#LEAVE HIM A LONE SAUCE !!!@@@!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

generalllimaginesss · 6 months

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"I'm not letting you drive home in this condition” with Nico. I feel like he gives off protective energy. I’m imagining friends to lovers vibes. He falls first but they’re best friends. Maybe they met when he joined the Devils. Like randomly met somewhere and have been close ever since. And she has a really bad day at work. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And she’s crying driving home and drives to his instead because she doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe he makes dinner (idk if this man can cook tbh) and then she’s still upset but tries to leave so he can get on with his night and he insists she stay because he doesn’t want her driving upset. And that’s when she realizes she’s in love with him. Like she drove to his place unannounced because she knew he was the only one who could comfort her and the only one she wanted to go to.

I’ve realized that I’m a sucker for Nico. He gives off golden retriever vibes and I feel like he would be such a nice person to be friends with. I hope you like it!!

••

You didn’t realize when you picked up your friends shift, now making you a double, that you would make very little money and the tables that you served were horrible. Not to mention your anxiety was at an all time high while you were waiting on a letter to tell you if you were accepted into the graduate program to your dream school. When all of these emotions combine, it makes for a shitty day.

Twelve hours after you clocked in, you were only up $150 dollars and finally were able to leave, your last table staying almost an hour after closing. There was dried sauces all over your uniform, your hair was disgusting, and you just felt heavy. With your emotions clouding your judgement, all you wanted to do was go to sleep.

As you made your way to your car that was parked behind the restaurant you worked at, a couple of notifications from your email caught your eye. The emails came from the two schools that you were betting your future on…

You decided it could hold off, the tears burning the corner of your eyes took priority, and you didn’t know if you could handle what the emails revealed.

While running your hands through your tangled mess of hair, tears freely fell, the product of being completely exhausted. The one person that kept flashing in your mind, however, was Nico. The devils played Anaheim and you weren’t able to keep up with the score, so you wanted to congratulate him on the win.

As much as you hated your job, you always reminded yourself that it was temporary, and most of all that without it you wouldn’t have Nico. The one person in the world that felt as lonely as you at one point on a rainy afternoon 6 years ago.

When Nico had first gotten to New Jersey, he didn’t feel close to anybody. Sure, he was the first overall draft pick. Sure, people loved him. But at the end of the day he felt like he had nobody. He felt like he had to keep this persona of “Mr. Tough Guy” up to prove himself.

He found himself all alone in the restaurant you work at, managing to snag you as a server. He must’ve sat at your table for hours, always finding something else to talk about every time you checked on him. He stayed until you got off and proposed the idea of going out to grab a drink or two, to which you happily obliged, finally hopeful that you found a friend.

Where Nico felt lonely in hockey, you felt lonely in school. Making friends in college was hard, especially when you’re from out of state and aren’t in Greek Life or in any extracurriculars. Your roommate and you had hardly had 10 conversations in the first year you lived together, so your studies became your main priority.

When Nico and you realized that you had a lot more in common than you thought, the friendship just developed naturally. When you were off work you supported him at his games. When he had a day off he helped you make flash cards and study. And on the rare chance that you both had nothing to do, movie nights were your thing.

Six years later and he was your very best friend. You told him everything. Every detail of your life was known by Nico and vice versa. You weren’t dependent on Nico for emotional support, but he was sweet to have around.

Tonight, however, was going to be one of those nights where you just needed somebody. You just needed Nico.

The tears cleared your eyes long enough for you to send Nico a quick text letting him know that you were headed to his apartment. He immediately responded with a thumbs up.

While you were driving, just about every depressing Olivia Rodrigo and Gracie Abram song played, reminding you of your relationship that had ended almost a month ago. You felt bad because Nico already had to deal with the mess you were then, and here you are again. Driving to his apartment, an emotional wreck and tired of the world.

You parked beside his car and walked up the flight of stairs that led to his door. You barely were able to knock when he opened the door and saw the state you were in. He could tell that you had been crying, probably only stopping when you parked, and that you needed somebody.

“Come here,” he held his arms opened in the doorway, enveloping you in the coziest embrace, the smell of his body wash lingering from his shower. Since he towered over you, he gently held your head against his chest and rested his head on yours, placing light pecks to the crown of your head.

He held you like that until you pulled away and made your way completely into his apartment, him closing and locking the door behind you.

He watched quietly as you made yourself at home, taking your shoes off and untucking your shirt from your pants. He chuckled to himself when he saw that you were wearing completely mismatched socks. He loved the quirky things that you did.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to congratulate you on the win,” your voice was nasally since you had been crying so hard and your nose was stopped up.

Nico smiled sadly, not wanting to make you feel worse, but aware he should probably tell you the truth.

“We lost, actually. Five to one.”

You groaned, disappointed in yourself that you didn’t bother to look up the score to make sure they won.

“I’m sorry. I worked a double and wasn’t able to watch. I just assumed with Anaheim’s record that you all would win.”

“Yeah, well, it just didn’t end up in our favor. They played pretty physical. You should go back and watch it,” He winked at you, a smile stretching from one corner of his mouth.

“But anyways, what’s wrong? I know you didn’t come here to just congratulate me on ‘winning,” he looked you up and down, taking note of the exhaustion that spewed from you.

“It just wasn’t a good day. I didn’t make money and then on the way over here music that reminded me of-” You tried to finish, but Nico immediately cut you off, reminding you of a relatively new rule that he had made.

“We don’t speak his name,” his eyebrows raised, warning you to not finish your sentence.

You sighed, “Ok, well you know who I’m referring to.”

Nico walked to his sofa, plopping down and patting the spot beside him , offering it to you. You happily obliged, tucking one leg underneath you and the other tucked into your chest.

“They emailed me back…the schools,” you announced, to which Nico instantly perked up.

“And? Did you get in?” A part of him wanted to see you live your dream, but he knew that with you getting into your dream school would mean you would be leaving New Jersey. More specifically, leaving him. The thought of not having you only 15 minutes away made him want to punch a wall. He had let himself fall for you, knowing that while New Jersey was home for him, it was merely a checkpoint for you. It was one step closer to you taking off in life.

“I didn’t look. I’m scared to,” You admitted, pulling out your phone and handing it to him.

“Please read it for me.”

He clicked on the email, his expression hard to read.

He didn’t want to read the news to you. He didn’t want to be the one that told you that you had been waitlisted by the two schools you were betting on, but he knew it was better for him to read it to you than you read it alone.

When you figured he had ample time to read both emails and he wasn’t telling you anything, a pit in your stomach began to take place. Tears quickly puddled, spilling over your bottom eyelid as if they were a never ending fountain.

“I didn’t get in, did I?” Your voice broke, in return breaking a little piece of Nico.

“Waitlisted by both, but that’s not a no,” He tried to make you feel better, but when your body started shaking and the tears turned into sobs, he knew you needed to be held. He obliged, wrapping his arm around your side, pulling you closer to him and rubbing your side soothingly.

You instinctively laid your head on his side, wanting to curl into him as closely as you could, as if he could protect you from everything that’s wrong in the world. Everything that felt like it was out to get you.

“Have you had anything to eat?” He knew as soon as he asked it that you wouldn’t want to eat. He also knew that if you had been working all day that you wouldn’t take the time to stop and eat.

He felt you shake your head side to side, confirming what he already knew.

“I was about to make a quick dinner. I was thinking breakfast? Maybe some pancakes, eggs and bacon?” He ran his fingers through your hair, deciding to take your ponytail holder out and place it on his wrist. You sighed, the relief from the tension of your ponytail helping you feel slightly better.

“Please,” you said, knowing he was going to ask you if you wanted some either way. No matter if you made it into your dream schools or not, you still had to eat.

Nico slowly peeled himself off the couch, finally realizing how exhausted he was. Back-to-back games finally catching up with him.

You followed him to the kitchen, claiming stake to one of the barstools, watching him as he began to prepare the food.

“I know you probably don’t know, but what’s your backup plan? Are you going to apply to other schools?” He asked, cracking eggs into a bowl with pancake mix.

“No. I’ll have to wait until next year. I’m stuck here for another year, Nico,” your voice was strained and scratchy, but he understood you.

“That’s not all bad is it? I mean I’m here,” he attempted to make you laugh, but it was to no avail.

“My roommate is moving back home and I literally have no one else who I think I could room with. We both planned on this being it for Jersey,” you laughed, not out of humor, but at the thought of how much has gone wrong in 12 hours.

“What about staying with me?” He asked the question before he could catch himself. Would you see straight through to his true feelings for you, or would you just think he was extending a friendly offer to one of his friends who needed a little help.

“Nico, why the hell would you want me to move in with you? Have you met me?” Your puffy eyes made eye contact with his sweet ones.

Oh, how absolutely clueless you were. It would have been cute had it not been his feelings for you in the mix.

“You’re not that bad. I’ve definitely had worse roommates.” He smiled as he flipped the pancakes on the griddle and placed the eggs in a pan on the stove to cook.

“I can’t accept your pity offer,” you reached across the counter for a paper towel to catch the snot that was creeping out of your nose.

“Don’t think of it as a pity offer. Think of it as…what’s that word for when it’s not a parasite, but both things benefit?” He looked to the ceiling as if it held the answer to his missing word.

You laughed, finding it cute that he sometimes can’t think of the right English word he’s looking for.

“Mutualism?” You pitch the word to him, to which he points to you enthusiastically.

“That! Think of it as that. I mean, I could use a little help around here,” he motioned to his apartment.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’d have to think about it,” Your tears were becoming manageable with him trying to make you feel better. You’d internally think about everything that went wrong and tears would brim again, but when Nico talked it made it better.

“Well think about it,” he said, his bacon looking a tiny bit burnt as he transferred it from the pan to a dish to serve to you along with some scrambled eggs and a pancake.

You began to dig in to the food, Nico following close behind you as he fixed his plate and sat beside you. The two of you ate in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a peaceful silence. It allowed for you to think and for him to think about you. He wanted to feel sad about you not getting into the graduate program, but a whole extra year with you? He couldn’t be too upset.

The two of you finished eating and washed your dishes, putting them up, Nico returning to the living room on the sofa and you putting your shoes back on.

“What are you doing?” Nico asked, his eyebrows raised inquisitively as he watched you tie your shoes.

“I’ve got to go home,” you said as you stretched your back.

“I’m not letting you drive home in this condition,” He started, ready to pitch his case for you to stay the night.

“You’re tired, upset, and you don’t need to be by yourself right now. Stay with me,” His eyes were practically begging you, but his tone was stern, evident that he would not be budging.

“I have no clothes-”

“I have some t-shirts.”

“I need to wash my hair and I have no shampoo or conditioner.”

“Nina left some here, use hers,” Nico had a solution to all of your excuses, making you realize that there really wasn’t a reason why you couldn’t spend the night.

“Just stay,” His voice was barely above a whisper, wrapping itself around your heart as you caved into him.

“Fine,” you sighed.

He showed you where all of Nina’s products were and laid out one of his old t-shirts on the counter in the bathroom. It was long enough to be a dress on you, swallowing you whole.

He ran the water for you and left you in the bathroom by yourself, causing you to let out a few silent sobs before getting in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the things you have no control over. You tried to think about the positives. You had Nico for another year.

Nico. Nico Hischier that held up your table all of those years ago. Nico Hischier that helped you study for every stupid exam you had. Nico Hischier that always ran to you first after every home game. Your Nico. Your best friend. The one that always had an open shoulder for you to cry on and open arms when you needed a hug.

Did guys treat girls like this that they just loved as friends? You sure as hell had never had one like him.

While thinking about all that Nico has been there for, tears begin to fall. It hit you like a ton of bricks, the possibility that Nico could be more than a friend. Would he feel the same? Would these newly discovered feelings be the downfall of your friendship?

Just as quick as the feelings surfaced, you shut it down. Nico meant too much to you for you to lose him over selfish feelings. Everything was perfect with him and your stupid little crush would not ruin that.

While you continued to shower, Nico changed the sheets on his bed, putting on fresh ones from the dryer so that you would be warm when you got in. He decided he would take the couch.

The smile that he had hidden while consoling you appeared as he prepared his apartment for you for the night. He thought about the possibility that you might move in with him, relishing in the idea that he could see you everyday when he woke up and at night when he went to sleep. Never ending movie nights and having his best friend 24/7…what possibly could be better?

You being his girlfriend. Would that come in time? Did he need to tell you his feelings or keep them to himself?

He had always been able to conceal his feelings, the fear of losing you greater than the pain of only being your friend. That had worked out fine, but when you rounded the corner of the hallway into the living room with his shirt hanging right above your knees and a pair of his long socks bunched on your leg, his breath hitched.

He let his eyes take in everything about you. The way your hair curled at the nape of your neck from the water, the random bruises that decorated your legs from being clumsy, a few pimples that dusted your face, only visible when your makeup was not, the random bit of mascara that you hadn’t managed to wash off.

He wanted you. He wanted you forever. He wanted you as his wedding date, his girl at the games. He wanted to share holidays with you, exchange anniversary gifts and plan birthday parties with you.

Everything in life he wanted to do with you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” He announced as he walked over to your small frame.

You were confused, about to open your mouth to ask him what he meant, but as soon as you realized he was leaning down to kiss you, your eyes grew wide in shock. His kiss cleared up what he meant.

He cupped your face with his hands, each thumb resting on your cheekbones as he very slightly pulled you closer to him.

Your lips moved in synch, making up for years of him loving you.

He noticed that you had a chapped spot on your lip, but he didn’t mind. The taste of strawberries from your lipstick from earlier lingered, causing him to deepen the kiss, never wanting to forget that taste.

You pulled away, needing to breathe. His eyes were still the soft brown ones that you loved, but you could tell that they looked at you differently from how you thought they did. Just standing in a t shirt and socks, they made you feel like the prettiest girl in the world.

A smile pulled at your lips, causing him to follow, his dimple making an appearance on his face. His scruff itched your face, but you didn’t mind.

“I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m upset you didn’t get into school because I’m not. Call me selfish or whatever, but I need you. You keep me grounded. I want you here with me. Move in here, find something to do while you wait to reapply. I just know there’s nobody else that I love the way I love you,” he ended his confession with a kiss to your forehead.

“Ok,” You whispered, not wanting the warmth of his body to ever be far from you.

“I love you, little lady. A lot more than you realize,” He smirked at the blush that spread across your cheeks, the rosy pink that highlighted your skin revealing the effect that this boy has on you.

He pulled you into him, hugging you as if you would be gone any second and he couldn’t let you go.

When he finally did let you go, you both hopped into his bed and began watching Harry Potter, starting with The Prisoner of Azkaban since he knew that was your favorite one.

You fell asleep first, your head resting on his chest as he scratched your back. When he noticed the soft snores escaping your mouth, he smiled to himself. This was how it was meant to be. You and him.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier imagine

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flashbangstars · 4 months

Text

NCT dream as people you met on public transport

as someone who lives in a big city this was simply fitting

Mark

he took the last seat as you both got on at the same stop

he made awkward eye contact as he notices you standing infront of him as he was sitting

and them proceeded to look at you ever couple minutes while he was sitting

he had headphones in, but with how shit they were you could hear the justin bieber songs leaking through and he was now on his 6th jb song

it was like he literally had just a jb playlist

GOD ANOTHER ONE

every time the train would stop for a station he would pull one earbud out and look around wildly and then once he realized it wasn't his spot he would put the earbud back

when you had zoned out staring off into the distance you felt a poke at your leg.

"you can have my seat when I get off"

#1 jb stan was being a gentlemen

you weren't sure if he was aware, but he had been loudly humming the songs as they past and he currently was halfway through one less lonely girl

when the train slowed to your stop, jb stan shot up abruptly leaving less than 2 inches between the two of you

and like screeched a little bit?

Running towards the exit of the train and waiting for the doors to open

once they opened he darted across the platform to the same train on the other side going the opposite way

Justin bieber boy missed his stop too lost in the jb sauce : (

Renjun

your usual go to is putting ur backpack on the seat next to you, (because you get enjoyment from being an asshole)

two stops into your commute, shorty came up to you and pointed at your backpack

you took your airpod out and looked up

"can you move your bag

no "please", no "is it ok" NOTHING

you begrudgingly moved your bag onto to your lap

he sat down next to you and put his own headphones on

the good news was he smelled really good

like sophisticated richness

like he owned a yacht and went to expensive restaurants

you just usually stole whatever perfume your roommate left out in the bathroom (with permission)

and why are the mean looking bitches always hot??

He looks like he perpetually sucks on lemons, but I want him!

halfway through the ride you had been zoned out and knew your stop wasn't for a bit, you felt a tug at your bag

your ass clenched in fear, cuz like am I being robbed??

looking down slightly you watched as ice prince was mindlessly playing with the keychain that hung from your bag that was in his space

you didn't move a inch as if not to spook him (jesus christ hes not a fucking animal)

he then snapped out of it and dropped the keychain and looked up quickly to see if you noticed, not expecting you to be already looking

he flinched a bit and eyes widened

"oh.. I'm so sorry" he apologized putting his hands up

you reach down again and grab the keychain he had been playing with and hold it up

"I got it from gas station because I thought it was cool"

his small hand slowly creeped down again to grab the keychain once more

"oh, It looks really cool" he said softly and played with the charms

you two then spent the rest of the trip talking about the trinkets on your bags

Jeno

he was on the train when you got on, he was sitting at one of the double seats by the door

when he saw you get on he moved his sports duffle from the seat next to him onto the floor and gave you that look of "you can sit here if you want"

he had on those big over ear headphones and a giant ass hoodie n sweats

if you were being honest he was kinda hot

when you sat down next to him it was incredibly hard to not make awkward eye contact with him as he was beside you

it was semi hot outside since it was the end of spring and so you both were in shorts

you had that weird skin to skin contact at first and I think it sparked some sort of carnal desire

very much so a inside us there are two wolves moment

you couldn't even tell anyone about your experience because he could see your screen and you didn't have one of those privacy ones!

you had to suffer in silence, job harder than the soldiers : (

when your stop came, you went. reach above and pull the line, but he beat you to it and reached his arm over you doing it first.

well now you just had to follow him home!

kidding!

