#LIKE GODDAMNIT GET BACK HERE KID-

[azstral-wanderers]

Might or might not have formed attachments to the entirety of the kotor 1 main crew

[furrysmp]

decided for giggles to see what dsmp has been up to in the. Two and a half years since I last looked

Anyways so canon is trashfire but the part of me that started sunbringer in dsmp is now stirring to make More stuff. Like a "the universe reset thing but dream is still in prison so it doesn't reach him" thing that I'm trying to remove from brain bc I actually didn't do the catching up via vods and instead looked at fandom reaction for instructions and uhm.

Yeah no I genuinely want to write this it's gonna be so interesting but also who even does dsmp anymore like is there an audience

[rbfclassy]

MY PRETTY (EX) WIFE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...your ex husband gojo gets word of your date with some other guy and goes out of his way to pay you a visit while you’re getting ready

INFO...ex husband!gojo x fem!reader, you and gojo have a kid, possessiveness, jealously, groping, grinding, pet names (pretty wife, baby), fucking you from behind over the sink, hair pulling, love-bomb, talks of giving you another kid, breeding, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Your ex husband Gojo is an absolute menace when it comes to your dating life. Somehow he ends figuring out that you’re talking to/seeing some guy. How’d he find out? Probably paid suguru to spy on you to be honest. But besides all that, he will go out of his way to ruin your dating life and it absolutely pisses you off. He’d show up to your house thirty minutes before your date, using the spare key that he still (somehow) had to make his way in. No surprise that you were absolutely startled to see him appear in the mirror behind you as you were applying your mascara. His eyes scan over you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, you’re all dolled up over some mediocre man that could never be him. Your nails and toes are painted the same color, your hair is freshly done, and the dress you were wearing was one of Gojo’s favorites.

��What are you doing here?” You huff, closing your mascara and placing it back in your bag.

“Came to visit, had some free time.” He leaned against the door frame.

“Free time?” You turn towards him. “You were supposed to watch our daughter, Gojo.” You turn back around, searching in your bag for your lip liner.

“Don’t worry! She’s with aunt Shoko.” He smiles. “Plus, I heard you had a little date tonight. Wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

You exhale in annoyance, knowing that you’ll never be able to live a peaceful life if your one and only ex husband is breathing down your neck and figuring out everything about you, watching your every move. “Yeah, so? Aren’t I allowed to have a little free time of my own?”

“Of course you are, sweetheart. As the mother of my kid, you’re allowed whatever you want. Don’t worry too much, I have a date of my own, so I won’t be in your hair too much longer.” He was lying straight through his teeth, watching your face in the mirror intently to see if he could catch a glimpse of any jealousy.

“Congrats,” you simply responded, grabbing your lipstick.

“I will say though, you look absolutely beautiful in that dress.” Gojo walked up behind you, examining the curve of your back as you leaned over the counter. “It’s my favorite.” His large palm ran up the curve, slowly, before gliding back down to the roundness of your ass.

“Gojo.” You pull his hand away, shaking your head with the roll of your eyes. “You’re not ruining this for me.” The tone of your voice came off as a warning. Yet, Gojo continued to run his hands all over your body, holding onto your waist as he pressed himself against you.

“Afraid that you’re gonna give in? There’s no shame in fucking your ex husband,” he whispered, rubbing his bulge against your ass. He pulled you back against him, a small groan leaving his lips.

You threw your lipstick back in your bag, eyes shutting as you tried to resist the temptation that was Gojo. It was so, so hard. The expensive cologne he wore filled your lungs, his sultry voice in your ear, the softness of his hands as they held onto you. Goddamnit, why does he always make you feel like this? You swore up and down that you wouldn’t fall for his tricks again and here you are, rubbing your ass on him. You look back over your shoulder, taking in his broad shoulders and tall build, the black compression shirt he was wearing defined his muscles so well. His hair so effortlessly falling along the sides of his face. What were you doing? What were you thinking? “Be quick.”

