this cannot be true of all your monsastics, your clergy, your unmarried."

"This is also an old question."

"You cannot tell me it is not vital. Few people are physically martyred, and I can see the value there, even if I think it grotesque. But this seems to me a martyrdom, and willing. And pointless. Everyone should be loved, yes? Is that not your very doctrine?"

"It is, but there's different kinds of love--"

"You are dissembling. Do me the courtesy, Miss Turner, of your honesty."

Copia heard her sharp intake of breath. He had stung her, and he very nearly regretted it.

"Discourtesy wasn't my aim, Cardinal. It's an old question, and people struggle. It's maybe the struggle, for most people, the stumbling block. How can I answer you? It's kind of a personal question, y'know?"

"I can see how it would be. I do not wish to intrude, but come now. What, you offer your suffering up to God? What kind of God would ask you to give up love in the very name of love? It's monstrous!"

"The standard answer is that one becomes the bride of Christ. My thinking is, in turning away from the singular, you're better able to focus on the collective. To focus, to pay attention. And attention in its highest form is prayer."

"You deny yourself. In denial, you turn away knowledge. You said this yourself, how can you understand suffering if you have not suffered? You should know joy, or else how can you understand joy? You should be free to do that, to be in the world, and the world is here! You are here, and while you are here you should be here fully. You should allow yourself to be loved!"

He had actually raised his voice, and his words hung in the thick air, almost suspended with the humidity. He couldn't take it back, and he fell silent, mortified. They had fallen to a stop.

"It's discipline," she said, helpless. She couldn't look at him, and he had to look away at her expression.

"In any case." He cleared his throat, and resumed walking. "Discipline I understand. There is discipline in my practice, you know."

"I can see that. Dedication, certainly. Seems like the whole world's against you. The dominant social climate is not accommodating to being that outspoken about, well, anything to do with sincere belief, really, but especially in your case."

"No. And in this situation, it is easy to-- tend to isolate. To stay in one's own community. Safer. Especially in a hostile environment. Anger is easy, you would say."

"Don't I know it. You do have to live in the world. I think you and I both have cause to be angry. Hell, we're probably angry at a lot of the same things. Coming at it from opposite directions, is all."

"The hypocrisy is galling," he agreed. "If I am a monster in the eyes of these people, let me be an honest monster. They feed their children poison and tell them it is virtue, to hate, to fear, I do not--" he cut himself off, blew out a laugh. "We are angry about the same things. The work is the same. We are both called to liberate, yes?"

"Yeah, I would allow that's fairly definitional."

"Here, you take that side, I will take this one, and we will meet in the middle and cast off all oppression," he said, grandly, sweeping out an arm as if he were back on stage. He echoed her smile on pure reflex.

"And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Julian of Norwich. An anchoress." Something in the concept, and in the simultaneous hope and resignation in her face, pierced his heart all the way through. She was remote, and lost to him, a marble statue of a saint. The nature of his ministry was to encourage pleasure, of mind and of body, and he did want to break her out of the cell she'd walled herself off into. Perhaps merely for his own satisfaction, when freedom was the whole of his law. Even her freedom to walk into her own cage. "Not so much to be consoled as to console," he said, halfway to himself, watching her.

"Francis of Assisi. But I think you knew that."

"I did."

"You are something else, aren't you?" She looked at him, pleased and reassessing. He felt seen, almost entire.

It was not an entirely comfortable feeling. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps."

He recognized, now, the alleyway they had walked down, the venue shuttered for the night. The only lights inside were deep in the back, distant. Likely everything had been packed away, or near enough. Likely the ghouls were wondering where he was. And she was small, and faith alone would not protect her.

It was too much for him. "It is very late. And I do not know if-- do you have a place to stay? This is not, I think, your home."

"I don't and it's not." She waved him off. "Was planning on just sleeping in the car. The seats fold down, I got a pillow, it's fine."

"I don't like it."

"Ain't about what you like." She dropped her head. "I apologize, that was rude."

"No, it is only--." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I do have a hotel room."

"No." It seemed reflexive. But he could see the split second flash of her face cracking open with sheer want. Watched her snatch her composure together just as quick, even as the afterimage lingered in his brain like the echo of a lightning strike. "No, I-- I do not think that would be a good idea."

"There is a couch, even. I could take the couch."

"Copia." Oh, and it was costing her. Painful to watch. That wretched self denial. "Please." A brittle little laugh, accent creeping back in as she forced herself to sound brighter. "I seen you bounce around that stage, you gonna need a mattress."

"Nothing you do not wish, Miss Turner. Never that," he said, as gently as he could. A breath of silence strung out in the thick air, the space of a heartbeat. "Anyways." He considered his position, took a breath, and made the leap. "It would be good to-- I would like to continue this argument. You have some time, no? Before you are-- fully committed. Come to Charleston. My guest. In the spirit of, eh, ecumenical dialogue."

That got a smile out of her. "I'll think about it."

"Please. Do."

"I will. I will think about it."

"In that case." He straightened his spine by three degrees, took the smallest step forward, and picked up her hand in both of his. Even though the gloves it made something catch behind his sternum, the stutter of some cog in engineering. He bowed over it as deeply as he ever had on stage, registered the barest breath of the smell of her, leather and nicotine and something like amber, a clean animal scent. It was only an instant, and he straightened with some regret. "I have enjoyed your company, Sophie."

"I--. Yes. Yeah. Me too." She squeezed his hand, once. "Very much. Be well, Cardinal." And then she slipped away.

He watched her carefully measured walk to her car, head held up with the dignity of the condemned. She opened her door and looked back for the space of one brief inhalation. Orpheus, he thought, nonsensically. He stared at her taillights, the red glow like eyes, the dragon's breath curl of exhaust, long after it had faded into the wide restless night.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the ghouls dragged him back inside.

[noosayog]

wc: 500

part 2. directory here.

--

As someone who has never played serious sports, you have never had a concussion before. Who knew it could be so serious? The campus nurse advised you to stay for overnight monitoring in case your condition worsens since you can just apparently pass away in your sleep if a bad concussion goes unchecked. All those thought of murder from when Miya Atsumu knocked on your door earlier that morning now didn't seem so unfitting, considering this man practically committed homicide.

The next morning, you get the okay to go home with a caution that if any nausea or unusual headaches occur, to come back, stat. You drag your sleep-deprived self back to your studio for some much needed sleep in a comfortable bed. It doesn't take much to collapse into a deep sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You're not sure how much time passes when you're rudely awoken by a gentle rapt at your door. Can't be the same offender since he's got a penchant for abrasiveness. It's sometime in the evening judging by the sinking sun in the windows which means you've slept a healthy amount. You swing open the door without thinking and you think maybe it's time for you to normalize looking through the peephole before opening the door for both safety and your sanity because -- surprise surprise -- it's blondie.

He smiles, again.

You frown, again.

He gives you a full body assessment by raking his eyes rudely along your figure then says cheekily, "you just woke up? No leg show today?"

Luckily, you were too tired to change out of your jeans earlier so your legs are covered.

"Ooh, outfit repeater" he teases.

"I'm an outfit repeater because someone gave me a concussion and I had to stay in the hospital overnight or I could've died in my sleep."

His smile drops. "Oh shit, I am so sorry. I did not know it was that serious." He pauses, scratching at his head. "That's why you weren't in when I came knocking last night."

"You came last night?" you ask in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? I thought I was making it pretty clear that I wanted you to leave me alone."

He ignores that. "So is it fair to assume you haven't eaten? I could get you something or make you something? Least I can do for giving you a concussion."

"I'm not eating anything from someone who almost murdered me!" you say incredulously.

"Hey, that's not fair," he frowns. "It wasn't on purpose. I'm trying to apologize here. What can I do?"

"Leave me alone?" you offer.

He frowns a bit deeper. "Why do you have to keep that…" he gestures his hands vaguely up and down at you. "attitude? I just wanna apologize."

"Maybe after you rudely woke me up for no real reason the night before my hardest final, gave a half-ass apology, and nailed me with a concussion, I think I reserve the right to hold you in some contempt. A lot of contempt, actually. You'd be surprised at how much I can hold in this body."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, spurred on by a strange sense of competition. "Well, you'd be surprised at how much resilience I hold in my body."

"Weirdo," you respond, slamming the door in his face again.

Atsumu just shrugs and counts it as a win for the day.

[griefabyss69]

Steddie prompt: former Experiment!Eddie messing with Steve using his gifts because he’s bored. What that entails is entirely up to you! :) NSFW or SFW, dealers choice.

This is such an interesting concept! One that I've somehow never thought to write about before. I could've written like double this, but it was already like four drabbles long. I might come back to the concept one day!

[Drabble request series on ao3]

---

4.1K words - Steddie - Rated: E

Contains: Tiny bit of dub-con (basically nothing is negotiated but they're both into it all), metaphysical anal, face slapping, ass slapping, Eddie taking control of Steve's body

Once the poisonous, bloody, dust has settled, and the fluorescent sterile aftermath endured, Eddie comes out to everyone.

Not in a Robin kind of way, but in an Eleven kind of way.

Or rather, reading the tattoo he's kept hidden under his watch this whole time, Twelve.

Steve had been kind of shocked, like way more surprised than he thinks he should've been, but he absorbs the information and adjusts, just like always. Eddie's still the same guy after all, they all just know him a little better, and he gets to take some of the super-powered pressure off of El whenever being that kind of weird gets rough.

And call him naive, but Steve didn't really think he had anything to worry about, it's not like the guy's actually a murderer or evil or whatever, even though the town hit too close to home with the whole Has-Powers-Like-The-Devil thing. It burns Steve's guts a little, makes him feel sick with how close Eddie could've come to getting snatched up by the wrong people again.

So when he gets a weird glint in his eye one evening, Steve doesn't think "Oh shit, he's going to Devil-Power me to Hell". He thinks, "He's about to go find a pen and a notepad and spend the next hour ignoring me.", which sucks way more than having any kind of evil attention.

Well, his wish for it certainly gets granted.

Eddie stretches out on the couch, eyes slotting into place right where they should be – holding Steve's gaze – his shirt loose enough at the bottom to ride all the way up to his ribs when he wriggles around restlessly. His mouth quirks up into a little smirk, Steve can't tell if there's meant to be humor in it or not, but he's sure if he's about to open up with something dry and sarcastic he'll find out soon enough.