Haechan

You had 10 stops before yours, and you were sitting in front of the lit up board that tracked the stops.

your roommate got on usually 5 stops after you to join you otw home so you weren't worried about missing the stop

You put headphones in and leaned your head back to escape the harsh bright lights of the train.

30 minutes pass and you open your eyes to your roommate sitting on the side opposite you with a devious ass look on her face

the rest of your body wakes up from your power nap and become aware of the weight on your head and your arms

you had fallen asleep and wrapped your hands around the arm of the guy next to you..

and you had rested your head on his shoulder...

what the FUCK DO I DO NOW?

A Midst your panic you notice the weight on top of your head....

HE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP ON YOU????

you slowly snake your hand out from his arm and check your phone.

you had 67 notifications in your groupchat...

opening it, you find 7 pictures of you and this literally STRANGER asleep on each other.

waitttttt.... whys he kinda hot......

this actually may not be bad!

love and affection FOR THE FREE?

lemme take my ass back to sleep

the next time you woke up you had been repositioned now with your head on your friends shoulder

damn how fucking hard did you sleep....

you look around and nap stranger had disappeared

you felt your heart clench at the loss of your momentary wattpad relationship, mourning the hot man who had fallen asleep on you

becoming aware of your limbs again you tighten your grip around your phone and bring it up to check the notifications to find a bright yellow post it note stuck to the screen

"thanks for the nap : ) 999-999-9999"

this was a major win for women everywhere

Jaemin

the bus in the morning was this like devastating liminal space

it was cold

the lights were bright

and you kinda wanted to get hit by the bus

because of how early it is, you usually were one of the only people on the bus

today two stops in a fucking mens model on on the bus!!

sir what are you doing in this metal prison!

he sat in the back on the raised portion while you stayed in the front

you glanced up to look at him again, because.. shit if this was going to be the highlight of your morning you would take it

but when you looked up you made direct eye contact with him

playing off smoothly you did the thing where you kinda look to the side ish

looking back again you make eye contact AGAIN

hello???

as you two hold this prolonged eye contact, he raised his hand and waVED?

yall hear that meowing??? thats just my puss- GUNSHOTS

you wave back and smile your best "Im a innocent girl, but can take it like a champ" smile

and watch as he grabs his bag and stands

ur ass clenches thinking this will be the last time you may come across prince charming, but then unclenches when you realize it is also your stop

Getting up you follow ahead and go to the door exiting. walking down the street in the early morning listening to some fuckass songs trying to make the reality of 8 am classes seem better

when a hand grips your shoulder

21 years of being a woman and also a anxious mess you scream and turn around with your hands up

just to see sexy man from bus!

sexy man from bus what are you doing here?

"i am so sorry, you just didn't here me calling, so I just grabbed you I don't know why I did that, especially you're a woman alone, I don't know why I didn't think of that first?.."

sexy bus man was now rambling

"its ok!!" you say trying to put SBM (sexy bus man) out of his misery

"oh uh, well you left this on the bus, when you got up I think it got stuck on the seat, and i figured since we got off at the same stop I would just grab it.."

rambling seemed to be a common occurrence for SBM

looking down you saw the familiar hello kitty keychain you had on the back of your bag that you spent way to much money on a claw game for in his hand

"thank you sexy bu- SIR"

"..... your welcome"

Chenle

it was 7am on a Wednesday night and bro just got on the train in a pair of sunglasses on.

it was almost never that serious

it was in the morning and you were waiting for a friend and saving a seat hence the double seat with one side with your backpack

the sunglasses walked down the aisle and stopped at your chair.

not even asking, he grabbed your backpack with his grimy hands and moved it to be next to you, then sitting down opposite

you literally felt your eye twitch because like HUH?

"excuse me? I'm waiting for someone, they literally just got on at this stop"

sunglasses perked up the slightest and directed his gaze towards you "I don't see them"

you literally felt your eye twitch again and you chest tighten because of the audacity

your friend at that moment walked into the car, prompting you to point and say "okay well she's here now, you can move"

to which sunglasses shrugged and and said "I'm comfortable, why are you so opposed to sharing?"

you heard your friend laugh in disbelief and your eye twitched AGAIN

Your friend squished in next to you and you ended up sitting across from Sunglasses

your thighs were burning from you sitting tightly so your knees wouldn't brush, and your resolve to stare at him until his exploded was dwindling

with a huff you relaxed and felt your knee nudge his and cried a little inside but dealt with it

When the train arrived you got up and walked out of the seat before he could and went to your bus stop

sitting at the bend you felt a tap at your shoulder and looked up

GASP it was sunglasses! without sunglasses!

GASP why was sunglasses kinda hot!?

GASP wait why sunglasses here?!!!

Sunglasses smiled a bit and put his hand out "I figure I'd introduce myself, since we had such a lovely time on the train together, I'm Chenle"

you could feel how wide your mouth was hanging in disbelief and you stared at the surprisingly well manicured hand in front of you

but deciding against your morals, you shook his hand and introduced yourself

"nice to meet you Y/N, you wouldn't mind if we sat together on the bus right"

Jisung

The train during rush hour was a fucking nightmare, your class ended at 4:50 and the only line that could take you to your apartment from the university is the most popular one

when the door open you pushed in to the train and literally no seats were open.

you gripped the railing and tried to widen your stance a bit to keep stability

the train started and apparently the conductor was having a bad fucking day because he was fucking stomping on the breaks

each stop jolted you so aggressively that you feared for your life and dignity if you were to fall on this here train

after about three stops of fighting for you life, your hand was beginning to be slip from the sweat on the railing and your arm was throbbing from tensing for the last 20 minutes

all of a sudden the conductor hits the break once

...your hand slipping from the railing

and then hits it again a second time

.........you lose your footing

you fall backwards and close your eyes waiting to land embarrassingly on your ass.

instead............

you fall on the seats behind you

you feel a hand out of instinct grab your waist to stop you from falling more and another hand goes on your thigh to stop your legs.

opening your eyes you make eye contact with someone.....who honestly looks more scared/embarrassed than you are??

He looks like a guy around your age and is staring at you with these dark eyes as if you were taking your last dying breath in his lap

"are you okay" he asks sounding... once again more embarrassed than you were!???

"I'm okay! thank you!" you say still sitting bridal style in his lap

neither of you moves

like he still is deadass cradling you right now in public

"uh can I get up...?" you say and you watch his face flush red all over

"OH yeah, I'm so sorry" he says unhanding you

you stand in front of him and grab onto the loop in front of him

and..... you both spend the rest of the train ride avoiding eye contact because you both turn red when you do meet eyes.

______

im going to proofread later pls excuse if it seems like im illiterate

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yandere-writer-momo · 8 months

Text

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Courtship

Yandere Pickle x Afab Reader

TW: creepy coworker and yandere behavior

Buy me a coffee?💕

A sigh escaped (your name)’s lips as she meandered down the street towards her home. She hadn’t planned on being at work for so long, but her boss peer pressured her into staying past her shift… and now she paid the consequences.

She clutched her lunchbox to her thigh for more of a sense of security through the dimly lit streets. (Your name) just had to pass by this alleyway and she was in the clear…

A low groan drew her from her musings, her head snapped toward the dark alleyway. The hair on her arm stood straight up in pure fear. (Your name) was certain her heart just went still for a straight minute.

“H-hello?” She meekly asked the dark abyss of the alleyway. This was like something out of horror movie and she would be the first idiot to die… she should just walk away. Curiosity always killed the cat.

And then another pained whine came from the darkness… was it an injured animal of some kind? Her heart ached at the thought. Maybe she’d shine a light down the alleyway to see what made those pained noises.

(Your name) pulled her phone out of her pocket and activated the flashlight on it. She then shined the light down the alleyway, her eyes wide at the sight before her.

It wasn’t a dog that groaned in hunger but a man. A man covered in jagged scars sat curled up beside a dumpster. His large, tanned body curled up into a ball. His golden eyes filled with fear when he looked at her. Was he homeless?

(Your name) slowly made her way toward him, careful not to scare him even more than he already was. Her eyes softened at how he cowered when she neared him.

“It’s okay… I won’t hurt you.” (Your name) continued to tip toe towards the large man until she was only a few feet off him. He only trembled in response, his golden eyes studied her in anticipation. And that’s when a loud growl from his stomach reached her ears, a sympathetic smile on her face.

The young woman slowly reached into her lunchbox and handed him her uneaten sandwich. The man’s eyes widen in surprise before he hesitantly took the sandwich from her.

Now that she could see his face a bit better, she realized this man was bewitchingly beautiful. It was as if he was from another world.

The man hesitantly sniffed the sandwich before he gingerly took a bite. His eyes lit up at the taste of honeyed ham and swiss, his abnormally long tongue darted out to lick the sauce from between the sandwich.

(Your name) could only stare in wonder at the odd man. Was this the first sandwich he’s ever had? He was taking apart each layer of the sandwich rather than eating it all together. Despite how bizarre this was, it was also kind of endearing.

(Your name) quickly handed him the fresh fruit and vegetables to try to put something else in his bottomless pit of a stomach. How long had he been hungry? She felt horrible for him…

(Your name) watched the man scarf down his food like a starving animal. His body language no longer showed fear, an expression of relaxation on his face. She wondered if he may be mentally impaired.

(Your name) sat with him for a bit, his putrid scent was a bit much for her to handle, but he seemed so lonely.. how could she not feel bad for him?

The man turned his completely attention to her. His head tilted to the side while he studied her pretty face. His golden eyes and mannerisms reminded her of an owl.

(Your name) sat with the man for a few more minutes until she decided to leave. It was getting late…

“Good bye, mister. Take care, okay?” (Your name) smiled brightly at the man, the man tilted his head off to the side. Poor guy… she hoped he stayed safe.

The man’s golden eyes watched the young woman leave. Pickle purred, his golden eyes studied her small form.

The primitive man slowly trailed behind her, the giant careful not to alert her of his presence. Pickle didn’t want to scare his future mate!

He wondered if he should start courting her since she had courted him… maybe some fruits would do? She seemed to like fruits!

Poor (your name) had not a single clue in the world of the trouble that was about to brew in her life.

Small rodent and avian carcasses were left on her step. It was a bit difficult to differentiate what they once were since their bodies were so mangled, but she was able to piece together what they were due to the feathers, blood, and fur that was mixed all over her doormat.

This was all so incredibly strange... Were these left behind by the local cat? Was it a token of appreciation for feeding it? (Your name) had not a clue on who or what could’ve left this on her step. She didn’t think a cat was capable of such brutality, but it was hard to imagine another human, leaving this too…

(Your name) grimaced when she picked some of the remnants of the small animal carcasses, a few guys spilled out when she did so. This was so gross.

The young woman scrunched up her face and distaste. she then began to clean up the mess and discard the carcasses into her trashcan. She would probably have to bleach her whole front step to get the putrid odor of death away after work…

“Meow!”

An orange tabby cat mewled at her. Its little orange body brushed against her in a soothing manner. She smiled a bit at the fluffy feline before she bent down to run her fingers through its small head.

“Hello, tiger. I haven’t seen you in a bit.” The cat simply purred in response, its tail rubbed against her legs to scent her. (Your name) indulged the cat a bit until she knew she had to leave for work. “Sorry but I have to go to work. I’ll see you later!”

(Your name) gathered up her belongings and hurried down the street to walk to work. The orange tabby sat on her step, it’s tail ticked back and for like a clock. It’s small pink nose sniffed the few remains she didn’t scoop up in interest. The cat then began to lick up the bloody remains.

Pickle whined from his spot in the forest. She didn’t like his gift… was it not to her liking?

Pickle snarled, his bloody canines flashed under the light as he watched the cat lick up the remnants of his gift. That wasn’t for that animal… it was for his mate. Perhaps she would like something bigger?

Pickle observed the local cat that (your name) doted on. He’d start with that creature that hogged her attention… then he’d set his sights to bigger game.

Pickle stalked forward toward his prey, but the cat tilted its head at him. The tiny animal sauntered over to him and brushed its head against his leg.

It dumbfounded Pickle. The Neanderthal scooped up the small house cat and stared at it. The cat’s purrs never ceased as it maintained eye contact with him.

The two creatures blinked at each other until the cat leaned forward and licked Pickle’s nose. Pickle furrowed his brow at the rough feeling but didn’t entirely reject the gesture.

Pickle changed his mind. He was fond of this tiny creature that purred like him. Pickle sat on the grass with the cat now in his lap. The cat rubbed its head over his palms to pet it.

Pickle would find something else to hunt… something much larger. He didn’t think (your name) would like if he harmed her companion.

“So I was wondering if you’d let me take you out on a date yet, (your name)?” (Your name) sighed and glanced up from her computer at her manager, Kenji. He was a nice looking man but (your name) had no interest in dating anyone at the moment. She was quite happy just caring for the local cat and tending to her indoor plants.

“Sorry, Kenji. I don’t have any interest in dating.” (Your name) bowed her head a bit to Kenji. “Thank you for the offer-“

Kenji sighed, the young man leaned his beefy forearms onto her cubicle wall. His dark eyes narrowed a bit before he muttered, “you’re going to end up alone. You’re still young and pretty. Don’t you think you should give this a chance? You might not get another.”

(Your name) furrowed her brow at Kenji in confusion. What on earth did he mean by that?

As if Kenji could read her mind, he chuckled. “Everyone thinks you’re a bit odd, (your name). You daydream an awful lot and you feed the cats. The other workers all think you’re going to end up being a cat lady.”

(Your name) frowned and turned her attention back to her computer, which made Kenji click his tongue. The brunette then went on his way.

Kenji swore he’d get her attention soon… he’s liked her for awhile now. And he’d do anything for her to notice him… anything.

Kenji smirked. Thank goodness she lived in isolation, it’d be easier to corner her since no one would hear her screams….

(Your name) made her way home, unaware of a presence following behind her. The young woman walked down the dimly lit streets toward her house with no awareness of her surroundings.

Pickle scuttled around in the shadows. His eyes narrowed at the man that followed (your name). His nose sniffed the air, his head cocked to the side in confusion. Was this a challenger?

Pickle quietly stalked forward behind the man. The man too focused on following (your name) to notice the Neanderthal behind him.

(Your name) eventually made it onto hee quiet street. The young woman hummed a cheery tune, unaware of the Kenji who was just a few feet behind her.

The man made a move to grab her but he was soon pulled into a giant, muscular chest. The man almost screened but a large hand was shoved over his mouth.

Kenji slowly looked up, his dark eyes wide in horror at what held him like a snake. This was the caveman from the news…

Pickle tilted his head in curiosity. What was this small man planning to do with his mate? Pickle may not have been from the modern world but he was familiar with the laws of nature. And this man didn’t have good intentions for his mate…

Pickle bared his fangs at the man, his golden eyes glowed like a burning fire under the street lights. Pickle was terrifying… and his sudden appearance may have caused Kenji to urinate himself a bit.

Pickle turned his head to glance at (your name) who made it safely to her house, far enough out of ear shot now to what was about to happen.

Kenji tried to swing his fist up to punch Pickle but Pickle simply snapped his head off to the side. Pickle cooed a bit at the dead body now in his arms.

This was his competition? How disappointing…

Pickle carried Kenji toward the sewers. The caveman threw his body into the manhole before he jumped in after.

Perhaps he’d leave more gifts for (your name) later? He wondered if she’d like a pelt… he could show off his nest skills to her! She’d be so thrilled to se show hood of a provider he was!

But first he’d take care of this body. Pickle was feeling a bit peckish after all…

(Your name) hummed as she watered her various tropical plants in her home. The inside of her house felt much like a tropical rainforest for the various rare plants in her home.

(Your name) owned various orchids, a few vibrant flamingo flowers, and some lovely begonias. But her favorite was her monstera. She babied that plant the most. The young woman considered at her most prized possession since it was her largest plant.

She felt so at peace taking care of these plants. Her plants are better company than most people. She found it hard to be around other human beings, since they were always so conniving. She knew that at least plants would never betray her or try to harm her.

(Your name) hummed as she continued to tend to her plants. Unaware of Pickle who sat perched on a tree branch outside her window. The Neanderthal has recently found a way in through her bedroom but he preferred to wait until she wasn’t home.

It was much easier for him to find places where they could store young and to scent the outer perimeter of her house when she wasn’t around. Pickle made sure to keep her home extra safe.

The various plant life was a plus to him. It made him feel like he was at home himself… he was so flattered that his mate was so understanding of him.

Pickle would be sure to be wonderful to her once she accepted the last part of his courtship.

A few days have gone by and Kenji was no longer at work. (Your name) and her coworkers thought it was very strange. He never missed work.

A few had tried to call him, and one coworker even went to his house, but there was no reply. It puzzled them all. Where could he have gone?

Kenji was a bachelor so he didn’t have any roommates or a girlfriend. And no one in the office really knew his family either… it was a shame.

(Your name) felt bad about being relieved from his absence. She no longer was harassed on a day-to-day basis for a date. A part of her feel guilty, but the other part not so much.