“Atta girl, that’s all you had to say.” Within seconds, he’s bunching your dress up around your hips, pulling your panties down as they fall around your ankles. Your heart skips a beat when you feel his bulbous tip tease your entrance, running it up and down your slit. You grip onto the bathroom counter as you feel him push inside of you, the stretch so deliciously intoxicating, your jaw slack. “Fuck, baby, you’re still so tight,” he lets out a mix between a groan and chuckle, hand coming down to grip onto your hips as he thrusts into you.

His thrusts are deep and fast, a sign that he’s been waiting to be inside of you, waiting to fuck you since the last time. He presses down on your lower back, pushing you down more as he angles his cock just right so he could hit your sweet spot. “F-fuck!” You gasp. “Yes! Right there!” Gojo knew you like the back of his hand, knew every one of your weaknesses and strengths, and most of all how to please you. After being your husband, it’d be a shame for him not to know how to make his pretty wife cum, right? He knows what makes you purr, he knows how to get your eyes rolling back.

“Shit, this pussy is so wet—fuck!” He grabs your leg, propping it up on the bathroom counter, wanting to be able to reach deeper, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. Gojo watches you through the mirror, taking delight in the expression on your face. Your brows were furrowed in pleasure, eyes glazed over as you tried to hold back your moans, yet you were failing. His cock dragged along your velvety walls, your brain turning into mush as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Satoru!” You moaned, his name rolling off of your tongue so smoothly. His fingertips dug into your skin, gripping tightly as he felt you clench around him, sucking him back in every time he threatened to pull away. It was like your pussy was made for him.

“My pretty fucking wife,” he huskily whispered in your ear as he pressed his chest up against your back. His hand gripped a fistful of your hair, turning your head towards him before placing his lips on yours. He swallowed your moans as your tongues sloppily moved against each other, lips moving in sync with his. He pulled away, staring down at you with such a primal look in his eyes, one that sent shivers through your entire body. You didn’t take your eyes off of him, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you basked in the feeling of pleasure. “You’re all mine. Fucking mine. Everything.”

“‘Toru,” you whined, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m close! Mmm, fuck, please don’t stop! Please, please keep fucking me!” You begged. His hips slammed against yours, lewd squelches from your pussy mixed with you and gojos moans was like something out of a porno. Each thrust had your eyes rolling back, the pleasure starting to overwhelm you as another orgasm was forced on the edge. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” You screamed, body shaking against his hold as your orgasm overtook your entire self.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me. Cum around this dick. No one can fuck you like this, no one but me. Pussy was made for me.” His lips were pressed up against your ear, darting his tongue out to lick your skin. He continued his ministrations, movements becoming sloppy as he chased his own orgasm, the sheer feeling of you squeezing around him sent his brain into overdrive. “Look at me.” He gripped your chin. “You love me?” He asked, soaking up the look of your watery eyes. “Gonna have my baby again, huh? Make you a mommy.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he pounds into you.

“Yes, yes, I love you.” You nod, staring up at him with doe eyes, tears pricking the corners. “I love you.” The words are barely above a whisper.

“Fuckkk.” Those three words were all Gojo wanted to hear from you, the sound of your voice brining him closer and closer to his orgasm. “I love you too, baby.” The feverish kiss he lands on your lips sends you into a spiral, his hips moving sporadically, making your legs shake.

“Cum in me, please. I want it.” You’re breathing heavily, the consequences of your words no longer existing to you as you relish in the moment.