For a minute though, it's just a staring contest, one that has Steve enthralled. He doesn't even think about looking away, even when he feels his own hand raising up into the air, knuckled into a loose fist.

He does frown though, confusion tugging at his mouth when his fist punches down into his own leg, not hard enough to hurt but definitely not something he did on purpose.

"Eddie?" He asks, trying not to sound too worried.

"Yes, Steve?" Eddie replies, raising his eyebrows.

Another punch, this time with his fingers clenched tighter, harder into his jeans, and Steve finally breaks eye contact, looking down at his hand.

The spell over the internal mechanism that urges him to gravitate towards Eddie is broken, but the one over his hand isn't. A couple quick punches and Steve glares over at him, finally trying to actually fight against whatever's moving him.

"What're you doing?" He asks, and Eddie laughs, rolling over onto his stomach.

He puts his chin in his hands and gives him a doe-eyed look, blatantly false innocence pooling under his eyelashes.

"What do you mean?" He shoots back, lips quirking into an enigmatic little smile.

Steve wants to stick his tongue into the corner of it.

"Well. I'm not punching myself on purpose. So if that's not you, then maybe we should do something about it," he says, watching his fist turn into an open hand, slapping down against his thigh.

Eddie sighs, shaking his head at him with a fake kind of pity.

"Oh Steve, I'm all the way over here, how could that be from me?"

Well, he knew it before, but now he really knows that Eddie's doing this.

"Then I guess I'll go call a code red and get the super nerds on the case," he says, getting to his feet.

He doesn't get very far, Eddie halting him mid-step, keeping him off balance with one leg in the air.

"No need to do that, I'm sure I can protect you against the ghost that's possessing you," he says, kicking his feet up behind him.

He looks like he should be twirling some of his hair around his finger as he sighs dreamily about a boy at a sleepover. The look kind of suits him even with the new tattoo that's peeking out from under his shirt.

Steve wants both of his feet on the ground, so he tries, and finds that he can push through Eddie's power like it's molasses and not a brick wall.

It bodes well for not falling over when he lets him go, but it doesn't bode well for the mischievous way he's looking at him. The thing about Eddie is, if he wants to toy with someone, he'll give them a way out of it, if they work hard enough for it. No brick walls there, but you have to want the escape.

Of course, that's always been during things like stupid arguments about movies or the casual flirting he does with everyone, not physically controlling someone like a puppet. At least not in Steve's experience anyway.

"Right. Can you see the ghost? Are my eyes glowing red?" Steve asks, voice bland.

Eddie laughs, wiggles his fingers at him with a wink. It looks fruity and has Steve's gut tugging his heart around on a leash. He can't believe that actually does something for him.

"Yeah, I can see it right now, looks pretty strong," he says, eyes sweeping over Steve's body like he's checking him out, not pretending to assess a threat. "It might take me a bit to fight- oh!"

He's a good actor, but Steve knows he's fucking around, so his pretend surprise when Steve's open palm slaps into his own face doesn't work on him. It's not very hard, doesn't even sting, but it does make him jump, heart racing at the unexpected hit.

"He got you good!" Eddie says, eyes so wide and so absolved of his actions.

Steve gives him his nastiest glare, regaining control enough to rub at his cheek, a small trickle of humiliation building between his shoulder blades.

Eddie laughs and makes him slap himself again, and this time it stings, the pain spearing him in whatever part of the brain that lust resides. That's a fucking problem, has him hoping Eddie gets bored of him soon, because he's known him long enough to know that he'd hold that kind of information over his head forever.

"Man, I'm sorry, this ghost is really beefy," he says, his legs still kicking.

"Call in some reinforcements, then?" Steve replies, rolling his eyes at him.

He fights to get both of his hands down by his sides, trying to brace himself against what comes next, waiting as he watches the gears turn in Eddie's head.

"You're not going to want anyone else around," Eddie says, and Steve feels a weird, nebulous pressure under his chin, forcing it up.

That almost gets a sound out of him, but it's not until the pressure is sliding down his chest, lighting up the nerves in his nipples on it's journey, that his throat opens up and lays a moan out into the air.

"What's the ghost doing now?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised.

"Being some kind of pervert," Steve says, eyes flying wide when he feels a tugging at his belt.

"Oh, that's a shame, I guess."

Eddie's got his belt all the way undone before Steve can get his hands up to it, and he tries to think over the pounding of his heart.

This is totally on purpose, and seems like a whole different kind of thing than all of Eddie's harmless flirting. Does that mean Eddie's noticed things about him? How he lingers around him too much, how he finds it hard to tear his attention away from him a lot of the time?

Or is this Eddie just fucking with him in a new way?

"Looks like I might get a show, though," Eddie says, bypassing where Steve holds the two ends of his belt in place to get his jeans undone, button fly popping open quickly enough that Steve doesn't register it happening at first.

"Eddie," he starts, not sure what he's going to say.

Should he ask him to stop?

His the leather in his hands slips out of his fingers and his pants fall down his hips a few inches. He should ask him to stop, but that would mean… well. Stopping.

"Uh-oh," Eddie smirks, playing with a piece of his hair. "Interesting tactic this ghost has."

Steve pushes his hands against the power to clutch at his jeans, grunting with the effort, holding them up just before they can fall further and reveal the swell of his cock in his underwear.

"Honestly Eddie, cut the bullshit," he says, aiming for stern and getting lusty leading actress instead. "We both know I know you're doing this."

Eddie laughs, hiding his grin behind where he's twisting his hair in his fingers, looking up at him through his eyelashes. It's cute, though all of the mocking innocence has melted away.

"What, don't want to blame this on a third party?" He asks, all pretend-sympathy. "That way you won't have to admit that you're getting bested by a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes, because the whole nerd thing is not what this is about and Eddie knows it. It's about facing the fact that Eddie's toying with him in a way that's homosexual, and the fact that Steve's protests have been so weak he can't even call it acting.

"You haven't bested me yet," he says instead, managing to get the top button of his jeans done back up.

"Don't egg me on like that, I might end up thinking you want it," Eddie says, dark eyes giving him another once over. "I'm also not trying very hard, my nose isn't even bleeding."

Steve knew he was pulling his punches, a fact driven home by the way his arms fly out from his sides, trapped in midair like he's stuck under something heavy. Struggling against it does nothing, no molasses to wade through, and Eddie's finally stopped kicking his feet, doesn't look casual anymore.

A real show of his power, even though Steve knows this is still pretty surface level.

"Try to move your arms," Eddie says, nodding at him with his chin as if he's not already putting in the effort.

Steve glares. Eddie grins.

"Alright, if you don't want to, I guess I could find a way to motivate you."

The button on his jeans pops back open and his pants are yanked, pooling around his ankles before he can even open his mouth to tell him off.

He doesn't think that's what he would've done, though. He wonders if Eddie's aware of that, or if he thinks he's doing something that Steve hasn't fantasized about before. Like sure, in his fantasies, Eddie's using his hands – sometimes his mouth – to undress and touch him, but what is this if not an extension of his body?

It comes from him, after all.

Steve doesn't say anything, just watches him, pokes at the little feeling of humiliation and lets it grow, letting the shame for wanting Eddie to defeat him have it's cruel stab in his chest, as he finds his eyes held in place by Eddie's gaze again.

"Nothing, huh?" Eddie says, less playful for a moment, almost like he's frustrated.

Does he want Steve to protest? To beg and fight against something he knows he's not capable of physically overpowering? To ask him to stop?

He sighs.

"You know I'm trying, I know you can feel it," he says, frowning. "I'm not going to beg you to let me go."

Eddie stares at him, the gears once again kicking into motion as he visibly understands what Steve's not saying.

"I'll make you," he replies, pulling Steve's shirt up over his head to brace it against the back of his neck.

Steve's used to being shirtless around people, but the unexpected rush of cool air against his skin has him shivering, has his cock thickening up even more, definitely obvious by now. There's no giving up now, no way he can walk this backwards and laugh it off as freaky ass roughhousing.

"Yeah? You want me to get all sad and desperate to move? To get my clothes back on?" Steve asks, drawing his bitchy smirk up easily. "I bet you think about doing this when you jerk off, getting me on my knees or something. Do you? Think about forcing my mouth open so you can fuck it?"

He watches Eddie's face burn and something hot and satisfied curls up in his gut. He's not often on the offensive with him, prefers to take things as they come and secretly enjoy them, but when he can make him blush hard out of nowhere like that it makes him want to pin him down and kiss him.

"I-I… don't do that," Eddie says, piecing his composure back together. "I don't think about you at all."

Steve hopes that's a lie.

"I'm just bored," he continues, still a little subdued. "And clearly you're a bigger slut than I thought."

That'd hurt, if Steve didn't take it as a compliment, coming from a guy who once went on a half hour tangent about how people should just be able to have sex without judgment, no matter how many partners they had.

"What does that make you?" Steve asks, relieved when Eddie's smirk finds it's way back.

He loves how it looks on Eddie's face, sue him.

"King slut, I guess," Eddie laughs, and with a faint pressure at his waist, Steve's underwear pulls down his thighs, his cock springing up with the force of it.

"God," Steve moans, attempting to pulls his arms out of position, instinctively trying to cover himself.

"Yeah, that too," Eddie says, not bothering to pretend he's not staring at his erection.

Steve has to take a few moments, basking in the attention and also to just catch up with exactly what's going on, how fucking weird it is, how turned on he's getting. There's a lot that Eddie could do to him that anyone would expect him to say no to, but he finds himself hoping that he doesn't have to ask for any of it.

He told Eddie he wasn't going to beg and he meant it.

"Can't believe you're so into being this weak," Eddie says, slowly dragging his eyes up to his face, the nebulous pressure following the path they take.

He's not going to beg, but he moans freely, wants Eddie to know how good it feels, wants him to try to get more sounds out of him.

"I could hold you in place and strip you anywhere, and what? You'd get hard just like this?" Eddie asks, his hips giving a hard grind into the couch. "I can do whatever I want to you, and you're not even scared, are you? You’re like the world's bravest, horniest, action hero."