(Your name) continue to type away on her computer, unaware of the caveman that sat on the rooftop of the building across the street from her. His golden eyes studied her as she worked diligently on her assignment.

Pickle placed his chin in his palms, the caveman purred. His mate was so cute… she seemed much happier now that the weird man was gone.

Pickle glanced down at the fresh bear pelt beside him. He would leave this for her at we home today and then he would start to bring her many more until she accepted him.

Spring time was coming soon and pickle was determined to mate.

A few weeks have gone by since the disappearance of Kenji now. It was spring now… and he was still missing.

Missing posters of Kenji were now set all over the city. There was absolutely no trace of him anywhere. (Your name) felt as if he was a ghost, because he disappeared into thin air.

The police broke into his apartment to find a body, but nothing was found other than old food and all of his belongings. There was talk that he might have been murdered or kidnapped. But who on this green earth would want Kenji of all people?

This matter didn’t help the young women feel any safer in his community anymore. In the last few weeks she felt as if there was always a pair of eyes that were on her. No matter where she went or where she was, she felt like she was being studied like a lab specimen. It made her skin crawl sometimes.

(Your name) clutched her lunch box close to herself and bit her lip. She didn’t feel safe anywhere she went. Her home no longer felt safe. She swore some of her belongings were missing and it drove her insane.

(Your name) had only a handful of panties left now… which was odd since she had just bought some new ones recently. She even took apart her washer to examine if they were lost in one of the crevices but to no avail…

But who would steal her undergarments? Kenji was no longer in the picture so it couldn’t be him… and he was the only man who was interested in her… she should stop thinking about this.

(Your name) wished she could shrug it off but she couldn’t. Especially with the various animal pelts left on her door step.

Who was bringing her bear and deer pelts? She couldn’t bring herself to throw them away but she has just been shoving them into her garage. She didn’t know what else to do with them… she would feel bad if she threw away someone’s hard work.

(Your name) sat on her door step with her orange tabby, Tiger. The cat purred while she pet him. Lately she had noticed that the cat had put on a few extra pounds… has someone else been feeding him?

(Your name) patted Tiger’s little tummy in wonder. She didn’t have any neighbors around so it was strange that the cat had gained some extra cushion…

And that’s when a rustling in the bushes drew her attention. (Your name) snapped her head towards the bush, a giant man stepped forward. His golden eyes transfixed on her. It was the homeless guy she met months ago…

(Your name) glanced at the pelt in his arms in shock. Was he her stalker?!

Pickle gave her a toothy grin. The Neanderthal set the pelt in front of her before he began to dance. (Your name) could only sit still in shock while Pickle continued to dance before her.

Then it all clicked. Pickle was not a homeless man. He was the Neanderthal from the news a few months back… and he wasn’t stalking her. Pickle was courting her.

(Your name) froze when Pickle paused his dance, the Neanderthal cooed softly at her. His long fingers tilted her chin up to look at him.

And that’s when he licked her nose just like a cat. His eyes filled with wonder.

(Your name) remained frozen, even when he scooped her up into his arms to carry her into her garage where the various pelts lied.

Pickle finally had her… he finally had his cute little mate.

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wolfish-trickster · 2 months

Text

Choso headcanons

(I'm sorry i just love this gif so much 😩)

General

He likes to listen to indie bands

There's just something about having a band "all to himself" and being the sole fan where ever he goes

But after a while starts to feel a little lonely not having any fellow fans for friends

Doesn't really see the point in people taking care of plants in their home, especially those that only bloom once and then they die

Isn't a dog or a cat person, he likes both

Would want to learn at least the basics of every skill he can find

His favourite day of the week is friday

Stays up super late even thoigh he promises himself to fix his sleep schedual

Spoiler: he never does

Keeps fit and builts muscle to protect his family

If he meets people who are pretty agressive about their opinions and unable to listen to a different point of view he just up and leaves, doesn't want to waste the energy

Doesn't look like it but he's quite artistic, he especially enjoys making his nose mark into different shapes and ornaments to make himself look cool

His favourite part of working out is laying down and letting his body cool

Learned how to cook so he could take care of his brothers

Friendship

At the begining he would be just observing you

Not even trying to befriend you or your friends, nah

Just quietly watching from afar

His brothers would call him creepy for that

But he just wants to be sure you'll be worth the try

Eventually he's betrayed by Yuji who straight up tells you he has been looking at you when you do your thing

He tries to explain that he isn't shy or anything, but yeah, he was pretty closed off from you after you guys started talking

But since he spoke less he heard more and learned all your little quirks

Where others would buy you generic things for your birthday like a book or a mug he would buy you three new headphones becuase he remembered how you complained to him how often they break for you

Or he would give you something you genuenly need in your life and what would be useful

Also he would want to show you his creative side

Sketch you, write poems and haikus for you

He even tried to crochet you a flower but that failed quickly

He made you an origami instead 🥹

As he started to have feelings for you he needed advice from his brothers on what to do

They all just told him to ask you out

He didn't like that idea

What he did instead was collect his favourite hard rock and metal songs about love and give you that playlist on a CD on your birthday

He hoped you would get the hint

Your oblivious ass didn't 😭

He literally had to spell it out for you the next time you guys met

You gladly accepted his feelings (who wouldn't)

He asked you out on a date the very next day

Homeboy had no idea what to do on the first date tho...

So he improvised and went to ask the almighty google

Relationship

He made a list on his phone consisting of advices he took from google and rom coms: first he had to take you see a movie, then go to a theme park, then restaurant and then either take you home or to a hotel

Not his ideal plans for the first date but it's how humans do it apparently

Long story short, it was a catastrophy

As he went to your house to pick you up it started to rain real bad

You guys decided to wait it out in your home

Rain turned to storm

Choso then admited he had a plan written on the phone Yuji gave him

You told him ypu guys cane have home date instead

You and him watched a movie

You guys spent a long time deciding what to cook together but eventually agreed on pasta with some exotic sauce

You had lots of fun

You guys ended the date curled up under your sheet cuddling the night away as the storm raged on outside

Choso found out he loves home dates

He only ever does that from then on

One night him and you decided to take quizes to learn more about eachother

His love language is physical touch

Which makes sense since from his first night of cuddling he has had his hand on any part of your body anytime you guys met

It's like his hand and your body were two magnets

He loves hugging you from behind, shows how much smaller you are than him

Sometimes he likes to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat (is what he would tell you but really he just likes to listen to your blood moving in extreme speeds through your body, but he wants to be romantic for you)

Not the one for PDA, will jold your hand at max when outside but inside the house he goes all out

All cuddling positions, all surfaces, all times of the day

Your first kiss happened a week after you had the furst date

He honestly had no idea what kissing was

You introduced him and gave him few lectures 😉

It's safe to say the student surpassed the master

His lips are surprisingly soft and warm

The first time you kissed him he was a little stunned and his nose mark swerved a little

But then he got addicted

Giving you kisses all over your face

He likes the neck the most

Especially the parts where he can feel the blood in your veins

And when he found out tongues can get involved?

He almost didn't let you breathe

The feeling of your soft and wet muscle against his was heavenly to him

At first a little weird but he quickly got used to it

Would chuckle everytime your teeth clinked together

You also thought of introducing him to the concept of hickies but he already figured it out on his own

Doesn't like giving them too often tho, to let your veins regenarate properly, otherwise he would be painting your neck purple every day

He had his time when he read a post on social media about a guy literally dying after his girlfriend gave him a hickie and oit of fear and anxiety refused to give you any hickies for a month

After about half a year of dating he decided to introduce you to his brothers

They already knew all about you

Choso doesn't talk often but when he's in the mood he won't shut up

And lately he has been talking mostly about you

All of them were nice to you and all of you got along super well

Choso fell for you even more

One date night you picked a movie that was a little less innocent than all the ones you watched before

Thankfully you didn't have to explain the birds and bees to choso when a particularly heated scene came on

But you needed to explain to him how to get rid of his very first boner in his life 💀

NSFW

Your first time happened a year after your first date

He wanted it to be special since it's both of your first time

He studied

Aka he watched porn

Didn't get hard from watching it tho, only after he started playing out the scenes in his head with you and him in the actors' places

His first ever jirkoff happened because of this

He made a playlist to get both you and him in the mood

Wasn't needed in the end

After the very awkward first round you went into it like rabbits

Remember what i said about Choso and cuddling? Same goes for positions

All positions, all surfaces, all times of the day

Tho he had his favourites

Among his favourite positions were those he could have you in his lap

He loved it when you could drap yourself all over him

He also like the access to the skin he got

His least favourite ones are where he can't see your face

The different facial expressions he gives with different thrust angles are what keeps him going

His favourite places are the bed or the couch

And he doesn't really care about the time of the day as long as both of you are willing and not busy

The first one to propose oral was him

He was curious about how it tasted down there

He didn't find the taste anything spectacular but could see the appeal

He liked the texture on his tongue more

He also found out your juices taste different during different parts of your month cycle

That way he could keep track of your period better than you

Sometimes after he was done eating you out he mentioned how your time of the month is coming so you should be prepared

Made you chuckle every time with how bluntly he says that

You also offered to give him head

Likes it when you gently drag your teeth along his shaft

Like the feeling when you have an itchy spot and you give it a good scratch, that's the same for him and your teeth

Isn't really sure if he prefers to give or recieve yet

But doesn't mind either way

Period sex is a whole different stuff to him

As soon as he found out coming can help period cramps he was all in

At one point he was curious about what would happen if he pulled out the entire inner lining with his cursed technique

Ended your period bleeding that very day

You loved him even more

Does that for you every single month

But he's not gonna lie, he has a little sadist hidden inside of him

Likes to see blood on his dick

But only period one, as soon as it's real blood from harming you he's out

Doesn't really have any other kinks than that but he's open to explore with you

Would quickly find out he has his horny days too

On those days he would ask you all shy if you two could fuck

You never told him no how could you with those eyes

Long story short he got to try a lot of exciting things with you, for which he's grateful

#kamo choso #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso headcanons #jjk choso #choso fluff #choso smut

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f4irys4n · 8 months

Text

dating yunho

jeong yunho x afab! reader

the before, during and nsfw sides of your relationship.

wc 1.3 k

before dating

pls before you get together, he'd have the biggest crush on you

and he'd be so awkward. he would not be able to hide it

every time you walk into the room. bright red.

it'd take a long time for him to gain the courage to even look you in the eye, because for a while he wouldn't be able to do anything but grin

i think he'd be the kind of guy to have a fully thought out plan to ask you out but then would opt out at the last second

he'd talked it all through with the other members a not so smart move to make sure he had the best plan possible just for you

i can imagine him buying you flowers on valentines day, a whole speech prepared but the second he knocks on your door and hears movement on the other side

he's gone.

he'd leave the flowers at the doorstep and bolt

and as soon as the boys found out, yunho wouldn't be able to live it down

i mean... he still doesn't

eventually he'd gain the courage to tell you

or more like wooyoung blurted it out one day completely oblivious to the fact that you were sitting right there

so the poor boy literally had zero choice but to address what was said

insert a deep conversation where yunho confesses to you after he storms off pouting because wooyoung outed him after promising he wouldn't

would definitely stutter

the kinda guy to constantly stress 'it's okay if you don't like me back it's just...' or 'we can stay friends, i just need to get this off my chest' despite it being deadly obvious you like him back

during dating

jump to present day and omg isnt he just so boyfriend material

constantly smothering you in hugs and kisses literally any chance he gets

whenever you’ve had a hard day at work or university, he’s definitely the kind of guy to run you a bath and try cook you dinner to help you relax as much as he can, or quickly run to the shop to get your favourite snacks and host a little movie night for the both of you.

dating him means you officially adopt all of his jumpers and hoodies, you literally have no choice. oh no, you were held against your will

seeing you in his clothes warms his heart

cooking dates!!!!

one of your first ever dates, he came around to your house and you both attempted to cook spaghetti

but it ended up basically being a good fight

you’d be mixing the sauce and he’d full on dip his fingers in it just to swipe it across your face whilst giggling to himself before running off

and instead of running after him like he'd expect, you just decided to grab and hand full of flour and launch it across the kitchen to reach him

he never really cooked before you, instant ramen and takeouts were his thing, but now cooking with you is his favourite things to do

when you first got together, it was a little hard due to living with 7 other boys, who were constantly about.

as much as you loved them as well i mean you're their friends having any alone time to do such simple things such as cuddle was difficult

and any time you did show affection to each other in front of the group, it'd be met with loud cheers or fake gipping from wooyoung

grabby hands when he wants to cuddle you.

whines every time you get out of bed and overdramatically begs you to come back because he's 'lonely' or going to 'freeze to death' without you.

wraps his hands around your waist whenever he gets the chance

he loves being close to you, no matter where

loves hearing you speak about your day, your interests, anything you've got planned or anything such. will position himself cross-legged and stare at you like you're the most ethereal being to ever walk upon the earth, taking in every last little thing you've said.

will constantly talk about his future with you

there's no doubt in my mind that he's a buy a house together, get married, and have kids/pets kind of man, and that doesn't change with you

and god, when he does move in with you, hell does he get excited

he'd get ecstatic over the basic things like brushing your teeth together, sharing a wardrobe, cooking all your meals together etc

if he's been up practicing all night, until early hours of the morning, he'll always run to the earliest opening coffee shop to pick something up for you because he knows you'll be getting up for work by the time he gets back

sometimes, if he's early enough, he'll even cook you breakfast so you don't have to

date nights every friday night unless his schedule like touring overlaps

and he lives for these nights

whether it be a stay in date, making heart shaped pizzas, or him taking you out to a fancy restaurant and admiring how stunning you look the entire time.

whenever he's on tour, he does nothing but phone or facetime you

they could all be practicing and yunho will be like 'guys! say hi to y/n' or 'y/n wants to watch us practice!!' and nothing makes him happier

like all relationships, you do get into small arguments

but you can genuinely say that neither of you have ever shouted at each other

despite yunho being scary when he's angry, he could never be like that towards you in his life

most arguments are usually about yunho overworking himself, and him denying it or the same situation but reversed. or just stupid things like yunho getting jealous over some person giving you a little too much attention for his liking.

even though he doesn't like to admit it he can get really jealous, it's not often but when he does it's so noticeable despite him trying to mask it

he pouts, rolls his eyes and makes small little off comments at whoever is causing him this jealousy and gets more touchy-feely than usual to make sure everyone knows that you're taken

brief nsfw

he's definitely a dom

there's absolutely no doubt about it

it just depends on his mood whether he wants to be hard or soft

so we've all seen his fingers, right?

well.. he can seriously put them to use and he loves watching you fall apart all over them because of him

hearing you whine and moan because of him. music to his ears

he loves nothing more than to have his ears filled with your pretty sounds

honestly.. it's an ego boost for him and he can't help but smirk the entire time he's making you squirm just because of his fingers

and you know what they say about men with big hands and feet? in mr jeong yunho's case, it's true. more than true.

size kink to the max!!!

i feel like this is a given with yunho, but it honestly makes him go wild. even if it's the smallest size difference, it'll still drive him crazy

he just loves manhandling you and towering over you

most of the time, he is on the softer side; peppering you in kisses, praising you, worshiping your body and treating you so well..

but then there's other times where he's not so friendly

hard dom yunho usually comes out when he's jealous and despite knowing you'd never, ever get with anyone else, it's satisfying to him that he was able to seal that in with the sounds of your moans

jealousy sex with yunho is something different

the dirty whispers in your ears, the tight gripping on your skin, the harsh spanking with a pleased look at the hand print on your ass cheek

watching you choke on his cock is one of his favourite sights

the way spit runs down your chin and how you struggle to take it all in your mouth, makes him twitch

nothing could turn him on more

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tboygareth · 1 year

Text

have a little father's day blurb about complicated father-son relationships. 1k. cross posted to ao3

steve's relationship with his parents has been complicated at best his entire life but it's only after he and eddie have an apartment together in chicago that his perception of of the father-son relationship shifts.

for the past decade or so, he's watched eddie's relationship with wayne and ached a little bit. because that's the kind of father-son relationship he wishes he could have had with his dad.

it wasn't always great, especially after his dad realized steve could mostly fend for himself and started leaving him alone more and more often for longer stretches of time. but it wasn't all bad either. his dad used to take him to ball games and he taught him how to ride a bike without the training wheels. he taught him how to change the oil in his beamer and how to bullshit his way through a book report.

mostly, though, he taught steve how to be lonely.

over the past couple of years, steve has slowly been trying to repair that stilted relationship with his old man. the guy isn't going to be around forever, and if nothing else he owes it to steve to leave him with some good memories after he's gone.

father's day has always been a bit of a weird day for steve, because his dad has always kept his feelings close to the vest, so steve's never had any idea how to navigate the day around him.

he thinks about the year he was thirteen; they'd gone to a cubs game together at wrigley and his dad let him have a cup of beer with his hotdog. he thinks of the year he was sixteen, before hawkins turned itself upside down; his dad was out of town at the condo in indy for some work conference the following week and he'd sighed when steve called him to wish him well, thinking there'd been something wrong at home.

this year is going to be different, steve tells himself.

he and eddie have invited both his dad and wayne to their apartment in chicago for dinner, and his dad is going to be here. steve's already bought a card for his dad, and his mom sent him her lasagna recipe, and he splurged for a good bottle of red wine.

hopefully this year will begin to repair the distance between steve and his dad.

steve finds himself hovering over the coffee maker at the kitchen counter, staring off into space while it brews, and eddie startles him a little when he comes up behind him to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek.

'you good?'

"yeah. little nervous.'