“Shiiit!” Gojo thrusts deeply into your once more, holding himself there as thick ropes of his cum coat your walls. “Ohhh, mmmm, fuck me!” He lets out a shaky breath, cum still spurting from the head of his cock. You whimper at the feeling of him filling you up, slowly removing himself from you. He chuckled as he watches his cum ooze out of you, dripping down to your clit before he pushes it back in with his thumb. “Goddamn, baby.” He lands a smack on your ass, squeezing it as he looks at you, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. His eyes avert to your phone, seeing that it was ringing, a name he’s never heard of displayed on the screen. “Uh oh.” He picks up your phone, seeing all the missed calls from what he assumes is your date. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“What?” You completely blanked out, forgetting about the date you had. “Fuck.” You groan in annoyance, snatching your phone from him. “I forgot. What do I say?” You look towards Gojo for help.

“Who gives a shit. You’re with me now.” He snatches the phone back, placing it on the counter. “Let’s get in the shower, c’mon.” He pecks your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you playfully replied, rolling your eyes with a scoff.

repost from my old account

[2tarbell]

does twee have a job??? i know you mentioned her being pogue turned kook, im wondering if she’s kept a job she had as a pogue 🤭….

TWEE!READER who is a cart girl! she started the job right before her father came into money and wanted to keep it. mainly because she misses the pogue lifestyle and working makes her feel less guilty about now living in a nice house.

she receives a lot of tips because the players think she’s the cutest thing! rambunctious and teasing, having inside jokes with all the members. in her little cart girl uniform, tight polo and pleated skirt. her striped socks and maryjane’s. hair always done up in some cute style. she’s a natural born people pleaser and can happily stay afloat in the midst of these golf playing men. but only because she doesn’t entertain their foul intentions, too naive to assume anything bad.

but she actually met rafe after her shift ended, parking the cart back in its ‘home’ and gathering her things. he’s just leaving when he passes her by, having been in the carolina sun all day golfing with his boys. they’ve since left and he found himself lingering just a bit more, hoping to catch that cute cart girl he saw at the ninth hole.

he’s handsome, that’s the first thing she notices. and her mind races, hoping to maybe see him on her shift tomorrow. the daydreaming causes her to trip. thankfully, she caught herself before eating shit, not without attracting the attention of the cameron boy, though. his hands shooting out to her shoulders and steadying her.

“you good?”

she smiles sheepishly, smoothing down her hair. twee nods and looks down at her shoes, frowning at the scuff on the leather of her new shoes. goddamnit. when she looks up at him again, eyes squinting in the setting sun, rafe feels his own smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“sorry— was just… thinking…” she trails off slightly.

rafe actually huffs out a laugh, and she becomes more embarrassed than before. her grimace makes his grin soften.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, yeah? s’all good.”

her little grin is adorable and rafe trails his eyes down her body when she turns to retrieve something from her cart. miles of smooth skin disappearing underneath that short skirt, he can just barely see the lace edge of her panties, until her dainty hand reaches back and pulls the skirt down a little.

“glad you caught me then—“

his eyes snap up back to hers when she turns around with what he assumes is her purse, smirking and crossing his arms. her playfulness isn’t lost on rafe and he finds himself reciprocating, flirting.

“oh, so it’s a habit of yours to trip into eligible bachelors?”

she giggles and rafe knows he’s in.

he sets his jaw, noticing her looking up at him through those dark lashes. she leans back against the cart and crosses one ankle over the other. rafe’s eyes are drawn to the movement and trail slowly up her legs. when he meets her eyes again, she has a knowing smile on her cute face.

“bet you, uh, get a lotta these dudes in trouble, huh?”

the way she cocks her head to the side, an innocent gleam in her eyes, makes his shorts feel just that much tighter. her voice is soft and unsure when she replies, “whaddaya mean?”

rafe shrugs, smiling lazily and scratching his ear. “pretty thing like you workin’ here… dunno, ‘m sure it makes it hard to focus on golf…”

her huff paired with an eye roll makes his chest swell. he can see the smile she’s biting back and chuckles, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“y’know i— i gotta see you somewhere other than here, if you wanna…” he mumbles lowly, holding the device out.