Steve laughs, finds he can't even move his head, his whole body held in place except for the places he wants to be touched. His cock and his balls are free to move, no invisible pressure holding them in place – which is a little embarrassing, he wonders if it looks stupid – but mostly he just wishes he was being touched everywhere.

"Should I be?" He asks, voice a little strangled. "Scared?"

The pressure around his throat gets softer and he tries not to feel disappointed.

"Depends on what you fear," Eddie says, his hips starting to slowly roll and press into the couch like he's doing it subconsciously. "I'm not gonna injure you or anything like that."

Steve goes to shrug, but he can't, so he just makes a vague sound. He has to think for a minute to figure out how to bring up the slapping without outright asking for it.

"What was the slapping about, then? You could've hurt me."

Eddie rolls his eyes, arranging one of Steve's hands into an open palm.

"Injuring you is different than hurting you," he says, and even though it's expected this time, Steve still gasps when his own hand comes down hard on his cheek.

His head doesn't even snap to the side, stuck in place.

His cock jerks as he struggles, the pain drawing another moan out of him.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie whispers, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth for a second as he looks at him. "You loved that."

Steve knows how he must look, with his eyes watering and he's assuming a red mark on his face, and he leans into it, letting his mouth drop open just a little bit as he licks his lips.

"If you weren't so committed to making love to my couch I'd tell you to come over here and use your own damned hand for it," he says, unable to keep himself from pushing at him.

Eddie hides a laugh behind his hands, his head ducking momentarily before he looks back up, beaming at him.

"You're so fucking cute," he says, getting all of his limbs in order as he gets to his feet. "Also, really fucking hot. And gorgeous? Yes."

He's walking towards him now, and Steve didn't think that was going to work so well, but all he can do is watch him, unable to move.

"Sexy? Beautiful? A Pretty boy? That's three check marks, baby," Eddie's saying, little zings of pleasure building in Steve's chest with the compliments. "And I don't think you could handle it if I slapped you."

Steve raises his eyebrows, still trying to move, still utterly trapped.

"Well, not your face, anyway," Eddie says, and then like a strike of lightning, his palm collides with Steve's ass.

"Oh fuck!" Steve yells, his body trying to jerk away from the impact.

He didn't ease him into that one, the pain hot and sharp and already throbbing as Eddie steps back from him.

"I've always wanted to do that," Eddie leans in to whisper, his teeth glancing off of Steve's ear, his hand back on Steve's ass to grab where he smacked him. "I hope you think of me whenever you sit down for the next few days."

Steve groans, breathing through it as the wall of pain steals the thoughts out of his head.

"You want me to hurt you?" Eddie asks, and he tries to nod. "You get off on it? Being defeated and slapped around?"

Not historically, but he thinks Eddie could punch him in the face and all he’d do is drop to his knees. Let him think he’s forcing him to open his mouth, like he teased him about earlier.

"What about something else? I'm sure losing a fight with someone is familiar to you, but what about something new?"

Steve manages to get his mouth to work, his eyelids fluttering shut as he asks -

"Is this the first fight you've won?"

Eddie steps back, an offended scoff preceding a slap to the face, not even Steve's own hand this time, drawing a high and reedy moan out of him.

He thinks he might be able to cum like this. Even with just the pressure that builds in the base of his spine as he struggles against the nothing, the invisible force – this whole situation is starting to get him there.

"S-something new is good," he gasps out, unable to open his eyes as Eddie's fingertips tease over his face.

"Good," Eddie says, satisfied like he approves, his fingers moving to trail down Steve's neck. "Should I assume some things about you, or should I ask first?"

Steve scrunches up his eyebrows, knowing that the right answer and the answer that he wants are two different things. He's not about to make a good decision like this though – his balls are starting to ache and he's getting desperate, craving all of the slivers of Eddie's attention that he’s being given.

"Do whatever you want, I can take it," he says, prying his eyelids open against the force of nothing but his own fogginess.

Eddie looks momentarily shocked, like for whatever reason this is where he'd draw the line and stop doing things they know are kind of stupid, but he schools it quickly, getting his hands on Steve's chest.

"You know, my plan wasn't to touch you at all," he says, squeezing Steve's tits. "But I'll be honest, you've been driving me fucking crazy."

Steve makes a weird sound, a mix between a laugh and a moan, trying and failing to push up into his hands. He has to hope he gets to do this again, without Eddie's powers holding his whole body in place, but right now being forced to go at whatever pace Eddie wants to set is kind of intoxicating.

"Show me, then," he says, challenging him.

Eddie ducks his head, and it seems bashful, until his teeth sink into Steve's neck and both of them are groaning, Steve's a lot louder and ruined than Eddie's.

"Fuck, that's so go- Oh shit!"

There's a sudden pressure inside of his ass now, not even stretching him open, just the presence of nothing, all of his nerves singing through his spine as he tries to breath around the solid tension in all of his muscles. It spreads, more pressure adding to press into his taint, to grip his balls just lightly enough that it doesn't hurt, and then there's –

Eddie's hand, real and warm and calloused around his cock, stroking over the head to catch the pre-cum there, getting the rest of him wet as he slides down to the base, squeezing it hard. That does hurt, and Steve almost tips over the edge, feeling his eyes start to water again.

He's never felt anything like this, having a hard time wrapping his head around how he's getting fucked in the ass without actually being entered by anything, but it feels so good that he wants to live like this forever, trapped under Eddie's power.

"Next time, I want to get inside of you," Eddie's whispering, like he doesn't want him to hear. "I want to hold you in place and fuck you until I'm done with you, make you feel so good you forget who we are."

It's the thought of Eddie's cock slamming into him that does it, the fantasy of being helpless to do anything about it, forced to take whatever pleasure he gives him whether he asks for it or not. He cums hard, shooting hot where Eddie aims his cock, getting cum up in his chest hair and down his stomach.

The invisible pressure starts to ease up from his ass and his balls, reluctant even as Eddie keeps working him with his hand, making him try to squirm away from it when the orgasm ends and the raw nerve feeling of over-stimulation hits.

"Fuck, please," he whines through his clenched teeth.

"Please what?" Eddie asks, the mischievous glint in his eye coming back as he continues to work him over.

"Your hand," Steve manages to grit out, unable to move away from it at all.

"What about my hand?" Eddie asks, laughing.

He does let go though, watching him closely as he tries to catch his breath, casually licking Steve's cum off his fingers like there's nothing loaded about that.

"Gonna drop you now," Eddie says, moving to stand behind him.

He gets his arms around Steve's waist, bracing him as the pressure holding him up slowly eases off, and soon he's slumped and sinking to the floor, Eddie guiding him as he goes.

He doesn't even care that his bare ass is on the cold floor, finding it kind of soothing against what must surely be a hand print so well engraved that he could get Eddie's fingerprints from it.

"God, you're a mess," Eddie murmurs, pressing his thumb into Steve's lips. "I'll clean us up though, hang tight."

Steve's body feels like jello, so he just lays there, frowning as he thinks about what he said.

Us?

Eddie comes back with a towel, a wet washcloth, and a wet spot at the front of his jeans.

"You didn't have to cum in your pants over me," he says, the words a bit murky as he tries to articulate them. "Could've just used my hand or something."

Eddie groans as he kneels down beside him, cheeks blazing as he glares at him.

"I know that, but I…" he cuts himself off, frowning as he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

Steve's silent as Eddie cleans him up, taking his time to get the cum out of his chest hair, basking in the sweetness of it after all the half-manufactured posturing they just did. This feels more honest than Eddie holding him in place and stripping him, as hot as that was, and he doesn't want to ruin it by making fun of Eddie for cumming in his pants. Maybe he would've too, if their positions were reversed.

"Next time we do this you have to get your cock out sooner," he says, mumbling around a sleepy smile.

[odd-lyin-ryan]

Okay I went ahead and watched it despite spoiling myself. Overall, not a satisfying season…at all. I say this almost purely from a writing/pacing perspective.

-The Lila/Five thing isn’t upsetting me really (I mean after the first season with Allison and Luther this is the kind of crazy that falls within those bounds so it’s fine.) I think a lot of people are skimming over the fact that seven years is a very very long time to only have one person. After Five’s track record with the original apocalypse it seems par for the course. It just seems like the Lila/Diego dynamic was just added to have this drama and they only actual purpose of the subway system was to further a romance that a) goes nowhere and b) fucks over five so hard. I mean…WHAT!? This guy has broken his fucking back to protect his family and keep them together and there is nothing for him in the end besides throwing away all that work!? The whole thing could’ve been better if maybe it wasn’t Lila, but someone else he could form this bond with and not abandon him in the end. So many people are crying home wrecker which I feel is unfair after seven years and no more hope. The notebook thing kinda allows this perspective however. Still I felt like the way it played out was out of character (where’s the badass that fights head on for what he wants? For his family!?) (This all is divorced from the reality of the actors and their positions. I would not have a problem with the two if they didn’t meet and work these parts when Aiden was younger. It feels kind of icky even without the age gap. Props to their abilities though.)

-The Allison shit…oh lord. She betrayed them all and her husband left her in the end. Her saying she wasn’t going to be the bad guy of the family anymore…girl you assaulted your brother. You earned that position.

-Gene and Jean, not very threatening at all or super impressive. More than 6 eps I feel would’ve fixed this. (This may be because of how I watched the last episode first before realizing my mistake🙃)

-Klaus, oh this poor kid. Totally got fucked over. I understand that relapse was always a huge risk but I don’t think they showed anything to make it feel like he needed drugs/alcohol after he was saved. Like no gruesome hauntings to push him over the edge. I would’ve preferred he not have relapsed at all if possible. The Diego and Klaus dynamic should’ve come into play here. They tried to say Allison always picked him up but that’s not what they’ve showed us in the past. Diego was there for all that in season one.

-I feel like I know so little about Ben as a character. I feel like we’ve been floundering since season 3 to actually get to the center of him but all that’s been shown is he is a villain, no matter where. He betrays the mission in the original, he attacks them as a sparrow, and gets arrested/starts an apocalypse in the reboot universe?