'it'll be fine. i made him laugh at christmas last year. remember?'

steve does remember. it was a good christmas.

it took steve's parents some time to accept steve and eddie as steve and eddie, but it's been so long now that it's not something that the harringtons can just ignore. if they want to be a part of their son's life, they need to get used to eddie. and this past christmas felt like a win - the harringtons had gifted them concert tickets and a fancy toaster oven for their apartment.

that night, after the sunday chores have been done and the laundry has been folded and put away, richard and wayne show up within moments of each other. steve and eddie's beagle mix, ozzy, greets them at the door, his tail thumping against the floor as he resists jumping up to beg their visitors for pets.

dinner goes really well; richard doesn't say anything offensive about their little apartment and eddie doesn't goad him into a discussion about politics. together, the four of them reminisce about steve and eddie's childhoods around the table, their plates overflowing with noodles and red sauce. wayne tells them stories about eddie that steve's never heard before, and richard tells stories that steve had completely forgotten about.

it's giving steve hope, this father's day dinner with his dad and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's uncle-dad.

until steve and richard are at the sink washing up the dinner dishes together, and everything crashes down around them.

'you're still young,' richard says. 'there's still time.'

'for what?'

'for you to come to your senses.'

'dad...'

'no, i mean it. there's always a job waiting for you at my firm. plenty of pretty girls in administrative roles there, too.'

'dad...' steve says again.

'i'm just saying, steven. it's time to stop playing house like this and settle down.'

'i am settled. we have a good life here. i love my job at the school. i love my life. i love eddie.'

'don't you want kids of your own? he can't give you that.'

steve scoffs.

'why would i want kids of my own? i didn't exactly have the best parental role models growing up. i'd fuck a kid up, just like you and mom fucked me up. besides, i have my students. that's plenty for me.'

'we gave you everything, steven.'

'everything except your presence. i needed you guys, especially as a teenager. and you guys just... didn't give a shit. why would i want to keep that cycle going?'

the silence in the kitchen is so loud.

'it's late. you should get going. eddie's got work in the morning.'

richard sighs.

'the offer stands. the firm is always there when you're ready.'

'just go. happy father's day.'

it comes out bitter. snappy. steve doesn't apologize.

richard goes. steve stays in the kitchen and tries not to think about it. he pops open a second bottle of wine - cheap, sweet, white, the kind of wine his father would mock him for drinking if he gave him half a chance.

he feels stupid for thinking his father could change, for thinking it could ever be different. people his dad's age are so stuck in their ways that there's no getting through to them. it's not easy but it's reality.

after wayne leaves, eddie comes into the kitchen to join steve and pour himself a glass of that cheap riesling steve's been working his way through. he doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. ozzy curls up at steve's feet and the three of them sit together in a comfortable silence. eddie holds steve's hand atop the table.

at least steve isn't lonely anymore.

#bee's blurbs #steddie #steve's complicated relationship with his dad #idk man father's day is weird when the only thing ur dad ever taught u was how to live without him i guess #hope everyone w complicated feelings abt today takes it easy <33

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patrollingboston · 3 months

Note

*turns on the megaphone*

Simon and his wifey have disaster twins!

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

Double Trouble // Simon x Reader fluff

Thank you for your request! I wanted to include their reactions to finding out as well as a glimpse into daily life for them. Hope you enjoy!

Simon and you had been married for 4 years. It wasn’t a normal marriage by any means, he was often deployed leaving you to amble through life without him by your side for most months of the year. You didn’t mind your own company, you met up with friends and family regularly, caring for yours and Simon’s cat counting down the days until he was home again. It was a quiet and lonely life at times but you understood how much his career meant to him, this was all until one specific night you and Simon shared together landing you in a hospital room at your 12-week pregnancy scan.

“You, okay?”

Simon asked, his deep voice echoing through the eerily clinicals walls as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder reassuringly. You laid on the bed, the paper scrunching up underneath your back as you waited anxiously for the Doctor to return.

“I’m alright, just a bit jittery.”

You replied giving an uncertain smile towards him, he had managed to get a few days off of work so he could accompany you to the scan. Today was the day you found out the gender of your baby, you and Simon agreed it was best to know now so you could both prepare.

“Right! We all ready in here?”

The doctor came charging back in the room pushing the thick wooden door closed behind her, she sat herself on a stool and wheeled over to you laying on the bed.

“Think so.”

You said with a smile, looking up and making eye contact with Simon. The doctor rolled up your t shirt exposing your stomach to the cold hospital air.

“Are we wanting to know if it’s a boy or girl today?”

She said, squeezing the gel onto your stomach the temperature startling you.

“Uh yes we would like to know.”

Simon spoke up his eyes fixed on the little tv screen the Doctor had wheeled over towards the two of you.

“Can you hear the heartbeat?”

The two of you nodded in sync as you heard the familiar rumble erupt from the machine before a second sounding noise adjoined it.

“What’s the other noise?”

You asked curiously, peeking your head up to get a closer look at the monitor.

“That is uh.. a second heartbeat. You are having healthy twins how wonderful! Can you see baby number 2 hidden in the back there?”

“Wait what?”

Simon said, his demeanour going from relaxed to suddenly tensing up, his grip on your shoulder becoming tighter.

“Twins, see?”

“You’re serious?”

You said now sitting up fully to inspect the monitor, half of you believed this Doctor was speaking nonsense until your eyes saw a second shadow on the tv. Feeling overwhelmed your eyes began to well up, you reached your hand up to grab Simon’s arm for support.

“Fully, would you like to know the genders?”

You both nodded once again.

“In my opinion it looks like two baby girls.”

You slapped a hand to your chest making an ‘awh’ sound, you had always wanted a daughter, now you were going to have two at once. Simon, who was not saying a word, continued to stare at the monitor in amazement.

“We are having twin girls?”

He finally spoke up, clearing his throat and turning to face you. In that moment you both felt such gratitude and shock for the news of two healthy baby girls that you both forgot about the logistics of the entire situation for a few moments.

One year later

“Si, can you bring me a tea towel she’s chucked tomato sauce in my eye.”

You yelled through the kitchen as you dabbed your face, sauce dripping down onto your t shirt as your baby Emily giggled sat in her highchair in the background.

“I can’t love, Chloe’s got a hold of my phone and won’t give it up.”

Simon yelled back from the living room sounding out of breath followed by a few crashing sounds as you assumed he was chasing Chloe round for his phone back. The twins had just learned to walk, and throw apparently causing a nightmare for the both of you.

Simon had returned from deployment a few weeks ago, he was descended straight into the chaos of raising your two twins. You stumbled blindly round the kitchen trying to find something to wipe your face on as you heard the pitter patter of feet coming towards you.

“Mama look.”

Chloe gurgled handing you what you assumed was Simon’s phone.

“What have we said about taking people’s things hey?”

You said in a sterner tone, Simon following into the kitchen behind. You handed him his phone back and he slid it back into his pocket before grabbing a square of kitchen roll and wiping your face for you.

“And you, what have we said about throwing stuff?”

He asked in a soft tone towards your daughter Emily, who was still finding the situation hilarious. He stepped over Chloe who was now playing sat on the kitchen tiles with the cat before reaching his arms out and scooping Emily up in them.

“I’m so glad to have you back Si.”

You said, exhaustion creeping throughout your brain as you rubbed your temples.

“I’ve missed my girls too.”

He said a wide smile spreading across his cheeks as he looked at his daughter placed upon his hip and then towards Chloe sat on the floor. It was a chaotic life for you two currently, but it was yours and no one else’s and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

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soulofapatrick · 9 months

Text

Freeze Time - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: Late night noodles leads to blowjobs

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: blowjobs; gay; semi-smut; fluff

Notes: I have no idea how noodles led to a blowjob but enjoy

Y/N’s POV

The White House is a far cry from the familiarity and grandeur of Kensington Palace. As I walk in, I’m immediately struck by its simplicity and functionality. The walls are painted a clean, crisp white, and the countertops gleam under the bright overhead lights. The stainless steel appliances stand in stark contrast to the ornate furnishings I’m accustom to at home. The kitchen is spacious, with enough room for a team of chefs to prepare meals for the First Family and their guests. It’s well-organised space, with pots and pans neatly hung on the walls, and a long island in the centre where ingredients are laid out for easy access. It feels more like a professional culinary workspace than a royal palace kitchen.

I pull out a stool and take a seat at the island, the cool surface beneath my hands a stark reminder that I’m far from the comforts of Kensington. The White House kitchen is an oasis of tranquility compared to the perpetual hustle and bustle of Kensington Palace. Here, in the heart of American power, the quietude is striking. The silence is almost reverent, as if the walls themselves are whispering tales of history and diplomacy.

Gone are the echoes of footfalls and the distant hum of activity that I’ve grown so accustomed to the corridors of Kensington. In this austere American kitchen, the only sounds that break the silence are the gentle clinking of utensils and the soft sizzle of something cooking on the stove. One lonely cook stays behind, making me some noodles with a soft smile on her face as if she loves her job more than anything else. It’s a stark contrast to the constant movement and chatter that fills the air at home.

One lonely cook stays behind, her presence a reassuring island in the sea of quietude. She moves with a graceful efficiency, her every action precise and deliberate. Her eyes meet mine, and there's a warmth in her gaze, as if she finds solace in her solitary late-night task. It's as though she loves her job more than anything else, and in that moment, I can't help but admire her dedication.

With a soft smile, she places a steaming bowl of chicken ramen in front of me. The aroma is intoxicating, the rich scent of broth mingling with the savoury notes of chicken and herbs. The steam curls upwards, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace, dispelling the chill that had settled in my bones.

I thank her, and she nods before retreating, her footsteps fading into the background as she leaves me alone with the bowl of ramen. As I take the first bite, the flavours explode in my mouth, each ingredient perfectly balanced. The noodles are tender but still have a satisfying bite, and the brother is a symphony of umami, with hints of soy sauce and ginger. It’s a taste of comfort, a reminder of being home and having late night meals with Henry and Bea, and I savour it with every spoonful.

Just as I’m lost in the delicious embrace of the ramen, I hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching. I turn to see Alex, my heart quickening at the sight of him. His disheveled hair and causal attire are a stark contrast to the polished image he presents to the world. In this quiet, intimate moment, he’s just Alex.

He smiles as he approaches, his eyes lighting up when he sees the ramen in front of me, ‘Late night noodles, huh?”

As Alex takes a seat beside me, our shoulders brushing against each other, a warm and tingling sensation spreads through me. It’s as if the simple act of siting next to each other has the poser to chase away any lingering shadows of loneliness or uncertainty. In this moment, the world outside the White House kitchen fades into insignificance, and it’s just the two of us. I watch him with a fondness that never seems to wane, even after all this time. His disheveled hair, slightly tousled from the busy day, only adds to his charm. Gone is the meticulously styles appearance he wears for public events, replaced by a more relaxed and authentic version of Alex.

He shoots me a mischievous grin as he reaches for a fork and playfully swipes a mouthful of my ramen. His russet eyes meet mine, and there’s a spark of playful flirtation in them, a reminder of the chemistry that has always crackles between us, “Late night noodles are elite.”

His presence is magnetic, drawing me closer despite the narrow divide between us. I catch a whiff of his familiar scent, a combination of his cologne and the subtle traces of the day’s activities. It’s a scent that’s uniquely his, comforting and inviting.

As our knees touch under the table, he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to my ear, “You know, Y/N.” He murmurs, his voice a velvety whisper that sends shivers down my spine, hand large hand falling to my thigh and sending a jolt through me, “I’ve always thought you look especially irresistible when you're enjoying a good bowl of ramen.”

As my cheeks burn with the heat of Alex’s bold statement, his large, warm hand finds its way to my thigh, sending an electrifying jolt through my body. The intimacy of the touch sends my heart racing, and I can’t help but respond to the magnetic pull between us. I turn to him, my breath hitching as I lock eyes with him again. The velvety timbre of his voice still lingers in my ears, and the unspoken desire smoulders in the air. There’s a raw and undeniable chemistry that has always existed between us, and in this moment, it’s impossible to resist.

With shared intent, we finish the last bites of the ramen, the flavours a backdrop to the escalating tension between us. As the empty bowl is set aside, Alex’s lips find their way to my neck, leaving soft, tentative kisses in their wake. My skin tingles with each gentle press of his lips, and I can feel his warm breath against my sensitive flesh.

My fingers find their way into his hair, entwining in the soft strands. With a desperate urgently, I yank him closer, my lips seeking his in a kiss that’s fierce and unrelenting. Our mouths crash together, a tumultuous storm of longing and desire. The taste of ramen lingers on our lips as we devour each other, the tension that had simmered between us now ignited into a passionate blaze. His tongue brushes against my bottom lip, seeking entrance, and I part my lips eagerly, granting him access. The sensation of his tongue mingling with mine sends a shiver down my spine, and I respond in kind, our mouths locked in a passionate dance that knows no restraint.

But the, as if overcome by a sudden burst of desire and urgency, Alex pulls away, his eyes dark and smouldering. He murmurs huskily, his voice laced with longing, “We should take this to the bedroom.”

His words send a jolt of anticipation through me, and before I can even respond, he grabs my hand with an eagerness that matches my own. Without hesitation, we sprint down the quiet halls of the White House, our footsteps echoing almost too loud in the stillness of the night. Up the stairs we go, each step bringing us closer and closer to his room. The thrill of our urgency intensifies with each step up the grand staircase, my heart racing in tandem with our hurried ascent. The quiet elegance of the White House feels worlds away as we sprint through its hallowed halls, driven by an irresistible need for each other.

As we reach his bedroom door, Alex doesn’t waste a moment. With a fiery passion that mirrors my own, he shoves me gently against the wall, his lips crashing onto mine in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless and dizzy. It’s a kiss that tastes of desire, need, and the years of longing we’ve shared. Our lips move fervently against each other's, a symphony of heat and hunger, and in this stolen moment, I can't help but marvel at the intensity of our connection

With a deft hand, Alex fumbles for the doorknob, his urgency clear as he pushes it open and ushers me inside the bedroom. The soft lamplight casts a warm glow, revealing a room that is very much Alex. Before I can really take in the room Alex’s lips claim mine and he’s guiding me backwards until my thighs hit his bed, and we tumble down together in a tangle of limbs.

Giggle and gasps escape our lips as we fall onto the soft mattress, the weight of Alex landing on top of me. The bed dips beneath us, and we’re a mess of arms and legs, tangled together in our fervour. The laughter that bubbles up between kisses is infectious, a testament to the joy the fills our hearts in these stolen moments of intimacy. Alex’s hands start their slow descent. With a deliberate slowness that heightens the anticipation, his fingers deftly unbutton my shirt, one button at a time, each revealing a bit more of my skin beneath.

His lips, still flushed with desire and tasting of the sweet promise of our connection, following the path his hands take. They leave a trail of delicate kisses along my chest, the warmth of his mouth igniting a fire within me. It’s as if each kiss is a silent declaration of his love and longing, a testament to the tenderness we share.

With a final, lingering kiss at my navel, Alex’s attention shifts lower. His fingers dance skilfully over the button of my jeans, and he slowly, tantalisingly, eases them open. The fabric gives way, revealing the growing desire that has been building beneath. It draws a gasp from me when he traces a line of hot, moist kisses along the exposed skin of my hips, his breath coming in soft pants against my flesh. I raise my hips slightly to aid n their removal, allowing him to slide them down my legs and cast them aside, leaving me in just my boxers before him.

With a gaze that’s both intense and loving, Alex takes in the sight before him. His russet eyes are almost black as they slide over my body as if I was carved by gods, settling on the bulge in my boxers that is nowhere near going away, especially when he looks at me like that, his hunger palpable. But he doesn’t rush. Instead, he savours the moment, the intimacy.

His lips, warm and moist, continue their journey upward, tracing a path of kisses up my inner thighs. Each touch is a delicate caress, a testament to the desire that courses through our veins. The sensation of his breath against my flesh sends a thrill of excitement through me, and I arch my back, offering myself to him without reservation. That’s all it takes for him to practically rip my boxers down my legs and throwing them aside. I raise myself to my elbows to watch him, watching the way his face as he stares my throbbing erection, pressed against my stomach. Lust glimmers in his eyes, the intensity of his desire reflected in their depth. His love for me is evident in the tenderness of his touch, and there’s an unspoken promise that goes beyond physical.

But I also see something else in his eyes, a hint of fear and nervousness that tugs at my heart. It’s as if he’s baring not just his body but his soul, and the vulnerability of the moment weighs heavily on him. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet mine.

“You don’t have-“ I can’t even finish the sentence, my breath gets stuck in my throat as he licks a bold stripe up the underside of my dick. His large hands are gripping my hips, rubbing soothing circles into the skin before he kisses the head and I think I die a little. My hands find comfort in his hair, tangling in those dark locks as he goes at his own pace, lips feeling heavenly. He closes his lips around the head, dragging his tongue excessively over the tip, where pre-cum has been dribbling across my lower stomach, drawing an embarrassing sound from my throat. He doesn’t move, just keeps his lips there and I want to push him down but this is… I don’t want to rush Alex.

“A-Alex please,” I’m whining and the fucker pulls his lips away, looking up at me through those pretty eyelashes, lips parted in a teasing grin, “Stop teasing me.” I’m growling out, gripping his hair almost painfully tight and his eyes flutter for a moment as a sound rumbles in his chest. He meets my gaze and lets his mouth drop open, eyes daring me to do my worst and I think I may have just come then and there. I pull him down the same time I raise my hips, head flying back against the pillows when his throat constricts around me and he lets out a choked sound.