“y’gonna get me fired, rafe…” she teases.

his name has never sounded so good. rafe places his other hand hand over his heart, grinning at the giggle she lets out at his dramatic gesture.

“i promise, kid, swear on m’life. just one date?”

he’s putting on the works, he knows; charming smirk and narrowing eyes. but, twee is just a girl, in every sense of the word. so when she walks off after giving him her number, hundred dollar tip the handsome boy said was ‘all f’you’ tucked into her bra strap and a promise to text him her work schedule, she can’t hide the smile growing on her face.

rafe can’t hide his either, shaking his head and stuffing his phone back in the pocket of his golf shorts. walking out to his truck, he can’t think of anything else but the apple hairclip she was wearing and that little grin that made his heart stutter.

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x reader ; a very light hint of steve x reader

a follow up to this which is a follow up of this

tw 18+ content, tied up, temperature play, steve is baby girl himbo in this very s3 coded, eddie is jealous + mean.

“that tickles, wow, cold— ow, very very cold— shit, shit!”

You slap a hand over his mouth, wide eyes staring into yours as if he is scared beyond belief.

“Shhhhh..” you press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

Your body was pressed in his, an ice cube held limply in your fingers as you traced it along his veiny shaft. Leaving goosebumps on his summer tanned skin. 

“Eddie is home, do you want him to know that we’re fooling around? Cause I prefer to keep my bedroom adventures private.”

“No, no! You’re right, it’s just— really cold, when you said you wanted to get freaky I thought maybe you had a friend or something to go up my ass? I don’t know!” 

You stare at him, waiting for him to say he was kidding but it never came. You sit up, the ice melting on your fingers dripping onto his sack, little whimpers from his mouth. 

“Alright… King Steve is curious about assplay, noted. We can unpack that another time— for now, it’s either the ice or nothing, you choose.” 

You kiss his chest, waiting for him to decide. He’s mumbling to himself, and you work your fingers in between the tufts of hair, eyes on him, your nipples skimming over his hot skin. 

“…okay! Okay fine! Can I kiss you maybe?” 

Steve was stretched like a voodoo doll across your bed, large hands tied to each bed post, unable to reach you, his lip in a pout as he attempted to wiggle his wrists free. 

“Keep trying to get out of your restraints and you won’t be kissing me anywhere.”

He huffed, a strand of caramel hair tousling into his forehead, “I mean they’re tight— like really tight, you sure this is normal?”

You rolled your eyes and sat up again to examine the human ken doll that was played by Steve Harrington for the evening. 

His wrists were red, fingers pale… fuck. 

You tug at the knots, trying to wedge your fingers beneath them, and after five minutes of you trying you could see Steve’s hands looking worse.

“Alright— don’t panic!” you announced, sliding from the bed and pushing your arms through the red silk robe hanging from your closet, “and don’t move…. I’ll be…” scissors! “yeah, I’ll be right back!”

“What!? You can’t just leave me like th—!” he hollers your name and you try to muffle his calls of distress by shutting your door quickly.

Eddie was in his room, you could hear him playing his guitar— and he prayed he didn’t hear the muffled pleas from Steve. 

Rifling through the kitchen junk drawer you find everything but the scissors. Chopsticks from too many late night orders of chinese takeout, ketchup packets, pens, a pack of markers, Eddie’s fake ID he had in high school, Wayne’s expired ID he tried to use at the gas station when you were sixteen and more rope. 

The pair of you didn’t own a knife set, never having cooked anything that required culinary skills— you were at a loss— the only option left was to ask Eddie for his pocket knife. Goddamnit.

The walk to his room felt like miles long, and honestly you would have preferred if you never got there. His door was open, the low times of his acoustic guitar filled the air along with a haze of smoke. 

A quick rap on his door and Eddie was looking up at you, cigarette limp from his lips, as he motions to the other side of his room with a nod of his head. 

“…ham & pineapple no pepperonis, cash on the dresser.” 