God it just needed more time to flush things out. They worked themselves into knots trying to make it all make sense but nothing was cohesive and so much was rushed that it all of it felt disappointing. A LOT fell through the cracks. And they all died so what was the point of any of it?! To try and then fail to be happy? Claire literally went from living with her father and occasionally seeing her mom (rightfully so) to now be left in the charge of nameless extended family members? I just need a moment to think upon this and grieve.

[separatist-apologist]

I didn't want to hijack someone else's post, but an anon sent @booknerd87 an ask about lightsingers HERE and I wanted to add something to it (given I, too, was sent an anon about SA and Gwyn today).

The thing about the lightsinger theory is that a lightsinger itself isn't problematic by itself. Creatures who lure unsuspecting victims to their deaths is nothing new in mythology, and if SJM wanted to inject this into her narrative seriously, she certainly would have a lot to draw from.

The theory become inherently problematic AND harmful when two things get connected that in the source material, have no connection. Gwyn, a survivor of brutal sexual assault, gets connected to a creature that lures people with its beauty/voice/whatever. This connection is made because Nesta is drawn to the beauty of her voice. You could say, "Oh. Well Gwyn is a beautiful singer and Nesta love hers AND Nesta loves music, and in this moment the two things are converging for her. Nesta has denied herself any and all things that bring her joy all through ACOSF, and in this moment she's indulging in new friendship and the sound of something beautiful, and this moment is meaningful toward Nesta's journey toward self-forgiveness."

Which, I'd argue, was the point of that scene.

Or you could say, "the sexual assault survivor is using her sexy magic to lure people for nefarious purposes, regardless if she means to or not."

When this theory first popped up, it WAS intentional- and then the backlash came and it was softened to, well maybe she doesn't even realize it, but she is probably still doing it, as explanation for why Azriel finds her interesting or is drawn to her. Ignoring all the convoluted plot twists needed to make this theory exist outside of AO3- it plays on the real life stereotype of the too-sexy survivor asking for it.

This is where fantasy and real-life intersect. In our current society, the question is too often, what did they do to bring this on themselves? What were they wearing? Drinking? Why were they out so late, why didn't they scream/yell- and because they didn't do things exactly right, well...maybe they lured this person into thinking it was wanted. Their clothes signaled something. Or maybe their expression, the way their body is shaped, etc. Their attacker couldn't help themselves, they were powerless in the wake of their victims tight jeans.

And now you've got people constructing a villain narrative around this trope. People wonder (out loud) if it even happened (despite both Azriel and Mor walking in on it, and Rhys believing her- a dude who can read minds), and then also wonder if she isn't luring Nesta and Azriel toward some nefarious end game goal. And lets be clear- this is an opinion borne of a shipping war and not canon text or four intelligent brain cells. SJM has stated Gwyn is based on her real life friend, and ya'll think she'd borrow her friends story of SA and triumph and then turn around and make that friend her villain? When SJM has NEVER ONCE written a two-dimensional villain?

Get real. I'm begging this fandom to grow up and chill out. Ya'll weaponize real life issues and no matter how many times I keep breaking this down and reminding people that just because you hate a character doesn't mean you get to invalidate the sexual assault they experience AND that when you do this, you harm REAL LIFE PEOPLE REAL PEOPLE WHO ARE REAL AND HAVE ACTUAL FEELINGS, someone shows up to argue that actually, it's okay for THEM to do this because their masters degree from Clown University makes them an expert.

No one gives a shit if you don't like characters from a book, and no one cares about your ship. There are tons of reason to prefer a one character over another and like- learn how to just say "I don't like them" and move on with your life. You don't need 500 essays moralizing your opinion to give you some kind of high ground which is, frankly at this point, embarrassing (for you).

[threadsun]

Now, because I love harem shenanigans let’s talk about these bois living situation

So, because of Jean’s many successful careers over his immortal life of course he would own a beautiful manor in the middle of the woods. It doesn’t serve him much purpose aside from where he hides out when he doesn’t want to be seen by the public, and to hang out with his…friend? Him and Rory get together once a year and talk shit, it’s that toxic kind of friendship where both of them talk shit behind each other’s back but it's all “Hey bitch, nice new shoes!” when they’re near each other

That changes once Jack’s in the picture. Rory’s panicking, did he mean to seduce an angel? Yes. Did he think it would work? Fuck no! He needs to keep Jack in the human world so he can feed but he can’t just let him out into public! So he goes to the only person he can think of. Jean laughs in his face when Rory explains the situation to him but tells him “Fine, I was tired of hiring staff to keep this place clean anyway” Rory’s pissed but resigned at the fee for staying, he knew Jean wouldn’t let him stay for nothing. Jack’s a little excited about the whole thing, he’s never been in a house this big, and he gets to clean it? Sign him up!

The next person to come around is Nick, an incubus living in the human realm is one thing but three? He had to come check it out. Once he meets Jack he calms down quite a bit, new incubi are usually insatiable when it comes to their hunger but Jack seems to be doing just fine. Nick doesn’t come to the manor too often but he’s always good company when he does swing by, he’ll even occasionally bring his dog. Jack is the only one fooled by Bo’s disguise and Bo gets a good laugh from Jack’s reaction when he shifts back to his true form. Though apparently staying shifted for so long can have some unforeseen consequences as Bo’s true form now keeps his ears and tail. He doesn’t seem to mind

After that Shaun starts to visit, Nick tells him about Jean’s place, and how could he pass up a spooky human manor out in the woods? Shaun is all over that place, asking about all the rooms and what they’re for, he actually really likes Jean because of that. Not that he thinks Jean is a good person or anything but he knows so much about human culture and history that Shaun has to keep asking him questions

After a while it’s actually Jack who brings someone to the manor, an old friend he had back in heaven. Seeing Ian again brings back some bad memories for Jack but he can’t just leave him alone after his fall, he doesn’t know how he would have survived his own fall without Rory. After Ian starts living in the manor Shaun also moves in, he’s so excited to have someone to geek out with about humans now, sometimes Jack even gets in on the conversation. He doesn’t see the romantic appeal of humans that the other two do but he likes seeing them so happy

After all these incubi surrounding one house it starts to draw some attention and Berry finds the place all on his own. The others aren’t too sure about him being here but…wait, what? No, don’t be silly! Berry’s always been here and he’s so nice to everyone, why would they want him to leave? The only person who knows what’s going on is Jean but he is equally amused and terrified of this guy so he lets him stay

And finally, Joseph doesn’t know anything about the manor since he’s been in the realm of dreams for so long but one night he and Jean “bump into each other” in someone’s dream. Jean tells him that he’s sure Jo’s having a wonderful time being at the whims of the human mind, but it’s high time he actually be himself again. Joseph knows Jean is probably up to something, he always was, but maybe it wouldn’t be awful to be in the human realm again. Especially with that look in Jean’s eye

And that’s how they all stay for a while, that is until you find the manor, but I think that’s a story for another time :)

-Cult anon

OH INCUBUS AU AND BLOODBAG AU ARE SHAKING HANDS AND ALSO MAYBE MAKING OUT SLOPPY STYLE I LOVE IT!!!

Jean having the mansion and Barry somehow convincing everyone he's always been there are simply constants across everything!!! I love it so much tbh, also curious about what bad memories are brought back from Jack seeing Ian 👀

[italiansteebie]

Love on Screen

Episode Six: The Finale, Episode Five, Four, Three, Two, One

Dustin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the couple’s official announcement video. It was sweet, and chaotic, and full of sarcasm, just like he thought it’d be. It was probably his fifth time watching it, but the way they interacted was so endearing it was almost addictive to watch.  

—

“Hey guys! So, you’ve probably seen the clip of me and this weirdo by now, kissing at Robin’s party, and. We’re here to dispel any rumors, okay. Eddie, do you want to take this next part?”

“Sure, so guys. I know this might be hard to believe but… Me and Steve we… Are actually a couple.”

“Yeah! A couple of besties! Ha, you thought.”

“Stephano! I thought I was the chaotic one in this relationship,”

“Nope, I’m taking it over,” and he punctuated it with a sharp cackle.

“No but seriously, yes. We are dating, almost a year now. We never really hid it, like on purpose? I think we just decided to never really make any type of announcement ‘til now, and to be completely honest… We probably wouldn’t have said anything if that clip hadn’t been spread around.”

Eddie swung an arm around Steve, “Not that we weren’t ever gonna say anything, it just didn’t seem all that important to us to have a real… announcement about it, y’know?”

They both finished their statements, sharing a sweet kiss, before turning off the camera. “I think that went well,” Steve said, smiling at Eddie. “Yeah, it did, Stevie.” Eddie responded, smacking a wet kiss against his cheek. Steve laughed, wiping away the spit that Eddie left on his cheek. “I love you so much.” 

“Yeah. I love you, too.” 

—  

Long story short, their coming out was taken well. 

In fact, most people were calling them the ‘best internet couple,’ which. Nancy and Robin were right there but… Hey. If that’s what the internet wants, then well, who’s to change it. (Nancy and Robin were pretty salty, but they do have to admit that their friends were pretty cute, although Steddie wasn’t as good of a ship name as Ronance, I mean come on. It’s one letter off Romance). 

They still played into the whole ‘best friends’ thing, because hey. It was pretty fuckin funny, at least in their opinion. The couples content didn’t really change, besides the fact that they sometimes kissed in front of the camera, or while Eddie was streaming, chat always responding with some variation of “the fuck dawg?” Because apparently Steve was not only Eddie’s boyfriend, but the whole internet's boyfriend, which did not make Eddie jealous. Not at all. (Well, maybe a little bit, but he didn’t really have to worry about that).  

— 

Three years had passed, and Eddie and Steve had only grown in popularity. They made videos about DIY seats made of jeans, and how it looked to rescue elderly street cats, and they had a podcast called “Eddie and Steve, not Adam and Eve,” on which they usually shared really weird tiktoks on. Either way, Dustin absolutely loved it. 

‘Corrodededdie is going live.’ Dustin looked at the notification in slight confusion. Eddie usually doesn’t go live on Saturdays, let alone this late at night. Oh well, he guesses he shouldn’t complain. He taps on the notification, confused once more once he opens the app to a blank screen. “What?” He tapped the screen a few times, staring at his phone. He sighed, maybe it was just a fluke, so he moved to put his phone down when he heard Eddie’s voice finally float through the speakers. “Hey shitheads.” His tone was somber, and that was highly unusual for Eddie. He felt a pit in his stomach, something was wrong, what if he and Steve broke up? Oh god no. 