That’s all he needs to take control, hands finding my hips and gripping hard enough to promise bruises in the morning as he finds a steady rhythm and I loosen my grip on his hair, letting him set the pace. That pit in my stomach starting to tighten and my hips jerk as much as his hands allow, his tongue doing dirty dirty things, making my thighs tighten around his shoulders.

“A-Alex-“ I tug on his hair in warning and instead of pulling off he loosens his throat and fuck, that’s all it takes. I’m spurting white hot ropes down his throat, his name dying in my throat as my hips jerk and my thighs shake. He stays there, mouth open, lips flush and looking up at me with the most innocent eyes as if he isn’t currently blowing one of the Princes of England.

I finally let his hair go, letting him pull away and expecting him to go spit in the toilet but instead he’s swallowing and licking his lips, a knowing grin on his face.

“We should have done that much sooner.” He’s murmuring, chest heaving a little and all I can do is stare at him, brain fogged with everything Alex. The way he’s leaning over me, fingers brushing over my cheek gently and a look in his eyes that I always want to see. It's not quite love in its full bloom, but it's on its way there, and I want nothing more than to stay in this moment forever.

“Can we just freeze time?” I whispers he words escaping before I can even think, fingers playing with the soft tufts of hair at the base of his scalp.

Alex’s smile in response is like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. It’s a smile that makes my heart swell with warmth and happiness, a smile that reassures me that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. And then, without a word, his lips find mine in a kiss that speaks of everything we are and everything we’re becoming, a kiss that leaves me breathless and yearning for more.

Tears spring to my eyes as our lips part, the intensity of the kiss leaving me emotionally overwhelmed. Alex, ever attuned to my feelings, brushes one the tears away with his thumb, his touch gentle and reassuring. His voice is a soft murmur against my ear as he whispers, “Sure, we can freeze time for a while.”

It’s a promise and it soothes the storm of emotions raging within me. With a tenderness that speaks of his devotion to me, he shifts to lays beside me, our bodies pressed close. His forehead meets my cheek, a gesture of affection that feels like a warm embrace and he’s pulling the duvet over us, “We’ll freeze time for as long as you like.”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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rottenpumpkin13 · 1 month

Note

TW: PANIC ATTACK

hiya!! I've kind of been wondering, because Genesis can be all sorts of crazy sauce emotionally, what are some things that would cause him a panic attack, and how would he be during?

and Sephiroth/Angeal would absolutely tak care of him no matter what ♥️♥️

brought to you by my own sensory issues during a school assembly making me cry

lots and lots of love!

Genesis has a funny relationship with anxiety, because while he often feels anxious, he portrays himself as always composed and unbothered, as if nothing could break him, when that couldn't be further from the truth.

• Being perceived as anything other than strong is a source of anxiety for him. He has no problem feeling 100 eyes on him in a crowded room so long as they're admiring him. Turn those gazes analytical, laced with pity or hatred, and Genesis feels entirely naked. His heart races, he shifts in place, begins to look uncomfortable, which in turn attracts more eyes on him. The overthinking comes quickly, as do the reasons why they hate him. He has a readily available list in his mind he pulls out whenever he feels at his worst. It's the way he looks; if only he looked better. It's the medals around his neck, not enough next to Sephiroth. Sephiroth has more. Sephiroth always has more. It's his voice, he's been told it sounds annoying before. Maybe he should be speaking less. Or maybe they hate him because they see right through what he is—an insecure, lonely person who will never be enough no matter how much he tries.

• Genesis has a lot of anxiety surrounding the book(s) he always carried around. While part of the reason he has so many copies of Loveless stems from his love for the epic, he doesn't like losing things he loves. So he makes sure he always has two of the things he loves. Two of his favorite pen, two of his red coat, two of the same sunglasses....he was so glad the day Sephiroth became his friend. Now he had two best friends. That way, if one fell or flew away, he wouldn't be alone. The only thing he cannot have two of is his first and most annotated copy of Loveless he's had since he was a child. He treasures it greatly, but every time he loses it, Genesis thinks he's dying.

His fingers are numb and static beneath his leather gloves, the tears hot as they pour down his face, heart beating fast as he tries to collect his thoughts long enough to focus. His office door is shut and locked, so no one walks in on him like this, wiping his nose and hyperventilating as he pulls open drawers in hopes of seeing his book. When he sees it—nestled under a stack of documents, he collapses onto his chair, clutching the book close as he sobs. He feels ridiculous, in part because he didn't see it laying there sooner, but mostly because he lets it have control over him.

• Genesis is used to being sick, but that doesn't mean it doesn't bother him. His immune system has improved greatly, and was much worse when he was a child, but it's still significantly weaker than the others. A flu that would be a mild inconvenience to Sephiroth and Angeal leaves Genesis bedridden and severely ill. The first day of being sick is the worst for him, the moment he first realizes he'll be away from SOLDIER for days and will be talked about. He's riddled with anxiety over what they'll say.

He thinks—no, he knows that they'll compare him to Sephiroth. They'll question why Genesis is always sick, why his health is never perfect, and why it takes Genesis days to recover from an injury that would be nothing to the others. And then there's the illness itself. He never knows what's coming. Will it be serious? Will it evolve into something serious? Will he survive?

The first day of any illness is when Genesis finds himself curled into a ball on his bathroom floor, biting the color of his shirt to keep himself from hyperventilating, his vision blurred from tears, wondering why he couldn't be normal.

• There's one thing that's guaranteed to send Genesis spiralling into an immediate panic attack no matter who he's with or where he is. It's not something he can control (he's tried). Sephiroth and Angeal are talking. Genesis is in between them (he's placed himself there to guarantee that he'll have a place in their conversation). But they're not responding to him. Genesis levels with them at first. His words are bold, he likes the shock value.

His jokes aren't the kindest. He's not a negative person, but he loves to complain. They dismiss his words and roll their eyes, as if to say "There goes Genesis again." He wanted to know if they wanted to go see a screening of Loveless with him the next weekend, but they talked right over him. Genesis feels smaller and smaller as Sephiroth and Angeal, and not even shouting Loveless quotes at the top of his lungs will be enough to grab their attention. He's not sure they're doing it on purpose. So he sits there, listening to his friends laugh, acting as if he isn't there.

Genesis can't take it. The tears are spilling before he can wipe them away, so he covers his face with his hands and lets himself cry. Sephiroth and Angeal notice and stop talking immediately.

• They're quick to realize where they went wrong, and even quicker to pull Genesis in and apologize profusely, assuring him that they weren't doing it on purpose and never intend to hurt him on purpose. Angeal has Genesis wrapped in a hug that buries his head in his chest. Genesis is still crying, softer now but still clearly upset. Sephiroth joins, sandwiching Genesis as he hugs him from behind. They're both whispering apologies and soft words to him as they let him cry.

Now Genesis feels embarrassed that he's crying and being cared for, which makes him even more anxious. Still trembling, he tries to pull himself away, but they don't let him. Sephiroth holds him tighter, and Angeal starts blowing on his face to cool him off, gently brushing the hair from his eyes. Sephiroth tells him to take deep breaths and slowly count as high as he can.

Genesis gets to 69 when Angeal snorts involuntarily. This catches Genesis completely off guard. Soon all three of them are doubled over laughing.

Angeal's spontaneous humor of a fifth grader is just what Genesis needed to be distracted from what upset him in the first place.

When he's calm enough to speak, Sephiroth and Angeal make him sit down between them again. This time Angeal is rubbing soothing circles on his back, and Sephiroth is holding his hand, lightly squeezing. They want him to explain all that cause potential panic attacks so they can help him avoid them, and be there for him in the future so he won't have to suffer alone.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #headcanons

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thebibutterflyao3 · 5 months

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Day 21 - Prompt: Brink @jegulus-microfic

December Daily Series - 498 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

James spent his entire life as an only child with no one to share the undivided attention of his parents with. For most of that time, he loved it. Ranging from loving acceptance, concern, and playful teasing, his parents were brilliant.

There were times when he wished at least some of that attention was shared. Times when he was in trouble or lonely or on the brink of a meltdown. Times like now, when he was eating lunch with his parents after Sirius and Regulus left for a heart-to-heart “brotherly bonding” pub run. James alone was faced with the task of explaining why the three of them were acting so strangely.

“So, you found Regulus,” his father prompted, circling his fork for him to continue.

“Yeah. He was at the beach talking to…a new friend.”

“That’s good! Isn’t that good, Jamie?” his mother asked, watching him closely.

James nodded at his plate of rarebit, shoveling another slice into his mouth as an excuse to avoid answering. Cheesy over-easy egg on toast was an ideal comfort food. Even the slice of tomato on top hadn’t caused him to hesitate. The dish was delicious, he was sure, but he couldn’t taste much at the moment.

“Is this ‘new friend’ the reason Sirius and Regulus didn’t join us for lunch?” she asked, nodding at the empty seats beside him.

He swallowed hard, then shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Jamie, is there anything we should know?”

This was it. The opportunity to explain everything without anyone butting in, and it was laid out before him like a treasure map with a giant red ‘X’ on “come clean.” Yet, the words stuck to the roof of his mouth along with the mustard sauce.

He knew he was procrastinating again, but he couldn’t help it. While his parents weren’t the judgemental sort, they could still be disappointed. James hated disappointing them.

“Is it about Regulus? Sirius said you two were arguing earlier,” Effie prodded. “And it was hard to miss your disappearing act over the last few days.”

James sighed as he set the last slice of rarebit back on the plate. “It’s just that I like him…a lot, and I think I pushed him away. I’ve tried subtlety. I’ve tried to be obvious. No matter what I do, he runs away.”

“Are you sure he’s interested in you?” Monty asked pointedly. “Perhaps you should leave it.”

“I tried that too! The ‘disappearing act’ was my attempt to give him and Sirius space.”

“Is that what caused the argument today?” he checked.

James nodded fervently. “He made it clear that he wanted me to stop avoiding him.”

Effie hummed thoughtfully and tapped her lips. It was a tell-tale sign that she was scheming, which should concern him. Given the circumstances though, he was wide open to suggestions.

“I think I have an idea, Jamie. A sure way to tell if your interest is reciprocated,” she said finally.

“Here we go,” Monty huffed.

“We’re going to need a decoy.”

Next Part>>>

#the marauders #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #starchaser #marauders

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bambolinawrites · 2 years

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I caught the L-O-V-E

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x femme!reader (reader has a pussy, uses she/her pronouns and is referred to as a girl/woman)

1.6K words

Synopsis: enemies to lovers, reader wants him but tries to fight it. Set in a quirkless AU where they're in their second year of college. This will have more parts once I write them lol

Warnings: language, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex, f!masturbation, drinking, reader gets drunk, breeding mentions, reader imagines having sex with Bakugou

MINORS DNI

Math should be illegal; you think to yourself as you toss your maths book and pencil across the room. You're in college, why should you have to learn trigonometry? You're never going to use it.

You groan and lean back in your chair, cracking your knuckles behind your head. There's a weird stain on the ceiling that's been there since you moved in, you and Ochako used to lie on the floor and try and guess where it came from. You'd joke about how it kind of looked like Aizawa when he used his powers.

There hasn't been a lot of joking going on lately. Both you and Ochako are so stressed about the exams you've hardly said two words to each other, if you're honest you kind of miss her. Ochako is the first real friend you've ever had, spending most of your childhood and teenage years alone in your bedroom reading and playing with your gerbils, Dasher and Dancer. Now you feel like that same lonely kid again.

A knock on the door drags you out of your thoughts and you get up to answer it before you can get too sad. You leave your books (minus your maths book) on the kitchen table and pad barefoot towards the door to your apartment. You and Ochako decided to move off campus for your second year so you could feel more independent. Also, because it was cheaper.

You swing open the door expecting to see Izuku, Ochako's kind-of-but-not-really boyfriend. Instead, the doorway is taken up by a muscular, and kind of angry looking blonde. In jeans and a black tank top that showed off his huge biceps, his spikey hair falling in his face, his vermillion eyes trained on you. He may be the most attractive man you have ever seen.

You know who he is obviously, Katsuki Bakugou. You've seen him hanging around Kirishima and the other 'frat bros'. He's supposed to be one of the smartest in your college, always coming in the top 5. From what Ochako's said, he's slept with every girl on campus too.

"You gonna keep starin' at me, sweetheart, or are ya gonna invite me in?"

His slightly irritated voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realise you've been staring at him this entire time. Your cheeks flush red and you babble apologies as you step to the side to allow him to come in. You figure he's probably here for Ochako and hope he's not a serial killer.

"Need to speak to Ochako, go get her." He demands as if you're a waitress who got his order wrong. You're taken aback by his tone but decide to ignore it.

"She's not here." You say, folding your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the stain on your hoodie. You think it's pizza sauce but can't be sure. You can't study without this hoodie and lately all you've been doing is studying so it's been a while since it's seen a washing machine.

"What do you mean 'she's not here'. She's supposed to help me with something now go get her." He snaps at you. You blink at the aggression and straighten your back.

"I told you; I can't go get her. She isn't here." You seethe trying to stay calm. Bakugou steps forwards and you resist the urge to shy away. He stops when you're practically nose to nose and you can see him clench his jaw in frustration.

"Well, where the fuck is she then?" He barks, so close you can smell his toothpaste and aftershave. Mint and burnt sugar. You tilt your chin up and glare back at him. There is no way in hell you are going to let a man talk to you like that in your own damn house.

"I don't know where she is, but you can go and wait for her somewhere else." You grab his vest and begin to drag him towards the door. His eyes widen in surprise and you've no doubt that's the only reason he lets you drag him.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" He looks utterly bewildered, like he's never heard the word no once in his life. It would be comical if you weren't so pissed off.

"I'm kicking you out. This is my house and I'll be dammed if I let a man walk all over me in it." With that you give him one last push out the front door and slam it in his face, slipping the chain on the hook for good measure.

When Ochako gets back and you explain everything she laughs for a good twenty minutes straight. You were afraid she might be mad at you but she seems delighted.

"You're definitely not mad?" You check when she calms down. She lets out another soft giggle and shakes her head.

"Hey, I'm just glad someone finally put him in his place." And then she's in hysterics again and you can't fight the grin that spreads across your face.

You don't see Bakugou again until Ochako drags you to a party under the guise of 'letting off steam' when you know all she really wants is to see Izuku. You pull on a tight black dress that shows off a lot more cleavage than your used to and follow her to the party anyway.

It's at the same dumb frat house Bakugou lives at but you honestly couldn't care less. And yes, maybe part of that is the vodka shots you, Ochako and Izuku did before you left but part of it is also because you refuse to be afraid of a man like Bakugou.

You walk through the doors and the music is so loud you can feel it in your chest. Weirdly, you kind of like it. Ochako and Izuku immediately disappear to God knows where but you try not to mind. You think they're cute together and you want Ochako to be happy, even if that means leaving you on your own.

You make your way to the kitchen and pour yourself a vodka coke, classic and it'll get the job done is what you think. You lean against the counter and survey the scene before you. This isn't the first party you've been to but it's definitely the biggest. From here you can see at least two people having sex, three doing drugs, at least seven people passed out and someone doing the macarena to a Nicki Minaj song. The whole scene makes you want to laugh.

You haven't seen Bakugou yet, not that you've been looking for him. It's just that if you'd seen him, you definitely would've recognised him. But you definitely weren't looking. You take a sip of your drink.

A while later, when you're drunk enough to forget any anxiety, someone changes the track in the middle of some indie slow song with misogynistic overtones and Sabrina Carpenter’s Nonsense comes on and you let out a little squeal. This song has been your obsession as of late.

You abandon your cup and run into the living room and start dancing. You've never been a particularly good dancer, far too clumsy for that but the alcohol makes you forget that and your start to have fun for the first time all night. Maybe all year.

You're still dancing wildly three songs later when you smack into the wooden coffee table and start to fall over. You feel a strong pair of hands grab you by the waist and right you on your feet. You spin round a little too quickly with the intention of thanking the person but you wobble a little and they have to right you again.

You giggle and look up, your eyes meeting a familiar pair of vermillion eyes. You gasp a little and then curse yourself for being stupid. It's his house, of course he was going to be here. Before you can say anything, Bakugou smirks at you, his large hands still on your waist, squeezing slightly.

"You should be more careful, doll." He chides and then walks away. You watch him disappear somewhere in the crowd and leave you wondering what the fuck just happened.

You go home that night, tipsy and still thinking about Bakugou and his big, strong hands. You own hands make their way down your body and below the waistband of your pyjamas. Your mind cloudy with thoughts of Bakugou's much thicker fingers, the cocky smirk on his face that makes you think he'd know exactly how to handle you.

You rub slow circles on your clit and close your eyes, imagining it was him touching you instead. You think about the way it felt when he touched you, the burnt sugar smell of him, the way his eyes lingered on the low neck of your dress. You wonder how many girls he’s actually been with. Whether he actually knows what he’s doing. You wonder how big he is. His frame is huge, broad shoulders, rippling muscles, more than double your size so he must be big.

You think about his mouth, how good it would feel to have him between your legs, strong hands gripping your thighs while he laps at your clit.

You’re arching off the bed, fingers swirling faster and faster on your sticky, wet heat. Other hand under your shirt to play with your nipples, tugging and pinching them just the way you like. You try hard to stay quiet but the thought of what Bakugou could do to you, what you want him to do to you, has you crying out so loud you’re certain everyone in the building heard. You don’t have it in you to care though as you’re hurtling towards your release.

The thought that makes you come undone is picturing how pretty he’d look when he cums. Brows furrowed, lips bitten and falling into a pretty O shape, moaning your name as he cums deep inside you.