“What? Oh yeah, sure— forgot it’s Friday. Hey, ummm. I need a favor.” 

Eddie smirks and shakes his head, “I’m not loaning you anymore bud, you already owe you twenty.” 

“No— I’m not here for free weed, I need your knife.” 

His eyebrows quirk and he waits for you to ask his silent “why?”

“It’s an emergency.” 

“Your boss sucks sweetheart, 100%— but you can’t kill him.” 

“Eddie shut up,” you whine, stomping your foot, “I just need to borrow it—I'll give it right back!”

He rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab his knife from his back pocket, “tell me what you need it for.” 

You stare at him, mouth open, “I…can’t.” 

“Okay? and why not?”

Your name is heard in a wail from your room and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

“is someone in there?”

Scrubbing your hands down your face you finally admit it, “Yes! Jesus fuck! Now will you please either help me or give me the knife, he’s stuck!”

It takes everything in Eddie to try not to laugh, but he simple hides his lips and nods, thinking to himself what kid. of shit you’d gotten into now, and with who?

He follows you into your room, watching your form move beneath the silk robe, trying to keep his eyes from staring too long or imagining what lie beneath the thin fabric. 

Your eyes are covered when you open the door so you miss the shock on Steve’s face to see his best friend walk into your room. His dick is still out, laying against his hairy thigh, and the only thing he can do is an awkward jock head nod followed by a “sup?”

Thankful that he has a good poker face, Eddie nods back, ears crimson in anger, biting his tongue as he flips the blade out with flare. Behind his dark eyes He was fuming. 

Steve? 

STEVE HARRINGTON?

Of all people you could have tied up in here in some makeshift attempt at whatever you thought you were doing— it had to be him.

Heads would fucking roll when this was over and him and Steve were alone. 

Slicing through the ropes like they were nothing, Eddie simply raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, leaving with his mind grinding like gears on how to stop this from happening again. 

—

“Thanks for calling Family Video. Our hours are 10-10 Sunday through Saturday, stop in to rent our latest releases, this is St—”

“Harrington.”

“Hey man, hey— thanks for uh, helping me out the other night. I really o—”

“Yeah, you do,” the cord bounces on the floor as Eddie turns the corner, looking back at you in the living room asleep on the couch— walking to his room,  “that’s why whenever she calls… you are going to make up whatever excuse that big hair of yours can..”

“Wait..?”

Eddie grits your name out through clenched teeth. 

“If she calls to hang out, you will find a reason not to, y’ catch my drift, pal?” 

“Ye-yeah, sure thing… what should I say?”

“I don’t care Harrington, make something up… tell her you have a girlfriend, you have the measles, I really don’t give a fuck what it is, as long as I never have to walk into her room and see your dick again.”

Steve narrows his eyes, blurring the neon lights in the video store, “dude, what the hell?” 

“Sarah is single— I’ll give you her numb—”

“Okay? But so is she, why are you acting like an asshole right now?”

You. He was being a dick because of you. Sick and tired of you not willing to admit you both had feelings for eachother, and he was ready to pull out the big guns in order to make it happen. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

taglist: @likedovesinthewnd @dashingdeb16 @joejoequinnquinn @min-geniusx @ho3forfakeguys @taintedcigs @b-irock @queenimmadolla @serasvictoria @the-unforgivenn @curlyjoequinn @munsonlore @eiightysixbaby @munsonburn3r

[queers-gambit]

Pretty Boy Swag

prompt: your big ass family comes to town and hosts a town-wide family reunion. after they meet your boyfriend for the first time, your proximity is criticized, and when you try to fall back, Eddie's swift to your side again. -> or when someone else calls you clingy, you try to fall back but your man doesn't want that.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 6.2k+

note: AQPDO got me back on my Joe kick, Goddamnit

warnings: Eddie being the man we all want and deserve, kinda AU timeline (Eddie lives, Vecna still happened, and school is back in session? it confused me too, but fuck it we ball). shitty family members being judgmental. the fuck is this plot? idk her. there's insecurity, drama, anxiety, obviously some angst, but mostly hurt / comfort. drug use (it's Eddie, c'mon), kinda abrupt ending, author's lowkey a pyromaniac and advises you do not play with fire or gasoline.