Dustin looked at the screen, seeing the sad expression on Eddie’s face, shit, was he right? Did they actually break up?

“I have some bad news,” Dustin felt his breath hitch. “Me and Steve… Are no longer boyfriends.” Eddie finished sadly, letting his head hang low. It was silent for a few seconds, and Dustin felt absolutely destroyed. He couldn’t begin to imagine how they felt. “Oh god,” He whispered, looking down at the screen. 

“That’s because we’re husbands!” Dustin’s head snapped up at the sound of Steve’s voice cheering the good news, and what was a low energy stream turned into something no less than chaos. “Oh thank god,” he said out loud, furiously typing in the chat ‘u scared the shit out of me!’ He watched with a smile as Steve and Eddie shared a kiss and showed off their matching rings. 

Eddie laughed at the chat, “Sorry guys. It was Steve’s idea to prank y’all.” Stve smacked him on the shoulder, “it was not Edward! That is slander,” he said, tone exasperated. “Okay, okay. So it was my idea.” Eddie finally relented. Dustin was positively giddy, the two really were perfect for each other.

“We did vlog the proposal and the reception for you guys, it’ll be up right after the stream.” Steve said, grinning. He and Eddie answered a few questions from the chat before eventually ending the stream, Dustin waiting with baited breath for the vlogs to be released. As soon as they were, Dustin launched the video. It opened with Eddie pacing nervously and Robin, who was presumably behind the camera, was trying to calm him down. “Is it too soon?” “It’s been three years, Ed. It’s perfect, he’s gonna love it.” Robin reassured. The video cuts to Eddie and Steve on a beach, they were a bit far away, Dustin guesses Robin was trying to record the moment inconspicuously. He watched as Eddie led Steve to a quiet area, shells and rose petals arranged ever so. He could quietly hear Steve comment “This is so beautiful,” and watched as he spun, facing the beach. Eddie took this moment to get down on one knee, “Steve,” He began, Dustin spotted Nancy on the other side of Eddie, taking pictures, he guesses. Steve turned around, putting a hand over his mouth in shock. “I have loved you ever since I did that 12 hour stream and Dustybun04 recommended your channel, and I am so glad I listened to him.” Dustin paused the video briefly, giving himself time for a minor freak out at the fact that Eddie mentioned his name. “Steve,” Eddie grabbed his hand, “Will you marry me?” Dustin watched as Steve nodded, laughing slightly, tears streaming down his face. Eddie stood, pressing a kiss to his lips, both of them wearing matching smiles.

It was only a moment before the video continued. He watched with great amazement as Steve too, got down on one knee, still holding Eddie’s hand. Eddie was already saying yes, and laughing before Steve could even pull the ring box from his pocket. “Well. It’s obvious we both have amazing timing,” Steve said, giggling, tears still streaming down his face. “Eddie,” He began, sniffling, “You know I love you, I don’t want to live a life without you in it. Will you marry me?” Eddie laughed, “Uhh. Let me think about it,” He joked, before nodding enthusiastically, “Yes, of course. Please.” Steve slid the ring onto Eddie’s finger, before standing, pressing another kiss to Eddie’s lips. At this point, Dustin was also crying, and he only cried harder when Robin and Nancy popped out from their hiding places to congratulate the two. Dustin wiped his eyes, sighing fondly. 

After a few seconds of Robin and Nancy hugging Steve and Eddie, the video cut to what looked like an absolute rager which Dustin could only guess was their reception. The camera panned to Steve and Eddie both dressed to the nines in their suits, “We’re married now bitches!” Steve shouted, the crowd of people cheering in response. The rest of the video was comprised of Eddie and Steve having a blast at their wedding, Dustin watched, smile growing painful for how long he’s held it, they danced, they partied, and Steve even threw the bouquet.

The video faded before Steve and Eddie popped up on the screen. “We’re so happy we can share this moment with you guys, and in fact.” Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand, “It was all because of you guys that we met really, so. Thank you. From the bottom of our hearts.” Steve said, looking at Eddie like he hung the stars. “I’m usually not this sappy but we really do owe it to you guys that we even met. I don’t want to know a life without Steve, and y’all made it happen. I can only hope each and everyone of you meet your Steve.” 

The video ended with the two saying bye, and promises of regularly scheduled content as soon as they got back from their honeymoon. Dustin sat back in his desk chair. He couldn’t believe it had been three years since they started dating, Dustin had still been in high school. He felt like he grew up with them, and in a way, he kind of did. It was a wonderful moment to see the two have a happy ending, and it gave him hope for his own current relationship (of whom he met at Vidcon, in line for the corrodededdie merch line), he really thinks he found his Steve. And he couldn't be happier.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Summary: Y/N (stylist!yn) applies to be a styling intern for the One Direction crew during the Where We Are tour. As she gets better at her job and closer to the band and crew (especially Harry Styles), some of her dreams seem to be coming true, but so are some of her fears.

A/N: This one is going to get the ball rolling between these two. I know it's all a slow burn, but I feel like it'll be worth it!

Disclosures: Some language, alcohol consumption

~~~~~

CHAPTER 3 -

EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM CAN SEE IT

August 15th, 2014

You had avoided Harry at the second show in Philadelphia. Not necessarily on purpose. Well, maybe a little on purpose. You love this job and don't want to get distracted, but you also don't want to make it awkward for Harry. He doesn't need some intern fangirling over him.

Then after the show that night, you and the girls took a late flight into Detroit.

Set-up should be pretty calm today, at least for your nerves. You overheard that the guys are all enjoying a day off, which means you won't run into any of them.

You notice that some clothes are missing, so you help Sarah and Jade while you wait for Amelia.

She comes rushing into the room- not panicked, but annoyed and rushed.

"Harry's entire rack of clothes for this weekend is missing." She announces and she rolls her eyes.

"What??" Sarah asks. "What do we do?"

Amelia thinks for a split second then answers, "I have to stay here so… Y/N and Jade, can you go shopping?"

"Where do we even go?" Jade asks.

"I'll text you a list of some stores you can check out. Here's my card, you just need to find maybe three button ups and a couple of plain t-shirts."

You and Jade call an Uber and head out to hunt down some new shirts for Harry.

"What is life right now?" Jade chuckles while in the car. "Like, I know I signed up for this, but I didn't really know what this actually was. Y'know what I mean?"

You nod in agreement, and then shake your head in disbelief. "I definitely know."

~~~~~

You find some options that you are excited to show Amelia, and grab some coffees on the way back to the venue.

Jade was repeating how bold she thought the choices were, in a good way. "You totally get him."

"It's my job. You picked out a great shirt too!" [And you're just good at your job, that's all]

"Yeah, but I had to take a while to pick it out. You just… you just grabbed them and got them." She explained.

"Doesn't mean they are good picks." You say, humbly.

"Come on Y/N. Yes they are, and you know it! You're already a great stylist" She encourages.

You're back and walking into the dressing room, hearing Amelia ask, "Hey girlies, what did you find?"

You eagerly pull out the three button ups that you both got, along with the plain t-shirts.

"Those are perfect! You girls rock! Great job!"

Natalie gives you a wink, but Sarah seems to be pouting a little. [She probably just wanted to be the one to go shopping]

Amelia hangs up the shirts and lets out a huge sigh of relief. But now you are holding your breath a little to see if they will be received well.

[Of course it has to be Harry's clothes that disappear]

~~~~~

August 16th, 2014 - Concert Day

You feel like you're really getting the hang of things quickly. Set-ups don't take as long now, and Amelia seems to be trusting you all more now. It feels good.

Since you won't be rushing around and sweating today (hopefully), you choose to wear a tight grey t-shirt, dark denim skinny jeans with thin white vertical stripes, a brown belt and brown boots to match. Comfort is your friend, but you do love dressing up a bit. You feel good.

Getting there early helps you relax too, which helps make the whole process a lot more smooth. You even bring your headphones with you today, for some fun vibes while you work. Everything feels good.

You are bouncing around to Starship's 'We Built This City' when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Oh shit!" You jump, as you turn off the song and take out your headphones.

"Oh! M'sorry I scared you!" Says a familiar voice.

"No worries. What's up?" You ask, realizing it's Harry.

"I heard you had to go shopping for me. Thank you for doing that."

"It's my job. No need to thank me."

"Right." He pauses, with a look of pondering. "So… what did you find?"

You motion him over to his rack and pull out the three shirts that you and Jade found. You hold each one up- he bites his lower lip and slightly furrows his brow as he thinks them over.

[He looks cute when he's focusing]

You discreetly shake your head to get the thoughts out. You need to stay professional!

"They're great! Thank you." He points to the two that you picked. "Umm… I'll wear both of these this round. And the other one later."

You try to hide a smile but it pushes through.

"What?" He smirks.

"Oh, I- I picked the two you want to wear first." And there those cheeks go, betraying you with a red hue.

"You've got good taste. Or… am I the one with good taste?." He winks.

"Well you do have a really great style. You always look good." You blurt out.

He looks down at the ground. His eyes are usually locked in to whoever is talking, but he drops them a lot around you.

"Well… yeah, thanks for doing that" he mutters as he stands there for a few seconds. His eyes quickly glance you over then snap up to yours and he starts to turn around.

[Did he just… check you out? Nah…]

You go to hang up the shirts when you hear his voice again.

"I visited that museum yesterday."

You face him again. "The Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum? Wow!" you think for a second. "Wait, that's in NYC. What made you go there?"

You swear he is starting to blush now too. "You made it sound so wonderful and I just had to see it for myself."

"I'm glad you got to do it." As you meet each other's gaze, you both break out into a wide grin.

You start to talk about which exhibits you liked most, and the tour guide with the very interesting moustache. You mention a bakery you had found with the best mini fruit tarts, and he is disappointed that he missed out on it. He asks what you were listening to when he first walked in, and the conversation switches to your favorite music. You've started doing mindless tasks, and rearranging the racks over and over. You both just seem to be enjoying the conversation. He's actually very easy to talk to.

Neither of you notice that Natalie, Sarah, and Jade are walking in and dropping off their belongings.

Natalie interrupts. "Hey you two. What're you up to?"

Harry clears his throat. "Just, umm, figuring out what to wear tonight." He checks his phone for the time. "Shit, I've got to get going for sound check! Thanks for helping me Y/N. You're the best."

"Anytime. Although I hope no more outfits go missing." You add as you stick your tongue out.

He goes in for a quick hug and mumbles "thanks again, Sunshine."

He says goodbye as he walks past the girls and they all snap their heads back over to you.

All you can do is roll your eyes.

[Amelia said a good relationship with the guys is okay, not a romantic one. The butterflies you're feeling right now are not a good sign!]