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

Hi, I hope you enjoyed! I will definitly be making more parts to this as I see this as a whole enemies to lovers fic. Likes and rb's appreciated, let me know what you think!

#bambolina writes #katsuki #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki smut #bakugou smut #katsuki x f!reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #mha fic #mha smut #mha x y/n

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maxidentscene · 1 year

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very small skz comfort things bc i’m sad

chan giving you a few back rubs because that’s just how he has always consoled those around him, rubbing circles into your skin with the palm of his hand as a way to ground you and let you know that he’s there to stay

lee know staying quiet when he hears you express all of your deepest concerns and worries, not once butting in and giving you unwanted advice, simply existing and nodding to let you know that he was listening to every word you said

changbin helping you get up and perform daily activities such as laundry and shopping for essentials just because he knows that it can be hard to dig yourself out of a slump when you’re so deep, he wants his encouragement to mean the world to you

hyunjin being a homebody and keeping you company even when all you do is sit in silence, finding things to busy himself with but still being present because he believes that it’s no good if a soul feels lonely. that’s the last thing he would want for you

han wrapping you up in blankets, turning the fan on and snuggling into your side. maybe even popping a wax melt inside of a burner so that the room can fill with the scent of cookies or pie or whatever your heart desires

felix propping your head onto his arm and scrolling through his phone, teaching you about all of his hobbies because he’s sure that the more he can engage you in conversation, the less sad that your mind will make you

seungmin making you go for a walk if you’re feeling up for it, not letting you leave the house without being bundled up in his strongest jersey jacket, keeping his hand tucked into yours as you welcome the fresh air into your lungs

jeongin bringing home a hefty bag of greasy, unhealthy takeout with no warning, eagerly setting the dining room table with forks and sauce packets and plates, making sure to put extra ice in your drink before letting you sit down

#idk it’s not really a proper post #skz x reader #stray kids x reader

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steviewashere · 6 months

Text

Decorate My Silence While I Figure Out How to Breathe

(also on ao3)

CW: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide in a Minor Character, Self-Harm (Without Realizing That's What it is) This is rated mature on ao3 for a handful of reasons, including the content warning. Please take caution and care for yourself.

wc: 10,624 (I know, it's a doozy), Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Season 4, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Steve Harrington is a Mess, Self-Hatred, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing/Washing, Steve Harrington Has Shit Parents

(I apologize for how long this is, but I just don't feel comfortable separating it into different posts.)

Heed tags and all content warnings, please!

—

The night was silent. Except for the wind. It was whispering in Steve's ears. Muttering soft things, soothing him, blowing air back into his lungs.

He's sitting in his backyard. On his diving board. Jeans cuffed to mid-calf, feet dangling in the cold water, beer between his hands—it wasn't cold at all, pulled straight from the box and warmed with the setting sun. He watched it disappear over the horizon, dipping down between the trees, tucking itself into the soil. He wishes he could do that. Maybe if he could mingle with the worms and the centipedes and the forgotten pinecones, the night wouldn't seem so lonely.

It's July 1st, 1986. Steve's anticipating the onslaught of fireworks. Waiting for the hissing of fuses, billowing of smoke, and shout of color overhead. Over the last week, he's kept his ears on high alert.

In case, he tells himself.

Though it's silent, with the wind brushing against his back, he can hear a heavy accent spitting words between his eyes. Can feel blossoming bruises and fresh, dripping blood. Crunchy hair stuck to his tacky cheeks. Burns across his body from what kept him tied up to Robin.

Speaking of Robin, he wonders how she's doing. What she's doing. Her parents ushered her out of Hawkins to a lake trip. He hopes she can still call. Her voice is constant when he's so absent to the world. Maybe she's in the wind. Maybe she never really left. Maybe she's just as bad off as he is.

He shutters when the wind stops teasing his spine.

It's late. The sun is asleep. His feet are numb from the water. And the beer has been sipped once.

He's not really a beer drinker anymore, not since Barb's death. How did I get here, he wonders.

Steve is sitting alone in his backyard, staring down a beer tab, longing to go under the freshly cleaned water, and sink to the bottom. Lonely and tired and desperate for the phantom touches to go away, that's his life post-Upside Down.

He sips his beer. It fizzes against his lips and leaves a sticky trail under his nose. Drips down his Cupid's bow. Trails across his wobbling lower lip and chin. Then, it settles atop his thumbs, not tracing along the ridge of the can. Sharp under his fingertips, scraping across the sensitive skin, giving him a taste of muted pain.

Terribly he wonders, If I dug a little deeper across the rim, would I bleed? (Maybe he should put the beer away, drain it into the pool, and let it swirl across the surface.) Would I bleed? Would I seduce the monsters below me? Could I be nothing just for the next few days?

He takes a deep breath. Lets it fill out like a balloon and pop between him and the gravestone embracing his feet.

It's late and Steve is tired. Stuck in a dredge as sticky and lukewarm as the beer in his hand. The silver spoon he ate from as a kid digging into his sternum, melon-balling his cigarette stained lungs and beaten, but broken heart, ladling his blood like pasta sauce, and pouring it across the world for all of Hawkins to see. For the demogorgons to taste. For the people he calls his friends to stumble upon, gag over because it's the essence of Steve Harrington spattered across the poolside, and scrub at like taping over a wedding video.

He aches and sizzles. Burns and shrivels. Drinks and drowns.

Nothing bad is going to happen again. Nothing as dangerous as having to pull Eddie Munson from the Upside Down, protect Robin Buckley from Russians with sharp teeth and blunt force, save young Lucas Sinclair from Billy Hargrove, and defend oneself from being eaten alive—by bats and friends and own self-hatred.

Nothing terrible is going to happen again. So, why does Steve Harrington want to throw himself into danger so bad, why does he yearn for it, why can't he feel bad for himself? What does he do if the person he needs to protect the world from is him?

Let the fireworks come, Steve threatens. Let them rain upon me. I can't care anymore.

---- Steve wakes up in his bed the next morning. Unaware of how he even got to his room.

The sunlight is pouring through his window, spilling across the carpet, and staining his duvet. It's warm. Makes his skin itch and burn.

He's still tired, he finds. Aches erupt behind his eyes, under his thumbs, across his cheekbones. Fresh bruises. Belts digging into skin. Blood across his drooping eyelids. Everything hurts and tenses and rips into him.

The spoon digs deeper. Closer to his bare back. Travels to the bottom of his ribs. Scrapes against every bone in his abdomen, squelches every inch of his intestines. He wants to scream, but the energy to pull sound from his lungs hurts.

In the sun drenched room, warmed by rays and birdsong and gentle sway of trees, Steve wants to disappear into the world. Melt into his mattress, if possible. He wants to sit straight in his bed, hands cupping under his chin, mouth gaping with saliva, and project acrid yellowish beige puke across his fingers, escaping through the gaps to his lap. Wants to sit in the mess for a long while and realize, there's no point in cleaning himself up if he's going to do it again.

There's no point in a lot of things post-Vecna. The party is almost the same age he was when all this shit had started, they're about ready to run off and rebel against the damned world they swore to protect. Robin and Nancy and Jonathan are leaving to go to school. Eddie will surely go off and do his own thing, always too big for such a small town. His parents weren't present before and they've already communicated they won't come back.

So where does that leave Steve? The kid who had everything laid out for him. A future promised by his name. Friends who were on par with him; not that his new friends aren't, they just are bigger and better than what he could ever imagine for himself. He doesn't deserve them or this current life he has.

He's decided, he doesn't deserve anything. All his life he's been handed the better deck of cards. Been boasted over. Has been a bully though and through; major aggressions like the breaking of Jonathan's camera, minor aggressions like threatening to knock Dustin's teeth out, a joke that would have never landed. Got Barb killed by his own selfish needs and tired to persuade Nancy to move on; that was too fast and he knows that now. If only I hadn't been so stupid, he muses. Couldn't get into college. Or make his parents proud. Has nearly gotten other people killed too.

I should've died, he laments. Which, shouldn't that be true? The demogorgon in 1983, those demodogs and Billy in '84, Russians in '85, bats and Vecna in '86. He had every chance to get himself killed, to show that he's done his job, that he's taken the hits for the people that mean so much more than whatever pathway he's dug. He couldn't even do that right.

And now...now it's just a countdown to the next thing that could get him killed. Hoping for once, that nobody goes after him or is there to be his aid. To let him slither away, be beaten beyond pulp, and pulled apart like pork. Even then, would his killers be satisfied? But he knows he should die.

Maybe he can conspire that in his bed. Where he doesn't move from. Maybe a stray firework will come crashing through his bedroom window. He hopes that it will explode and drench him in stray fire. Hellfire, drown me in hellfire, he wants to beg to nobody in particular.

Steve rolls to face away from the window. He wraps the blanket tighter over his shoulders and buries his face into the pillow. It smells like night terrors. The skin on his face is slick with sweat. Torso ripped by scars. He doesn't want to move. Isn't hungry. Isn't thirsty. Doesn't want anybody to find him.

He doesn't have much energy, but he forces himself out of bed. Only to go down to his front door, hide the key on his porch, and lock it behind him. He pulls shut all the curtains. Climbs the stairs like a mountain and slams the bedroom door behind him.

In hindsight, maybe he should call someone to say that he's sick or something. That he wants to be left alone. He doesn't though. Maybe he should shower and eat and force himself to have a good day. But he doesn't. Won't.

Can't. That's going to be his favorite word. And who's going to shut him up? Nobody. They can't.

---- It's July 4th.

Steve hasn't left his room in two days. Well, only three times to use the bathroom. But otherwise, he's kept his promise. Successfully made himself a shadow, a silent specter.

When the phone rings, he covers his ears. Everything is so loud, he realizes. The fireworks and neighborhood kids screaming. Cars driving by. Even the smell of smoking barbecues, which really doesn't make sense, but it's so much.

His stomach growls, but his limbs are stiff. Unable to shift and get food. At the very least crackers or soup. Even then, he can't.

Steve's starting to smell ripe. Which is pretty unusual for a guy so high maintenance. The mere thought of standing under a shower stream or having to strip his clothes or having to even turn the bathroom light on is, daunting, to say the least. There's only ten feet between him and the upstairs bathroom and even then, he only goes for emergencies.

With the way he smells, he could envision himself rotting. Turning green from the outside. Turning red and mushy on the inside. If a mirror were placed in front of him, he could watch the way his eyes turn white and glassy. See the areas of his skin that are burned red from the pooling of his blood. He could watch the life literally leave his body. He could watch his body warp into spirit and then continue to haunt his childhood home. I've already rotted, he thinks. I'm already a ghost.

The phone rings and rings. His fingernails dig into the soft flesh around his ears. He pulls at the roots of his hair. Grips to his biceps and squeezes. Makes himself hurt over and over and over again. To escape his senses. To feel something else.

There's an emptiness where his lungs are. It's sucking down every bit of his insides. Enveloping him in a dry-heaved breath. Where he would usually cry and swallow down his guilt over how he's survived, there's nothing. He feels every last awful thing of himself, but not the tears. Can blink and be spitting in Jonathan's face. Take a deep breath and be recommending Tina's party to Nancy. Bite his lip and hear the way Dustin's name spill from his mouth to the Russian bastards. And he can rub across his skin, feel the way his scars aren't as deep as Eddie's. But he can't cry. Can't make himself feel better. And he doesn't know if that'll ever be a possibility for him again, if he's stuck this way. If he'll be forever broken. Ruined.

Because this is new to Steve Harrington. Not once has he ever felt so in the dark about himself. But now that the fights are over and everybody is safe and living as large as possible...Now he's left with what didn't happen, what should've happened, with the question on the tip of his tongue: Why am I still here? And he can feel himself crumble under the weight of his own breath. And though he's miserable, he aches to feel this way forever.

This is karma. This is what he deserves, right?

---- A rustle and drop break Steve out of pulling his hair.

There's something downstairs in his home. It could be a demogorgon or a demodog or a demobat or Vecna. Something dangerous could be lurking in house. But he can't pull himself up to find his nailed bat. Can't come to his dull senses and put his fists in front of his face.

He can't pretend to care.

Footsteps cause a stampede on his stairs. Heavy with each step. Loud on purpose. To alert Steve most likely, but he can't bring himself to be alarmed.

The thing hasn't even made it to his bedroom door. But all he can feel, for once over the last few days, is relieved. This is his moment of release. The moment that should've come during the first Upside Down encounter; Steve Harrington's untimely demise.

He holds his breath. Untangles his fingers and lets them drop across the pillow. He swallows all the saliva pooling in his mouth.

The door swings wide open and a breath is released into the air.

Nothing happens after that. The thing's presence is standing in his doorway, but it doesn't move or breathe or prowl. It assesses, but doesn't do anything else.

Steve doesn't drown in a pool of his blood or get ripped to shreds or strangled by a rope-like tail.

He cracks his eyes open. And there, watching his form, is Eddie Munson.

Eddie's hair is wiled, more untamed than his everyday. Like it was in the Upside Down. As if he fought to get over to Steve's house. His clothes are nothing usual. Sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, Reeboks still on his feet. There isn't a jacket or a vest or several chains. He's normal, regular citizen, must've rolled out of bed, Eddie.

When his eyes finally meet Steve's, he whispers, "Oh, thank God." He even does the Sign of the Cross with his eyes closed, finishing by kissing the edge of his t-shirt's collar, where a cross would lay. His eyes reopen to gaze at Steve once more. "Oh, thank God," he fervently presses into the air.

His eyes are too intense. Steve looks away without speaking. He buries himself further into his blanket and stabs his fingernails back into the meat of his biceps.

Eddie hastily makes his way to the side of the bed that Steve lays on. He slowly crouches down to land on his knees. Brings his hands up to lay on the space between Steve's heated body and the spare room on his mattress. His eyes roam. They map every exposed bit of skin, the drooping, greasy hair, rumpled clothes. He reaches outa hand to lay atop Steve's, to try and pull his fingers away.

Steve flinches backwards and growls, "Don't."

"Okay," Eddie placates. He pulls his hands back towards the edge of the mattress. Lets there be distance between them. Steve hates it, but he can't express that. There's no way he can express anything other than apprehension. "I just," he stammers. "I came to check on you. The backdoor was unlocked. You weren't answering your phone and both Robin and I were getting worried."

His voice is soft and sad and concerned. It makes Steve's skin itch.

"Well, you're here," Steve flatly states. "And I'm alive."

Eddie is taken aback by the tone of his voice. He winces like he was slapped. And maybe the lack of intensity, yet the severe intensity of Steve's voice, really has that power.

"Well apologies, asshole," he spits back. "But when somebody in the group doesn't fucking answer, we tend to get worried. We thought you weren't alive," he barks. He pushes his body up and looms at his full height. With one last look thrown in Steve's vague direction, he makes his way to the door.

Steve knew he couldn't say anything in return. Not yet, at least. Because how would he respond to that? "I wish I was dead. Sorry for worrying you, but I think you'd be terrified to know what I'm thinking about."

So instead of saying something as treacherous as any of those responses, his body betrays him differently.

Right before Eddie crosses the threshold to go back into the hallway and down the stairs, Steve lets out a wounded whimper. He lets several loose into the tense air. Maybe he will cry, he can't, but it could happen, but it can't, and it will, but he so badly wishes it wouldn't.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers over his left shoulder, eyes pierced to where the lump of his friend stiffens with every sound. He feels his heart breaking like a brick wall struck by a wrecking ball. His ribs are collapsing. His heart is sifting through stomach acid to try and float back to his chest.

Steve's body convulses with every breath. He stammers, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry." Over and over until each word is unintelligible. "Don't go," he pleads between each staccato intake.

He feels warmth crowd over him. Like the sun. There's a hand hovering over his shivering shoulders. But it doesn't touch him. As if, to Eddie, it can't.

"Sweetheart..." he coos sadly. "What's wrong?" He watches Steve's face turn red. Sees the tremble of his eyelids as it tries to contain whatever pressure is building there. How his chin wobbles.

Steve doesn't really respond. He mutters "Wrong" on repeat and "Dunno," but each word is slurred. Eddie sits down and asks to touch him, when he gets a nod in return, his hand digs into the greasy hair. He lightly scratches his scalp. Untangles knots. Repositions certain strands of hair to where they'd normally sit.

Eddie notes how pale Steve is. The indents of fingernails on his biceps and areas of red, irritated skin where his hand teases hair. How wrinkled his pajama bottoms are, indicating how long they've been worn. His hair is an easy giveaway. He can hear his stomach growl. He realizes how resigned and numb Steve appears. The way there's no other emotion on his face outside of accepted misery.

He sweeps his hand to cover Steve's exposed right ear. His thumb is careful as it caresses his cheekbone.

"I don't know what's happening, but I've got you, Stevie." And as if that was all the permission Steve needed, he begins to sob. Wet and congested and rough. "I've got you," Eddie whispers. Soft like the wind.

Every screeching sound leaving Steve's barren chest ripples through the air like an ocean in a storm. Each gasp rocks Eddie's body and settles tense like a fresh scream. The noises are that of several sheep being slaughtered brutally by the hands of unkind men. Calloused is his breathing. Innocent are his cries.