~~~~~

"You're dancing around a bit more tonight." Natalie smirks as you all watch the concert.

"It's a good concert, and it was a good day." You explain.

"I'm sure it has," she snickers, while you roll your eyes yet again.

[A good day at work. Talking with Harry. Ahh!! No! Just a good day at work]

~~~~~

August 18th, 2014

Today is a day off in Nashville, and you do something that's not like you… you sleep in. You all sleep in.

The four of you invite Dana over and order room service for breakfast. You spend a few hours chatting, laughing, and watching Friends. Hanging out is a nice change of pace.

Next thing you know, you receive a couple of Instagram messages.

:niall horan: hey y/n! me and the guys are going to a bar tonight. you girls wanna come?

:niall horan: sorry, i don't have any of your phone numbers

:you: haha, this is random.

:niall horan: yeah, we just wanna hang out, as a thank you for making us so beautiful :D

:you: oh geez. let me ask the girls.

It doesn't take them but two seconds to answer with a resounding "Yes!!!"

Dana declines. She already has plans with her merch people.

:you: apparently we're in!

:you: let's make it easier, here's my number (xxx-xxxx)

:niall horan: cool. i'll text you the details later

~~~~~

"I'm a fashion design graduate and stylist intern, and I have no fucking idea what to wear tonight!" Sarah shrieks.

"Girl. You look sensational in every option you've tried. But, I think the black one you just took off is perfect." Natalie reassures.

"You're right, I did look good in that,' she winks.

Sarah puts on a black form-fitting skirt with a deep v-neck crop top. It's a little too much for your taste but she really does look stunning. Natalie is wearing a bright red ruffled romper with a waist tie, which you had picked out for her birthday last year. She is always so bold. Jade is wearing a army green puff sleeve crop top with black jeans. She has such effortless beauty. And you are wearing a thin knit white v-neck top tucked into some ruffled black faux-leather shorts.

You are excited to finally be dressing up. The comfort of jeans and a t-shirt for work has been great, you do love comfort, but now your style gets to shine. You love your outfit, you think you look good, but you are suddenly very aware that you are going out to a bar with mega popstars. How are you even going to talk to them? Your life has not been nearly as interesting as theirs.

Sarah's life seems to have been pretty luxurious, Natalie is always grabbing people's attention, and Jade's presence just makes you want to open up about everything. You've got… nothing.

"I don't know if I really want to go out tonight," you suddenly mutter.

"What?" Proclaims Natalie. "You are the one they sent the invite to babe…and you obviously get along with Harry…" You can see Sarah roll her eyes a little at those statements. She's probably annoyed that you are holding them up.

Natalie continues. "We've barely even talked to any of them. We've been working so hard, you especially, you deserve a fun night out… Y/N/N, let's hang out! Do it for me?" She pleads.

You can't turn her down.

You meet the guys around the corner of the bar, so that you can slip inside without too much attention. It's Niall, Liam, and Zayn there. Some of their jaws have dropped a little as you all walk up.

"I'm sorry, we invited interns…" Zayn quietly jokes.

Natalie replies, "would you like us to go back and change into our One Direction tour t-shirts?" Everyone laughs.

As you enter the side door, you are ushered to a private booth. The music is loud and the drinks are flowing. You sit in between Niall and Jade, so you know you'll be somewhat comfortable. Maybe a margarita will help loosen you up.

The waitress takes the drink orders and Niall turns to you and Jade.

"I'm glad we get to hang out, yeah?" Like a statement in question form.

Jade answers immediately. "Yeah! It's nice to actually have a night out!"

"I betcha don't get to do it too much."

"No, we are always busy making sure you'll be beautiful, remember? It's a tough job." You chime in.

He laughs. Niall still loves that one. It's become your inside joke.

Jade starts asking Niall all kinds of questions about his X-Factor journey, music tastes, and growing up in Ireland. You're literally caught in the middle of their conversation and interject with a sentence here and there, but aren't contributing much. Even with a margarita in hand, you don't feel like you have anything interesting enough to say.

Sarah makes her way to the bar for a round of shots, while Natalie chats (and maybe flirts a little) with Zayn and Liam. You just smirk, and admire how self-assured she's always been.

You start to wonder where Harry is. He's the one person you could potentially have a conversation with. And to be honest, he's the one person you really want to have a conversation with.

As Niall takes a sip of his beer, you ask where the other two guys are. He tells you that Louis was on a video chat with his family, and that Harry just didn't want to come.

"He's a dumbass! Who wouldn't want to be here with all of ya?" He states.

You push out a laugh, but you can't help but feel a bit disappointed. He didn't want to come. He didn't want to hang out with the group. He didn't want to hang out with you.

You internally roll your eyes at yourself. You feel like you're the dumbass for thinking he'd come, and definitely for being bummed that he didn't.

You decide not to think about it anymore and to enjoy the night out.

You order another drink at the bar, as well as another beer for Niall. You get back to the booth and see that Jade has switched over to sit by Sarah, which leaves Niall alone to chat with.

"Thanks Superstar!" He grins. "How've ya been?"

"Good. Busy dealing with some hooligans at work, but otherwise good."

He laughs that familiar, contagious laugh. He is actually really easy-going and you can definitely relax around him. You feel as if you're pretty good friends already.

"I heard you had to go shopping. Get any goodies for me hey?"

"Sorry bud, Harry was the one missing outfits. It was an as-needed mission." You smile.

"Yeah, I bet he's more fun to shop for anyway."

You shake your head. "The rest of you are easier to shop for. He has a bit of a different style. He's harder to pick for"

"Ha!" He blurts. "At least you understand it, according to him that is. He's thankful someone does."

"It just means I'm good at my job."

"I think he's happy that you're here anyway." His eyes go wide with alarm. "You know-" he quickly adds, "so someone can help him dress the way he likes to."

"That's what I'm here for." You sigh a little.

A third margarita appears in front of you at some point, and it kicks in quickly. Before long, the entire booth is belting out every song that comes on and taking embarrassing selfies. You end up playing 'Never Have I Ever' and Sarah is surprised when you admit to skinny-dipping in the ocean. "This one is trouble" you say as you point to Natalie.

She throws her hands up in defense and shouts "it was your idea Y/N!!"

Everyone busts up laughing, and you realize it's actually been pretty easy to hang out with everyone. [Margaritas help]

Once the night winds down, everyone starts heading out. Hugs are exchanged and everyone agrees you should do this again.

"So you like us lowly interns?" Sarah jokes.

"What? You're good people, doesn't matter." Zayn declares.

Niall adds, "it's nice to make more friends on tour too."

You girls let out a resounding, drunken "yay!" and head out to get into your Uber ride back.

~~~~~

:you: tell harry he should have come

:niall: ya miss him or what?

:you: he just missed out on a good time :P

:niall: okay y/n, I will definitely tell him you said ;)

~~~~~

August 19th, 2014 - Concert Day

You certainly weren't surprised when you woke up with a bit of a headache. You down some water with two ibuprofen, and do your best to look presentable when you get ready. Even with a mild hangover, you are determined to show up early- especially since there was no set-up the day before. Doesn't mean you'll be happy while doing it though.

You get to the venue and groan as you realize you didn't grab any coffee. Now you're really in a grumpy mood. You set off to the catering area, your head down to avoid the blazing bright lights, when you hear footsteps coming towards you.

"Woah, love!" You hear and you almost bump into Harry.

"Oh. Damn. I'm sorry." You mumble.

"It's okay. I, umm, I brought these for you actually…" and as you look up you see him holding a coffee and something in a bag.

Your eyes widen. "That's for me?"

He smiles. "Yeah, I heard you all had a good night, and I figured you'd still come in early anyway. Umm… so yeah I brought you a coffee and a breakfast wrap." He pauses, looking shy. "They didn't have any mini fruit tarts."

You can't help but giggle. [He remembered the conversation about the bakery]

"This- this is actually perfect. Thank you." He hands it over. He starts walking with you back to the dressing room, you're still looking downward to escape the bright lights.

"So, was it worth the night out?" He asks.

"It was nice to get out." You grimace as your head starts to throb more.

"Mhmm." He pauses. He furrows his brow slightly and speaks again. "I'm bummed I missed out on all the fun."

You meet his gaze and see a half smile that only creates one dimple instead of the usual two.

[You need to stop noticing his dimples and keep it professional for goodness sake. He's just being polite… he told Niall he didn't want to come]

"Yeah. Well, um- it was just the guys and us interns. You really didn't miss out on much."

"Oh." You see his smile start to disappear. "Well, I want to go next time. Hang out with ya. I don't really like to play 'Never Have I Ever' that much, but the guys said it was very enlightening!" He starts to regain that smile.

"Oh geez." You place your thumb and pointer finger to the bridge of your nose- partly from the headache, but also from embarrassment. "I don't know if I'm going out like that again for a long time. Now matter how fun it was, I don't know if it's worth it the next day." You growl as you rub your temples.

You can hear that his voice loses its chipper tone. "Oh. Well, umm…" he stutters, "I hope the coffee and wrap help. I'll let you get back to work. Hope you feel better Y/N." He pats your arm and walks away.

[Hmmm, he didn't call you Sunshine]

~~~~~

"What is wrong with you Y/N/N?" Shrieks a frustrated Natalie. "He brought you breakfast! He told you he wanted to come next time! To hang out with you! And you basically told him not to bother."

"Well, because he doesn't need to bother."

She shakes her head. "I love you, but you're an idiot!" She grabs your shoulder. "He likes you!"

"Natalie, come on, he is Harry freaking Styles! He dated Taylor Swift! I'm not even close to her level! He was being polite"

You continue, "I'd actually be an idiot to think he likes me, and I can't risk this internship because of some stupid unwelcomed feelings."

Her mouth drops open. "Feelings? I knew it!"

You start getting flustered. "None of this matters anyway. Amelia told me to be careful and it's just not a good idea."

You try to calm your breathing. "Nothing is going to happen!"

"What's not going to happen?" You hear Amelia ask.

You look at Natalie with a panicked expression and clear your throat. "Umm… umm…"

Natalie interrupts, "I bet Y/N ten dollars that someone is going to fall on stage tonight, but she doesn't think it'll happen."

You give Natalie a look that you know she'll understand is to thank her. "Ooh, I definitely think Natalie is right!." Amelia says. You see your best friend hold back a laugh.

"We will see I guess," and you get back to work.

You don't go to watch the concert tonight. You can't wrap your mind around Harry's sudden change in demeanor, and what Natalie was desperately trying to convince you of.

[Nothing is going to happen]

~~~~~

Series Masterlist || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4

[shellshockedgay]

Curvy Boi

Reader: Cis-Male (he/him).

Summary: Reader found himself in a situation. Luckily! The guys can come save there butts while also noticing the reader's butt.

Warnings: kinda smutty 👌. The idea is AMAZING. PLEASE. This is so shameless, honestly. Under the cut; just in case.

He was leading patrol when he heard a scream and a few pewpewpews that where far too familiar.

The four came rushing to your aid and they saw you paying down, but didn't recognize you due to the nice fit clothing and collectively agreed to help.

Leo straight up called you ma'am-

He can only see your ass, thighs and curves and basically went "Ah, woman need my help". Don't hold it against him.

And he pulls the whole superhero-saving-someone bit.

The speech, the pose, and he'd go bright red when he realizes it's you.

So he swipes his katana through the Kraang and walks up to you in slow struts as to not frighten the "unknown women" picking "herself" up off the gross alley way ground.

"I've got you, miss, no need to thank m- aAH- (Y/N)??" "Oh, Thanks Leo! I really apprec- wait, did you call me ma'am?" "NO!!"

It's actually kinda funny because he gets all squeaky and his eyes are darting around and his brothers are cackling. It's great!... For everyone but him-

Spends the next 45 seconds shrieking about how he did not fall you ma'am on purpose.

He literally forgot there were robots about to end you and goes back to fighting while his bros keep joking about him.

No, he does not live this down, ever.

"Maybe you should check on your boyfriend, Leo! He seems a bit scuffed up!" "Just make sure you use the right pronouns." "Yeah, bro. That's very important. Respect him!"

If he wants to get you away from the fight quickly, he YEETS you over his shoulder and just kinda leaves like "YOU GUYS CAN HANDLE THIS"

His hand would be on the back of your thighs and the other on your ass, fight me.

He panics when he realizes it tho and quickly sets you down at your apartment or house or whatever and is FLUSTERED.

He's also probably apologizing and rambling.

But he walks home like "I touched the butt"

He definitely texts you on the way home, apologizing home more time and saying he'd like to hang out the next day and prepare yourself for a slightly more put together, slightly more cocky and slightly less embarrassed Leonardo to meet you on your rooftop.

-

You had the audacity to accidentally call Leo because he was the most recent contact while your ass was close to getting kicked and you didn't even call him?

How dare you.

So, they get there to see the Purple Dragons and it's a quick fight.

However.

During said fight, Raph is almost too angry to notice your ass and curves 👌

Key is, almost.

Probably does a double-take mid-fight because your not wearing your usual hoodie and sweats and gets decked.

Literally. Just kinda like blocking hits and looking between you and the Purple Dragon goon kinda just bapping him because you keep distracting him.

If he gets shit for this from Leo, he will definitely blame you for merely existing.

Dudes not sure if he should be pissed at you for getting yourself in this situation or thank you for wearing those tight. ass. jeans.

Raph really hoped whoever made them has a nice and fulfilling life because you sure be filling out those jeans.

"You're a smart man, right?" "I guess?" "Not anymore, you dumbass. Why'd ya take this short cut?! You should know this is douche territory! Donnie, didn't you send him a map of the gang territories?" "I did." "SO, WHY ARE WE HERE??"

Yes, he yells at you like a mother, but he means well.

"AND YOU COME OUT HERE DRESSED LIKE THAT?" ".... What's wrong with my outfit?" "I... IT'S... GODDMANIT-"

Listen. He really does mean well.

And his bros know exactly why he's upset about your outfit. They totally saw him distracted during the fight.

Raph just wants you to stay safe. You are his friend.... Whom he currently wants to pin against the wall, but a friend none the less!!

He sighs and apologizes and the dudes are like ".. It takes us days to get an apology... He got one in 30 seconds..."

Anyway, Raph offers to take you home and patch him up but you refuse so over his shoulder you go. Instantly. Like *boop* there ya are.

And he will take you straight home and probably instinctively bap your butt lightly and just kinda nod and spRINT AWAY.

-

You guys where face timing when he noticed you try to take a short cut down an alley and is like "No, that's the dumbest thing you could do in NY, (Y/n)" and suddenly the Purple Dragons are behind you.

He sees you trying to sass them away, but it only makes them mad and he knows where you are so he hands up and comes to get ya ass to safety.

Comes skirting up behind them in the Shell Raiser to come hell.

So he throws hands, hits with sticks, and uh, yeah. They're the Purple Dragons. They're morons. Donnie obviously wins.

And when he wins in like the 3 minutes he was fighting, he walks over and helps you up.

That's when he notices the tighter clothing you chose to wear today over the looser, comfier clothes you usually wore and he's.

Yeah. He's dead now, so that's FUN.

His bros show up to see what happened and he tries to explain while you dust yourself off and check for cuts and he just

Literally keeps looking over at you to check out your ass and thighs and curves and he's 🥴

Donnie was blushing from the moment he realized it was you but ends up bright red when he tries to talk to you.

Constant. Stammering.

"A-are you ok? Did y-you get hurt? Did-did-did-uh-" "I'm fine, D." "O-oh, good-good"

Secretly a bit disappointed because that means he won't have to bandage you up and possibly see you with your shirt off, but you didn't get hurt so that's good!

You're his bisexual awakening, good luck.

Tries to be smooth, but oh my god he fails. Like he leans against his staff but loses his balance and just kinda lays there after he falls. It's cute but his brothers laugh at him.

And he makes sure your safe and they escorts you home and he totally isn't turning his phone wallpaper to be your face, shh.

Anyway, they head home and he... He can't stop thinking about you.

Probably lays awake that night just thinking about the events of today.

Bye-bye April crush. Hello (Y/n) crush.

God, those jeans did YOU SO MUCH FUCKING JUSTICE AAAAAA

No, he does not get sleep that night.

-

So, he gets an SOS text from you saying something about the Kraang and surrounded in an alley.

Mikey sprints out the lair with the guys, him at the front and fully determined to fuck shit up.

However when he lands in the alley, knocking a stupid droid down in the process, and they all go their own ways in the fight, he notices something.

You're not in your usual kind of outfits.

Usually you wore baggie, comfy clothes: sweat pants, big hoodies, even sandles.

Mike dodges a punch and notices you bend over to grab your phone that got knocked out of your hand after sending the text and he literally just stares at your ass.

Notices the curves that come with and just goes "😩👌" and definitely gets smacked for it later by Raph.

Dude outright tells you you have a nice ass.

No joke.

"Whooaaa! How come you never told me you have an AMAZING ass, (Y/n/n)!" "MIKEY-!"

And yes it's an accident, but it's also the truth so forgive him.

Everyone is fighting off the fucks but he's licking his hand to slick back hair he doesn't even have while strutting over to you with confidence even Raph doesn't have.

It's so funny, please.

Flirts so fucking hard.

"Hey, baby. Are you the sun? Because you just lit up my day." "Mikey! We're kinda busy at the moment!" "Shush, dude! I'm tryin' to get some! Are you free tonight?"

and he'd take your hand and kiss your knuckles while winking.

Like he knows he's cute, so he's cocky as shit.

Granted, he's cocky, but he genuinely likes you so if you flirt back, he just giggles and blushes like a school girl.

You make his little pansexual heart go budbudbudbudbud very quickly.

He punched a droid without looking while flirting with you and it's actually impressive because the head popped right off.

Blows you a kiss before returning to the fight.

At the end of it, the offers to escort you home for two reasons.

One; to avoid getting chewed out by the others.

And two; to raise his chances of getting a thank you smooch from you.

He literally sweeps you off your feet and runs off to your apartment.

-

It's actually 2:30 am as I finish this and I hope it lives up to how you wanted it but I had so much fun with this-

[elysianslove]

Those dick analysis are so good!!!! Idk why i just keep reading them Abufbsudjwjdj my i please ask for the setter ones? If its not trouble, of course!

honestly they’re so much more fun than i thought they’d be??? i wanted to do it cause,,, horny thoughts, but then it ended up actually being enjoyable hbsjdd but im so so happy you like them!!! and yes yes of course <3 

just to clarify as i always do, this is hella unrealistic and just for fun!! 

other versions: haikyuu captains dick analysis, haikyuu aces dick analysis, haikyuu middle blockers dick analysis, jjk dick analysis. 

setters done in the captains version: oikawa tōru

HAIKYUU SETTERS DICK ANALYSIS

kageyama tobio 

listen, i know he has a skinny penis. something about him just screams skinny penis, but it’s so so so pretty. also it’s not like unsatisfying skinny cause it still has a little girth to it but it’s not painful girth you know? he’s like 6.8 inches? idk that seems right i guess? pale shaft that has a little flush of color to it, and a pink pink pink tip, but it’s like such a pretty, pretty tip, kind of mouthwatering tbh. curves to the right absolutely it does.  also he is so sensitive, like everywhere. literally just hover your fingers lightly along his dick and you’ll have him twitching and all. he’s not clean shaven because he never really understood the purpose, like the hair’s there for a reason for sure?? it must be?? but if you ask him he’ll be like “ok.” 