The spoon has cleared all the way through Steve. In its wake is a gaping, frayed crater. Each seize of his lungs squirts blood halfway across his room. If he squints, there's droplets the size of beads bedazzling over Eddie's left side. The sprays seep into his clothes and harden the carpet and stain his closet door. In every part of the house, though he's been cooped up in his room, Steve can feel his soul being ripped apart and strewn over; every corner occupied with pre-1983 him and every seam in the hardwood now glued by the residual sweat from his last run through the Upside Down. The carpet contains his footprints. But his room is a slaughterhouse; in his bed is him, the version of Eddie pre-occupied by the last swirl of demobats, but by his dresser is Nancy fresh from the pool, and out his window is Barb grasping to a cement edge, being dragged by her feet, and taken for all she both was and wasn't. His house is a morgue and a graveyard and a funeral home; it's a last resting place and a crime scene. There's death everywhere.

And that's why it would be perfect, right? For Steve to rot there?

He has been. He still is. He can't stop.

When the room has fallen silent, so has every emotion Steve could possibly feel. His eyes burn like they always do after he cries. But, his chest is loose, yet tight. There's a new hollowness to him. And it's exhausting every stretch of his muscles.

Eddie is still caressing his face like he's something worthwhile. He's gentle. Even if he's usually boisterous in conversation, violent in his mannerisms, brash across his clothes.

Steve's breath quakes in his throat as he chokes, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Eddie whispers. "You needed that, it's alright."

He shakes his head at that. "No, I'm sorry for being so mean," he swears. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to be that way, I didn't," he garbles and gargles and drowns.

The hand on his face shifts to his back. It taps across his spine and presses between his shoulder blades. "I know, honey. I know you didn't mean it. You're okay," Eddie coos once more.

"Somethin' is wrong," Steve tells him. "Bad."

Eddie's face glows with fear. His eyes widen as two black holes. Mouth wrinkled downwards. "What do you mean? Do I need to call Joyce?" he tries to not frantically question. Reaches out, too, to grab Steve's right hand, squeezing over his fingers, thumb massaging against his bones.

Steve turns to strangle his face in the pillow. Mutters, "No, no, no...with me. Not Vecna, just me."

And then there's silence. Nothing now. The wind is stagnant. Eddie's hands have stilled.

Steve isn't sure what to do with so much swirling inside of him. What he's willing to let spill across his mattress. If there's a way to go back in time to when Eddie was just about to leave, stomping out the front door, and for his underwhelming, sad, decomposing body to be left here; he wants to figure out that science.

"Steve," Eddie calls. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help you out." He continues to rub Steve's back. Squeezes the hand he's holding too.

He waits a while to hear a response. Steve is still pressed into the pillow. But he positions his face to look out over the side of his bed, not looking directly at Eddie, though it's nearly the same.

"My body hurts," he whispers. He inhales as deep as he possibly can, exhaling what feels like shards of crumbled glass. "And I'm heavy," Steve states. "Like...like somebody set a cement block on me. And I can't get up." His voice is small and worn and stretched thin.

Eddie acknowledges by humming and rubs against the veins in Steve's hand.

"But I also don't want to get up? Not in the lazy way, but in the..." he trails off. His breath catches in his throat, knocking around the tunnel of his windpipe. There's a ruthless, scalding burn settling in his chest. "In a way that would make a lot of people unhappy, but I can't stop thinking about it. And I know maybe I shouldn't think that way, but it won't go away. And I wonder..." He doesn't finish.

"What kind of thoughts, Stevie? What are you wondering?" Eddie calmly asks. Inside though, he knows the answer. Has heard it before from his own mother. Came across her in the after of those aforementioned thoughts, seen the way life had been cruel. How life chose, so full heartedly, to take goodness from the Earth.

"Why does it happen to good people?" He had asked Wayne at one point. His uncle's response, "I'm not sure, Bubba. I wish I could tell you." And Eddie had whined, "That's not fair." Wayne responded, "I know Ed. I know."

So, though Eddie could relay to you the words he knows are building in Steve's chest, he's freaking out. Trying to connect the dots as to when this all started. Asking himself if it's possible to go back in time and prevent these horrendous thoughts from building inside his friend. Praying too that they may never come, that he can be safe from torment. But none of that can happen, won't, wouldn't. He'll forever be stuck in a time where he's met Steve Harrington as a great person to the universe, where he beats himself internally for things outside of his control, where he walks across hot coal just to make himself feel alive.

"I wonder if—if maybe dying would make it stop," Steve admits, shamefully. "I think I've been wanting it for so long that it doesn't surprise me, but I've never felt like this." Eddie's fingers begin to tremble from how hard they grasp to Steve's slick skin. "I can't stop it and I think I deserve it, Eddie. I really do."

His body nearly seizes with the intensity of his breathing, willing himself to not cry. He's never been so ashamed to be the person he is. And the person he isn't. Every word cuts across the roof of his mouth and scrapes against his lips. He wants to be evaporated into the hole in his chest. Waits, practically, for the universe to collapse in on itself now that his confession is out in the open.

Instead though, gentle hands continue to traverse his frame. They squeeze passionately at any tense muscle. Not once do they pull away or become sharp in nature or shove him.

"You don't deserve death, Steve. Nobody does. Not for anything like this," Eddie whispers. "I can't say that I know, but I want to understand. And I want to help you not feel so bad."

"Why?" Steve breathes. "I'm not worth that."

"Because you deserve good things. You deserve kindness," Eddie replies, factually. "I'm not sure how to stop those thoughts. But maybe I can help you feel fresher? If you'll let me?" he offers. His eyes are full and earnest, hand still careful, breath warm across Steve's skin where he now bends to gaze into his eyes.

The offer rattles in Steve's skull. Eyes searching over each one of Eddie's features; his beautiful, brown eyes, bulbous tipped nose, his chewed lips, and small freckles; each one reads: "I'm telling the truth, I want to do this." He's never been offered help as large as this. And he hates the way he feels, yet finds he can't do anything about it. This would be good, his brain says. Then you can rest, it adds.

"What did you have in mind?" Steve asks. His eyes drift down to where his hand is being held. He brings his other fingers to tap across the back of Eddie's hand, toying with his sharp knuckles.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Steve's ear. He hums thoughtfully. "I was thinking of running you a bath. So that you can sit instead of stand? And while you soaked or whatever, I make you something you'd like to eat. Then, I'd change out your bedding, but I would put it in the dryer for a little bit so that it's warm when you get tucked back in. And the rest is up to you," he lists. "Is that some stuff that you'd like to do?"

He caresses the side of Steve's face. Patiently, he waits.

The energy used to keep talking is depleting rapidly. He isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to keep up with Eddie for the day. For the night, more like. It's already 8 PM, fireworks sounding distantly. But Steve remains heavy in his bed.

"Sounds nice," he eventually breathes. "But, can you stay with me in the bathroom? I don't want to be alone," his timid voice shakes. As if asking such would turn around to punch him across the jaw. He swears he can feel the pain bloom from his chin, an unsettling pop tossed around the room, echoing across his plaid walls.

"Of course, Stevie," Eddie murmurs. His face is soft. Dimples barely appearing around his mouth, but still he gives Steve a gentle smile. It pays to see Eddie at night; quiet and careful and less devious than when he's around everybody in the party. "I'll do whatever you need right now."

----

Eddie's sitting in Steve's bathroom, filling up the tub with warm water. He's got a plastic cup sitting on the ledge, a mountain of bubbles threatening to spill out onto the tiled floor, a washcloth, and two towels; one for Steve's body, one for his hair.

Steve still hasn't left his room. He's currently sitting up on the edge of his bed, staring down at his bare feet in the carpet. His torso is curled over his knees and his head pounds. There's hair falling into his eyes, but he can't bring his fingers up to swipe them away. He's only wearing sweatpants; but his heart is worn across his chest in a splattering of reds and pinks and muted blues. With every beat there's that creeping itch to collapse onto his back and crawl through the mud that is sleep. He yearns for the firm mattress to comfort his exhausted muscles, a pillow to smother himself in, his blanket to cover the errors of each Upside Down fiasco; drag scars, torso chunks, plate cuts, crooked nose.

He wants to close his eyes against the brightness curling into his bedroom from the hallway, so he does. Lets his head droop down to curve the top of his spine. Blood settles along his lower back, sloshing down the tops of his thighs, anchoring to his toes. There's almost a calm within being so weighted, to being too heavy for words and sounds and lights and movements. With each breath, the crevice from the spoon begins to stitch. Not entirely. It won't ever close up completely, but he can feel the sinew of muscle reattaching; blood seeping across his chest hair, tacky across his sternum, threatening to pour back into his belly button.

Eddie opens the door and tiptoes to the bed. He settles on his knees in front of Steve.

Though he can't bring himself to stand, he can feel Eddie's warmth. And he yearns for it.

"Ready to go to the bathroom?" Eddie questions. Not loud. Mellowed and pastel in the way it breaks through Steve's collapsing lungs. Steve shakes his head.

"Not yet," he whispers. "Can't."

Instead of being shamed, like he would be when he was home from basketball practice and too sore to move, he's left with softer words, "That's alright Stevie, take all the time you need. I can always refill the bath." Eddie stands and sits next to Steve on his right. His hand tucks hair away and tickles down his earlobe, settling warm across the back of his neck. Thumbs dig into the top of Steve's spine, lightly scratching over several moles and freckles; connecting them into various constellations. Eddie doesn't say anything for a while. Just hums random notes and heaves breathing exercises when Steve seems to seep inwards.

Steve raises his head ever so slowly, every vertebrate realigning. He tilts from side to side, reintroducing his muscles and nerves to the normal of sitting straight. "I'm ready. I think. Can I—" he begins. There's a voice in his head that screams: Don't ask for help, you don't need it. Don't ask for help, you don't deserve it. A battle twitches between his eyebrows. The muscles throw grenades and stab arteries and shred arms like raking soil. He tentatively asks, "Can I lean into you while I walk?"

Without answering, Eddie stands in front of Steve. He grasps onto his hands, heaving his body fully, steadying him when he wobbles on shaky knees. One of Steve's arms goes across Eddie's waist. "Put your head on my shoulder, I got you," he whispers.

They make their way and when they cross to the lip of the tub, Steve feels heavy with no emotion; only one cracks through him though.

Adoration.

That's the first thing outside of being bodied by emptiness and loneliness and weighted cowardice, that Steve can feel through every limb, in every vein, at the edges of his frayed nerves and still beating heart. For a mere moment, he is able to tally away one reason why he shouldn't disappear. And that makes his heaviness lighter, he sits like a bag of bricks, but his toes begin to tickle like feathers.

Eddie is silent and attentive in the way he undresses Steve. With his eyes as they roam over wilting hair and kissed-pink puckering scars and knotted muscles. And with his deft fingers as he plucks away the sweatpants' waistband, shimmies them over Steve's knobby knees, and bunches them over his long feet. He folds the dirtied laundry and sets them on the floor by the sink. Tucked away, yet noticeable for later; whether Steve cleans up or Eddie does by proxy when he changes the bedding for a warmer set—a duo of sheets covered in dainty lavender flowers and a duvet dusted with pink stitching.

He dips his elbow in the sudsy bath water, nods to himself over the temperature, and then carefully maneuvers Steve's legs to face inwards. His left hand holds steady to Steve's and his right massages over the other's shoulders. Simply just smearing his palm's softness over the spattering of back moles; previously connected by careful lines, shining bright like an array of white fireworks in the dimmed bulb of the bathroom.

Once Steve is submerged to just under his pecs, Eddie whispers featherlight, "Does everything feel okay?" His hand cards through stringy hair, timidly cautious when he meets a new knot he hadn't quite untangled.

Steve nods. Words feeling too big for his sullen mouth.

"That's good," Eddie states. "Do you want me to help you with washing up or would you rather I sit here and talk?"

He isn't sure how to respond quite yet and Eddie doesn't seem upset at his molasses responses. In fact, when Steve looks over him, his eyes boring and at ease, he finds that Eddie is just patient. Which normally, he's stubborn with his temper and anxious to get things moving and for his voice to be heard. But in this moment, he longs not to be heard, but to be understood. And that's enough for Steve to request, "Please do both."

Eddie's hand slips through the ends of his hair and easily reaches over for the washcloth folded neatly on the toilet lid. He dips it under the mound of bubbles and brings it back to wring out. His movements are languid, wary, but not in a fearful way. As if when his body settles over his heels, he's gauging Steve's reactions, as subtle as they are.

"Do you want bar soap or body wash?" He kindly asks. And Steve feels warm without sweat at the question. He's never had the choice before when he took baths as a kid; his mom always ran a bar of soap between her hands and then gently stroked it over his body.

"Bar," Steve croaks.

The washcloth is set on the edge of the tub. Eddie leans over to the bathroom's counter and grabs a handful of boxed soap bars. Each one has a different label.

"I found these in the cupboard. There's a peach scented one, vanilla musk, whatever that means, and the classic Irish Spring. Is there one you're more particular to?" He asks, holding each box up as he goes, and then placing them on the edge alongside the rag.

"You smell like Irish Spring," Steve observes.

The scent had brushed him once at a gathering in the Wheeler's basement. It had been a warm day in May and the A/C was running, but everyone and their mother was sweating. He had been invited to watch a campaign oneshot. "Something short enough to keep your attention," Dustin had said. The kid genius had been right, of course. Though, Steve paid attention differently on that day. He noticed this new awfulness he resides in start to creep across his skin, light like the hum of the air conditioner. He was fighting with himself during that little get together, but Eddie had came over during a snack break, long arms, slim figure. Plopped down on the worn sofa and slung an arm over Steve's shoulders. His t-shirt was damp with sweat, but all Steve really could smell was the citrus and bergamot disguised in green.

The feeling of Eddie's arm was comfortable. And so the scent stuck to the inside of Steve's nostrils. When he left that night, he stopped by Melvad's and bought a bar. With the intention of eventually using it, but he had to work through his body wash first.

He is given the option here. He can ask for it.

Eddie chuckles, "I guess I do. It's my favorite soap. Wanna use it tonight?"

Steve nods and whispers, "Please."

So, the washcloth is redipped in the warm water, rung out so it's not sopping wet, and the bar is ran through ever so carefully. Eddie starts with Steve's neck, rubbing small circles across his skin. The dead skin flakes away over the coarseness of the cloth. It's worked over the slope of his shoulders, into his chest hair, his biceps, and pecs.

But Eddie skips his hands and instead moves down to his legs. Each swipe like a paintbrush marking a sunset sky. The reverence in which Steve is being treated with is so foreign that he begins to tear up. His lips tick into a tiny smile, only an inch wide, but brighter than any firework beyond the windows.

"Still doing alright?" Eddie asks when he rings the washcloth out once more and hangs it to dry over the toilet.

"Doin' better," Steve whispers. Though, there's still a fault line fracture in his soul and a bullet would scar from that spoon.

He inches his fingers to settle over the surface of the water. They're pruned. Over the lip of the tub, he dances them until he's touching Eddie's pointed elbow.

Eddie gently takes his hand. Intertwines their fingers. He smiles without teeth.

"You're really good at this," Steve mutters through a sigh.

"Used to do this with my mom. I don't mind doing it," Eddie responds.

Steve hums. He licks his dry lips. Feels each one of Eddie's words settle over the bathwater and drown his limbs in sorrow. Ever so carefully, he shifts his hand back into his own lap, and watches with regret as Eddie's beautiful face sours. He sucks on a lemon in the time their hands separate. And Steve is so tired.

His throat stings. Scratchy with oncoming tears. His eyes water. Bubbling with something he didn't know he had to feel that night.

Remorse.

It seems that being gone to the world for days on end, for a while so it's been said, really brings down everybody. At one point, Steve was okay with being alone on weekends and holidays and birthdays. He was doing just fine inviting over Tommy and Carol for stale beer his dad forgot about or muck water weed. In his evenings, he was settled with laying in his giant, cold bed; tucked under a duvet that smells like a different detergent than his childhood. And it seems that's how life moves. Steve grows bulky and remorseful and regretful. He grows ashamed and bastardly and inside this need to be constantly admonished.

Never in his life did he imagine he'd feel so greatly, yet so few. Would be left with a rusted spoon in his grip and a body feeding from survivor's guilt. He wants to scoop the rest of himself from his ribcage and serve his rot to the world. Force Mother Nature to birth a son and kill a son and start his grass anew.

If younger Steve knew that he'd grow to not only disappoint, but also make his friends sad, he would have gone missing or ran away or been found dead by age ten. His mind flashes with Tommy yelling at him in that convenience store parking lot, a cold Coca-Cola forgotten in his tyrant rant. A sign reading: Nancy "the Slut" Wheeler. Jonathan's hardened face over being called queer. And Robin's original distaste for him. The way Dustin had to call him out over the teeth joke. Eddie's initial bias over his popular jock persona.

Now, he's looking at Eddie's crumpled face. Hearing back his concern and Steve's blatant disregard for the tremble in his voice.

I should just drown in this tub, his inner-monologue hisses.

A tear he couldn't feel drips down into the rapidly cooling bathwater.

Eddie's hand scrambled to cup Steve's face. He says, "Steve, it's alright. It's okay." But those words fall upon deaf ears.

Steve flinches back hard enough to slam his head into the ceramic tile backsplash. His voice trembles, "I'm sorry that I made you sad. Maybe you should go, I'll finish in here and then I'll go back to bed and you won't have to deal with me anymore. I'm so sorry, so so sorry. I didn't mean to." There's wetness coating his cheeks, an erupting pulse of pain in his head, an empty ache in his chest.

As he begins to sob again, albeit quieter than before, Eddie begins to speak. "No, Steve, no. You didn't do anything wrong, I promise." His voice is all passion and alighted flame and bursting firework. "You were caving again and I was getting worried, you're alright. You're alright," he whispers when Steve's body shivers and his crying slows. Hesitantly, cautiously, he shows both his hands and floats them closer. "Can I check the back of your head? Just to make sure you didn't crack or split anything." Steve nods with the smallness of an injured child fallen on hard pavement.