kozume kenma

i can’t decide if kenma would have a little dick or not, so i’m gonna settle for he’s a 5.6 inches. thing is kenma knows!!! how!!! to use it!!! like in a way that he’s kind of winging it, but he’s very perceptive so he just goes with what he sees you like the most. also teases so so much before, so that when he fucks you it feels really good!! shaft is a light tan with a golden tip, and very veiny too?? also kenma’s actually clean shaven— he probably waxes pls, just cause it’s so much more convenient and shaving always itches :( idk i feel like he might forget to take care of himself so he does it just so he doesn’t have to worry about it yk 

akaashi keiji 

god. god. god. such a pretty dick, like you could just stare at it all day. dick pics need to be framed in gold. he’s probably 6.8 inches like kags, with the prettiest pink tip like it’s so flushed but it’s not red and it’s not a pale pink either like just a deep deep pink, and a pale shaft, really prominent veins when he’s hard. his balls are pretty too pls :( and he’s clean shaven, for sureee. akaashi would do the most to make sure you’re satisfied and happy. when it’s hard it curves against his stomach like inward but only a little, maybe at the head yk? is really into foreplay and prepping you for him so by the time he fucks you his dick is drooling for you, and it’s the most gorgeous sight ever seeing it twitch and leak ugh <3 

miya atsumu 

big dick and KNOWS it. flaunts it. is the type to wave it in your face while in the shower with you just cause. a golden tan to the shaft, darker tip with a slight pink/red flush to it, hella veins, hella girth, hella length. he’s a good 7.1 inches i’m not gonna lie. (osamu’s bigger by .3 inches and rubs it in atsumu’s face all the fucking time btw). he. he is not clean shaven. will make you trim it for him if you really want it clean. (but only to piss you off, he will do it anyways <3). also his dick print is. gorgeous. in sweats? immaculate. gym shorts? beautiful. those red plaid pajama pants that give everyone a fat ass? dick print is stunning. IN TIGHT ASS BRIEFS AND ITS LEAKING A LITTLE? im crying. 

sugawara kōshi 

omg it’s !!!! he’s so good with it. so good. loves to tap it against all your sensitive spots like your clit after being abused by his mouth and fingers? or your hole after he stretches you? 6.5 inches, sort of proportionate in terms of length and girth, but idk. suga seems like he has a fat dick for some reason? like it’s not shocking girth, but it’s definitely a stretch. idk i can just picture his bulge in jeans or tight pants to be very prominent i guess? or like. idk i can just tell he’s hiding a fat dick in his shorts does that make sense. also a very pretty tip, a pale-ish pink with a shaft that kind of starts off very pink and then pales towards the base. clean shaven!!!!!! obviously. 

semi eita

such a nice dick you’d wanna just cockwarm it. but with your mouth. yk. or anything else really. it just feels so satisfying inside of you!! i can’t decide on a length (these are all hella unrealistic anyways) but maybe 6.9 inches. he just seems like he has a long dick!!! more length than girth you know? you know. purple-ish head and pale shaft, sticks up straight with no curves, and not a lotta veins!! there is one or two that are obvious, but it’s delicate yk. also i have the feeling semi likes it messy so he’s obsessed with deepthroating you and pulling out and having his dick covered in a mess of cum and bubbling spit. i will not be taking criticisms thank you <3 

koganegawa kanji 

oh my god he so has a big dick and literally has zero clue. no concept of size whatsoever. first time you see it and you gasp and he’s like uh oh what’s wrong like he’s not fucking packing as shit??? 6.9 inches with so much fucking girth. not so much that you have to spend forever prepping yourself, but like, it’s definitely a long time. first time you had sex he put it in too soon and you were like pls i beg you and your stupid big dick— fat, fat tan head, a lighter shaft with a golden tint to it. head flushes pink when he’s hard and leaking!!! he’s so messy with the hair down there cause he thought it was cooler but when he learned it wasn’t he was so quick to shave it all off yk :) 

ukai keishin 

couldn’t skip him!!! big dick big dick big dick. he has a big dick. look at him and tell me he doesn’t. it has a tan shaft, very similar to his overall skin tone, and a pinker tip, which darkens considerably when he’s hard. curves to the right and is so veiny!!! so fat, shaft is fat, head is fat, just so fat. he’s a good 7.4 inches, because why not you know, and always hits it from the back to have his balls slap against you. i— he’s not clean shaven what are you expecting. he’s not gonna shave. will actually make you choke on his dick and bury your face in his lap unashamed. (no but to be honest he would trim it for you, at the very least, not to worry <3) 

i tried not to miss out on any setters too!! i looked through the schools and if i did miss any, it just means i don’t know them well enough to write for them, i’m sorry!!! but i hope you guys enjoyed !!! im sorry if it’s a messy or something im writing this with an oncoming migraine </3 

luv u all mwah <3 

[star2fishmeg]

hi! would you maybe be able to do a w2s x reader where she’s friends with freezy and harry sometimes sees her but she’s only ever in just comfy wear, but then one time he sees her when she’s actually made some effort and he’s utterly smitten? if not that’s fine, love your writing!

Smitten

Pairing: Wroetoshaw x reader

Genre: borderline smut but not really but saucy?

Request: above

Warnings: swearing, hints of sex

(Thank you for requesting!! It makes me happy that you like my writing!! Apologies for the wait, college has been a pain!)

(I tried to make it a "read more" but its not working for some reason, apologies for that)

×××

The drive to Cal's wasn't that far, but too far too walk and she'd never take public transport. But driving would've been quicker since Cal told her about someone's party, and he thought she'd be interested.

-

She knocked heavily on his front door, wearing her usual attire of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt.

"Cal, open up!" She hollered, irritated of waiting.

Cal swung the door open, "You're finally here!"

"Its been twenty minutes, arsehole." She chuckled. They emerged into the living room, laughing and mainly hitting each other but stopped upon hearing Harry's laughter from his room, "I'm gonna go say hi."

Y/n dumped her bag in the spare room before creeping down to Harry's room on the other end of the hallway. She opened his door eerily and stood in the doorway. Upon seeing her figure, Harry flinched slightly in surprise, holding his chest.

"Christ, don't do that. You scared the shit out of me!" He laughed, the rest of the boys yelling from his headphones. Y/n crouched into some sort of goblin pose, hunching over, bending her knees and bringing her arms above her head and bending them in an odd way.

"I have arrived." Was all she spoke before, in the same pose, creeping backwards down the hallway. Harry turned back to his monitors smiling.

"Apologies for that, boys. Wasn't expecting a homeless goblin to pop by, not gonna lie."

Soon enough it was seven in the evening, Harry had finished filming and started to get ready for the party, throwing on a t-shirt and shorts. Meanwhile, in the living room, Y/n and Cal decided it would be funny to dress up as police officers (obviously costumes, nothing realistic). Cal in the shirt and black jeans with the hat and aviators, Y/n in a matching shirt with a few buttons undone while wearing black shorts, aviators and hat. Their laughter erupted through the house, Harry eventually being drawn to the source, ambled down the hallway to the living room. He stopped in his tracks, for the first time, he'd seen the goblin in something other than lounge wear and he wasn't disappointed.

"You ready, Champ?" Y/n snapping her fingers in front of his eyes, grabbing his attention back to reality. He nodded, following the pair outside for the Uber sheepishly.

They waited impatiently, Y/n folding her arms and tapping her foot, looking left and right for the car. Cal poked Harry's shoulder and leant closer to his ear, noticing the sweat drizzling down his forehead.

"Harry, mate...ask her out it's pretty obvious." He scoffed, mockingly.

"Wh-wha-what are you chatting? It's fine, what do you mean? She's just wearing something different." Harry stammered, giving Cal a half-smile.

Cal smirked, "She wears something different everyday...you're just definitely in love right now."

"You're such a dickhead, you know that? I'm just surprised!" Harry slapped his chest, pretending to look out for the Uber.

"Sure, sure."

-

Sweat dripped down his forehead as the strobe lights kept the atmosphere moving. Bodies weaving and moving together to the bass rattling through the speakers. Cal moved closer to Harry's ear, notifying his exit to the bar. Y/n pulled the boy deeper into the dancefloor, placing her hands on his flushed cheeks as she swayed her hips into him. He grinned, cupping his hands over hers, popping her hat onto his head playfully, knowing she wouldn't reach it. But she didn't reach for it, she just winked and lead him out the crowds towards the tables. He was in his own world now, the music had become nothing but a buzz, the people blurs: she was all he could focus on in those tight shorts, tight shorts he oh so confidently knew she'd worn on purpose to tease him, because she was like that. She enjoyed teasing him, because she liked his eyes on her. They were her favourite shade of blue and fit his smile well. She lead him to a set of sofas in the corner, sitting down and patting the space next to her.

"You can chill, no need to be so nervous." She giggled. He hesitantly sat while she scooted closer, their thighs touching.

"Uh, do you, uh want a drink?" He kicked himself, of course she didn't, Cal was clearly at the bar waiting for their drinks. But he couldn’t focus on, she was pressing her chest into his arm and squeezing his thigh and it made him melt. "Actually, fuck that, are-are you seducing me?"

She grinned, giggling, "Maybe. I chose this outfit especially."

"Well, well, it's fucking working." Y/n ran a finger down his jawline, tipping his head to look at her in the eyes. She placed a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back and smiling. "You sly bitch, do it again." Y/n kissed him again, but with more pressure this time, sliding both her hands to his jaw and the back of his neck. His hands, large and secure around waist, pulled her body onto his lap, pressing her into him. She rolled her hips as their lips melted into each other's rhythm. The noise of the club morphed into an echo again, as if they were in their own bubble, and all they could hear was the ruffles of their clothes contacting and the faint moans of sensation from their throats.

Their moment ended when Cal whistled from opposite them, with no drinks. "Look at you two! Ya' dirty dogs!" He joked. They pulled away, Y/n twisting around to stick her finger up at him.

"Let me guess, Squeezy, you forgot to buy us drinks due to the fact you're drunk and was chatting up someone? Yeah, let's go." She mocked, sliding off Harry's lap, making sure he got a good view of her cleavage before helping him up. She started walking, waving for them to follow. "Come on lads, I've got unfinished business to attend to!" Harry smirked at Cal, following in confidence and wrapping his arm around her waist while they left the club into the chill of the early hours.