Eddie combs his fingers through hair, separating along Steve's part. His fingertips lightly trickle over and around and through. He doesn't miss a single spot. With care, he massages at the irritated red patches from where the hair had been pulled. "Nothing damaged, but let's be careful," he breathes against Steve's ear. He settles back on his heels and assesses.

Steve won't look at him. Can't look at him.

"Steve," Eddie whispers. He doesn't get anything in return. Steve's body sits like a Raggedy Andy doll that's been shoved onto a high shelf. And that's really who he is, isn't it? He's been placed somewhere he can't get down from and needs somebody to pull him away. He keeps pushing back, flailing, and then the other person gets hurt.

His eyes close. Throat bobs with the force of his swallowing. He takes a dangerous moment of peace in the silence. With it, his skin crawls. But he doesn't mind. When he does breach the quiet, he asks, "Can you hold my hand again?"

Eddie obliges. Both of his hands wrap around Steve's left.

His skin is hot. Not uncomfortably. Not in a sexy way either. The heat reminds Steve of soup and saltines when he was sick as a kid. Reminds him of late night bonfires with old friends out by Lover's Lake in the fall. Heated pool late at night. That beer from a few days prior. The sun.

He's decided that Eddie is both the wind and sun.

Bright. Yet calm. Brash. Yet timid. Burning. Yet soothing.

And that's really Eddie's essence, isn't it? Some bigger, more necessary, more constant thing. Washed between trees and light all around. Creeping his way through billowing curtains and gaping doors and finger gaps. Looking to nestle and maneuver and cushion. In his consistent, over-bearing, tumultuous everyday normal; Eddie is all around in smaller ways, hesitant moments, and manicured silences. He's worked his way to being somebody Steve can expect as being reversed in his mannerisms; going from big to small to mild. In each sense, Steve's been wondering where the sun and wind are. They're here in his bathroom, holding his hand so lightly it's as if they're merely brushing skin with feathers.

Eddie knows how to decorate Steve's silence.

So, gently and shamelessly, Steve requests, "Tell me about your mom?"

"Do you want me to wash your hair while I do?" Eddie asks. Steve just nods. He grabs the shampoo and squirts a small amount into his palm. "Well, she's a good woman first. One of the best people I've ever come to know." Once it's warmed in his hand and frothy, he gently rakes through Steve's hair, not going to the ends. "Very kind. Warm. Soft. It's a wonder that I ended up the way I did, guess we can thank my dad for that," he snorts.

Steve's eyes are drooped, body lax against the back of the tub. He whispers, "I think that you're all those things."

"Yeah?" Eddie breathes across the crown of his head. His hands scrub fervently, precisely, and painlessly meticulous. Steve hums. "I think you are too," he states.

He fills the plastic cup with warm water and leans Steve back. One arm wrapped around his neck and back of head. His thumb massages where skull meets spine. He doesn't pour the water all at once, rather trickling small waterfalls over and over. When the suds aren't as noticeable, he eventually does pour it all. And then, he begins on the conditioner. Warms it the same as the shampoo.

"My mom, she dealt with what you're going through. I think almost as long as I got to know her." He rubs the conditioner over the ends of Steve's hair, bunching it as he goes. "She had her ups and severe downs. Sometimes we'd go out for days on end; basking in the sunlight, feeding ducks at the pond, going out for ice cream. Those were great days." Steve watches a wistful smile ripple in like a small tidal wave. Intense in the nostalgia and the childhood and the ache. "Her down days...Toughest fucking days I've ever had to endure. Saying something, I suppose, considering all that was spring break."

"I'm sorry," Steve sympathizes. Though, he can taste empathy like a packet of salt on his tongue. Violent in flavor, buried in his teeth, roaming through his saliva. Each swallow burns.

"It's alright," Eddie whispers. He works water through hair again. "I was with her on those days. May have been tough, but at least I got to spend time with her." He assesses Steve's hair. Wonders very briefly if he should do one more shampoo rinse. He does, a smaller amount filling the well of his palm. "She did what you've been doing. Laying in bed, not really doing much, but that was all she could do. Several days she'd go without washing herself or eating something, sometimes just drinking water was too much on her mind."

He shutters through his next breath. It stutters warm and cold over Steve's skin. Audibly, he swallows. As if he was consuming whatever was left of his mother. The bad days. The good days. The end.

"She lived in those thoughts you've been having," Eddie adds. Barely makes a sound. If Steve weren't sitting so close, so heavy to the world, he would have missed it. "I could just tell some days when she was lost in one. Had to hide things around the house. Medicine and sharp things and cleaning products," he lists. Each word cutting against his throat, deeper and deeper. "Dad had told me about all of that. In case he wasn't home. He rarely was considering his criminal history, but at least he taught me something valuable."

His hands travel down Steve's neck and the slope of his shoulders. Works all the way down to hands, wrinkled like old skin. And Eddie thinks, I want to see him like this.

Eddie keeps his eyes on the shriveled tips of fingers. "One day I came home and she was just still. Silent." His throat clicks through the next swallow. "I didn't get much time with her. Only twelve years, but each day I spent with her was the best. Whether it be that we walked to the park and she pushed me on the swings or I washed her skin the way I've been washing yours. As long as I could help her feel at least cleaner, it was a good day."

He falls eerily silent. Steve uses any mustered strength to squeeze at his veins, his fingers, his palms.

"So, whatever we need to do today, I'm willing to offer. Because I love you so much, Steve. I can't even find all the right words. I'd say you're everything," he whispers. "Everything," he urges. "And I want you here, and I have the chance to help those thoughts simmer. So, let's get you dried off and reclothed and then I'll make you some food. How does that sound?"

"Like music," Steve shares. His eyes burn, his breath cuts, his brain is silent. For the first time in two months, his brain hears silence.

----

After several minutes, Eddie sits Steve down at the dining table. He sweeps wet hair away from his forehead and gazes into his eyes. Steve's face is dim and hard-set, wrinkled with loss.

"I'll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, get you some ice water too," Eddie whispers between them.

Steve hums. "Can I have mine without crusts, please?" he sweetly asks. His lips curl up and his eyes are consuming. Color starts to wash over him, painting hues like a sunset, a billion red and blue fireworks, the deep magentas and light pinks of cosmo flowers.

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie breathes into his left ear. Before he evades Steve's space, he presses a light, simmering kiss to his temple. His lips brush skin as he says, "I'll turn on music too."

So he slithers away to the kitchen and turns on Mrs. Harrington's radio in the window. Usually, he'd tune it to a heavy rock station, but today he turns on pop. He mutters under his breath, hoping that Wham! plays. The ingredients aren't hard to find and neither are the utensils.

His hands keep busy while Steve sits at the table. Back hunched over tangled hands. Set down onto a hardwood table that used to house family dinners.

Visions of his father at one end, his mother by his side, him across form his mom. They eat Chinese takeout because it's a Friday night and nobody has to work or go to school over the weekend. Steve's dad eats sweet & sour chicken directly from the box. His mom eats rangoons with her dainty hands. And Steve slurps noisily at sauced noodles, successfully coating his lips in something sticky and his cheeks with a deep color. Mr. Harrington sticks the chopsticks under his upper lip, mustache tickling over the edge, and he barks like a walrus. Steve laughs so hard that tears spill down his cheeks, water spraying from his nose. Mrs. Harrington giggles too. In this, they're happy.

But now, Steve is—he's muddled. Eddie notices how cold the downstairs is. The scrapes in the hardwood from chairs digging and being shoved around. He recalls a time a while back where Steve had mentioned his parents purchasing a new home in Southern California. The postcard he got in the mail reading, "Greetings, From Sunny California." There was a return address, but specifics about not contacting them. Not visiting. That they'd handed him the home in Hawkins, his responsibility now, cursing his name for digging his feet in retail and Barbara Holland disappearing from their backyard. Disappointment being scrawled in bold, black, scratchy handwriting. And then, when Eddie chanced a look at Steve's face, he was resigned.

Like he is now.

He wonders if that postcard had been the start. If Barb's disappearance eventually settled in his lungs after Nancy's Vecna vision. Maybe it wasn't familiarity that Steve was looking for in the Upside Down, but rather, protection from himself. A time where things were simpler and happier and smaller. Where his life wasn't on the line.

Now, he's looking for that sign. For that moment of brevity where Satan climbs through the forest floor and creates a vortex to Hell. A whispering through the wind, vicious and hissing, telling him to "Climb in."

Maybe if Nancy wasn't the one that Vecna trapped, it would've been Steve.

Eddie realizes, he probably would've broken out of it. And he would've been upset to hear Steve swear, "I'm still alive!" like a slur.

Steve is a teenage boy still, even if he's freshly twenty years old. But, his maturity certainly hit him all at once. Whether that be the last time the Harringtons were all in the same room or when that nailed bat was being swirled around in the air, Eddie isn't sure. Somewhere though, Steve lost his sanity. Lost his patience. Lost himself.

He comes back to the table with two sandwiches wrapped in paper towels and a tall glass of ice water. Wham! is on the radio.

"Thank you," Steve murmurs when he takes his sandwich. He takes a bite and hums. "Like when my mom made them."

"That a good thing?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, I like to think so," he mutters. "Also, you don't like this music, how come you're playing it?" His big eyes land on Eddie's.

Eddie grins. There's crumbs on Steve's lower lip. Water in the corners of his mouth. He reaches out without thinking and drags his thumb to wipe away the wetness. "You like it," he answers. "Anything you like, I like." His thumb rests on the divot under his lip. Gently holding his chin.

Steve's chewing slows and he swallows. His eyes fill with something. A sparkle where they were once vacant and drowning. "You're too nice to me," he whispers. His head swivels back to his food, leaving Eddie's hand to roughly drop onto the table.

And his eyes clear once again.

"You know, you don't have to stay here with me. I'm probably just going to be like this for a while," Steve hollowly states. That spoon is back again. Playing his ribs like a xylophone; hitting hard enough to crack and disturb. He wants to throw up the little bit of food he's managed to swallow.

He just wants to disappear.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but he eats his sandwich instead. Slowly, too. The room is heated with tense energy, crawling under his t-shirt, scraping against his spine, and ripping his hair.

His friend, best friend he considers, curls smaller. Hands picking at the crustless edges. Balling corners of paper towels, eyes half-lidded and just empty.

In another life, Eddie starts to think, we would be eating sandwiches and watching fireworks. His hands tremble on the surface of the table. In another life, he begins, we are sitting at this dining table creating a grocery list, arguing whether or not we should get orange juice with pulp. Steve's not eating anymore. Head firm in his hands, elbows on the table, so informal. In another life, he muses, he is so happy, overflowing with it, body warm with it, eyes shining with it.

In another life, Steve doesn't cry into his hands at the dining table. He doesn't fall in love with a boy. He certainly doesn't work measly retail. Or have scars across every inch of his back. He doesn't sit by his pool late at night, wondering if he could die by proxy.

In the next life, he can only hope he's treated with reverence like this, from birth in screams and blood to death in whispers and halted breaths.

The radio fizzles. Batteries dead. Fireworks quiet for the night.

Every inch of the Harrington house is silent. Surfaces coated in stale breath and curdled blood. Bathwater cold and getting colder. Beds stiff and empty and too wide.

The silence is so loud.

And so hungry.

Steve aches. He confesses, "I love what you're doing Eddie, but I'm tired. And I'm so empty. And I don't know what to do. I can't—" His chest stutters so hard that the muscles in his back spasm. "I can't do this everyday." His arms fold crossed onto the table, head hitting his forearms.

Eddie scoots his hand close and gently brushes his fingertips over Steve's left forearm. "What do you mean, Stevie?"

His fingers tremble where they rest.

"I can't be like this forever. I feel like I've been stuck since we got back from the Vecna shit." His hands reach up to rub harshly at his face. "What if I never get better? You don't want to take care of me everyday and I can't do it by myself. I mean, God—" His palms press harshly into his eyes. Hands turning white from the pressure. "I've been in bed since the first. What if I just stay in bed for weeks, Eddie? That's hardly living. I can't do that to you or anybody or myself."

Eddie's palms firmly grasp his arms. They pull Steve's hands away from his face. There's blooming redness across his eyebrows and waterlines. Snot threatening to drip across his lips.

The shuttering breaths that Steve explodes into the air are breaking Eddie's heart further. Crumbling into thousands of little pieces like bread crusts.

"Steve, I need you to listen to me okay?" Steve doesn't respond, but Eddie continues anyway. "I want to help. I'm sure our other friends would be willing to help too. It's daunting, but eventually you may have to talk to somebody. We won't be able to help with everything, but we can do our best." He swallows every awful emotion making itself known on his tongue. Flashes of his mother and her death. "If you need to rest because your brain is telling you to, then you rest. Even if it's for weeks or months. Fuck, Steve, you could lay in bed for years. You've been through so much awful shit and it's all over. Of course you're stuck right now. You aren't in overdrive. It's okay to be this for a while," he breathes.

His breath leaves him hot and wet. Choked in muscles and blood. Rippling through ribs and fingers and toes. "You don't have to be anything right now. If you have days like these, then that's okay. I would rather be here taking care of you, helping you, whatever you need. I'd rather clean your home or change out your bedding or run you a hot bath. I'd rather do all of these things than..." his voice wavers and thins. "Than go to your funeral. Because you deserve to be here Steve, no matter what your brain says. I know that it's being unkind and that you think this is it for you, but I promise it's not.

"It's not. And we'll figure out what we need to do when we get there. But for now? Let's finish our sandwiches and I'll change your bedding and then, you can just sleep. If that's what your body is asking for, then we oblige. No need to do anything else, do you understand?" He asks, smoothing his hands to hold Steve's. Eddie's eyes are wet, he knows that. His eyelashes are anticipating the need to clump. But for now, he gazes at Steve's form, watches it fight and breathe and shiver.

Steve nods and squeezes in return. He doesn't let go with his left hand, but with his right he continues to eat his sandwich. It's sweet and fulfilling and warm in a comfort sort of way.

Eddie eats too and they both end up with crumbs on their lips.

----

By the end of the night, nearing eleven, Eddie has warmed Steve's bedding and tucked him under the duvet.

Steve's hair is unstyled and wavy and spread like a halo around his head. There's a crumb still nestled on his mouth, but neither make a move to brush it away. Eddie lays across from Steve, gazing, memorizing, creating memories.

In eight hours, Eddie will wake up with strains against his spine. Each vertebrae will pop and settle and his blood will be warmed. Steve will still be asleep most likely. And what he looks like in that state, Eddie can't wait to see.

For now, he holds his breath and counts Steve's moles. Over and over three times. Making sure he doesn't forget. Because, what misery would it be if Steve was forgotten in these silent hours? Terrible, it would be. There's something new to ogle at. A freckle birthed from the sun. Those damned bread crumbs. Flecks of gold and green and honey brown in each eye. Stray blonde hairs nuzzled into his hairline—baby hairs.

His palm holds Steve's left cheek. Thumb dotting over two moles. Then, it sweeps under his eye, catching in an eyebag divot. "You can sleep, honey," he murmurs.

"Can't," Steve mutters back. "Don't wanna lose you."

"You won't, I promise," Eddie fervently swears. "I'll still be here in the morning."

Steve hums. His left palm cradles Eddie's wrist.

His head scoots closer to Eddie's. He basks in this. How pleasant they both smell, wrapped in the same scents and breath; peanut butter and strawberry jelly and bergamot. Though that crater still throbs in his chest and his mind swirls and teeters, there's something settling inside him. With each swipe of thumb, each careful cradle, each promise whispered like prayer, Steve feels one thing.

Contentment.

He knows that tomorrow he will get up feeling like an untreatable basket-case. With a new gruesome idea and unpleasant ending. In the sunlight, he will drown and try to save himself by scooting away from the window. The fireworks will be silent, but the imagines of Barb's wretched screams will wash through Steve like a shipwreck on shore. He'll pick apart his brain, wood buried under sand, and find the sunken eyes of her teenaged body; still vulnerable and venerable.

Steve will bury himself in blankets and wish it was dirt. He'll burn and shiver and sob and choke. Each hour spent in bed will feel like eternity. And he'll rot from the outside in, then the inside out, and in each corner, the tub, down the stairs, out the front door.

He'll have to call Robin. And he will berate himself as she rambles down the phone how worried she was, how miserable her night had been because she spent each second twisted with nausea and anxiety and panic. He is going to remind himself that she doesn't mean it in a "you're an asshole" way, but rather, "I thought something terrible happened and I'd come home to you gone."

I'm still apologizing, he thinks. I deserve everything bad, he will think.

There will be a memory of this week when he's eventually out of his rut. And it may be shameful, but he'll be fond.

"I'm glad you came over," Steve admits. "I'm sorry that I'm so...bleh."

"That's alright," Eddie whispers. "We'll do this together and maybe you'll get sick of me."

"Never," Steve promises through giggles. "I love you."

Eddie presses another one of his wet forehead kisses into Steve's skin. Sweet and long and reverent. "Love you too, now get some sleep. I'll bring you pancakes in the morning."

And so, though tomorrow will be hard, possibly the next day too, Steve snuggles closer to Eddie. Head on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist, thumb rubbing into his side. And he sleeps.

Dreams of Irish Spring soap and warm duvets and kind, unwarranted comfort.

—

Apologies, again, for how long this was. I just really love this one that I wrote some months back, thought it was worth sharing here, too. Take care of each other <3

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #heavy angst #hurt/comfort #heed the tags #heed the warnings

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