The summer was soon to end, leaving behind a muggy, thick heat that broke several air conditioning units around town from power usage. Windows were left wide open for cross breezes, doors, too; and fans were cranked up high. There was a rather nasty storm on the way in, but luckily, with it, came the usual drop in temperature - just in time for the coming week's activities. The last week of summer before the dreaded school year began anew, but luckily, it was officially senior year.

Eddie jogged up the rickety porch stairs and opened the unlocked screen door that was close to rusting off its hinges; the front door open and an oscillating fan turned on to blow a breeze at Ed.

The door swung open without effort, banging loudly and making Wayne glance up, "Hey, kid."

"Hey, Unc."

"There's a sandwich in the fridge, if you're hungry," Wayne cleared his throat, smoking a cigarette at the tiny coffee table covered in stacks of bills.

"Thanks," Eddie mumbled. "Here," he dropped a small wad of bills to the table.

"The hell's this?" Wayne scoffed, glaring up at the kid - who shrugged.

"Should be enough for utilities and water, maybe a bit for groceries," Eddie answered, grabbing a beer from the fridge and sighing with a grunt as he dropped into the arm chair.

"You selling dope again?"

"It's consistent money."

"You know I don't like that shit, kid."

"Which is why you don't see it - you just get the cash."

Wayne scoffed in amusement and smirked, nodding while releasing a deep sigh. "All right, uh, thanks, kid. I appreciate this."

Eddie nodded, brows furrowing as his mind whirled from his excursion in town; musing, "Something's gotta be in the air."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Tell you what, people are... Really in the market to buy this week. Everywhere I went was so crowded - I couldn't even get Goddamn cigarettes - "

"Watch your mouth, boy," Wayne reprimanded automatically. While he was all too used to Eddie's foul mouth, he still didn't like him using the Lord's name in vain. "It's all that, uh, anticipation," Wayne shrugged, dividing a few cash bills to an envelope, "got people all excited."

"Anticipation about what?"

"For the L/N Reunion."

"The what?"

Wayne looked up, offering a stale look, "L/N? Your girlfriend's family?"

Eddie sounded exasperated, "I know that - I'm asking what the hell you're talking about?"

"The L/N family, they've lived in these parts for generations. So, when they have these, like, uh, family reunions, it's an entire town-wide event. Everyone tries to go. I guess you must've been... Oh..." He shrugged, "8 or so last time they were all here. Whole place gets energized, they all participate; you know, it's a big cookout and shit."

"Right."

"It's usually a good time," Wayne assured, taking another drag. "And when it's not, it's because it's a really good time. They use the field out back behind Sullivan's old place?"

"No shit," Eddie chuckled, taking a slug.

"Uh-huh," Wayne hummed, the cig bobbing; ash dropping to dust the bills. "They get a bunch of tents and shit; catering, too - it's like a big carnival. Heard some might drive some caravan in." Eddie was briefly reminded of his adventures in the mobile home with Steve Harrington and Company, yet there was no time to dwell because Wayne was questioning, "Your girl didn't say anything to you 'bout this?"

Eddie's head slowly shook, "No, but she's comin' over tonight."

"I got work."

"I know."

Wayne chuckled, "Which reminds me, I grabbed you a box of condoms."

"Oh, Unc, no!" Eddie begged with a groan.

"You're too young for a baby, Eddie!"

"Doesn't mean buy me condoms, old man!"

"You could just say thank you!"

"I'm not thanking you for condoms!"

The screen door hit the frame in a startling bang, the thin metal slipping from your shocked grip. You stepped into the trailer home, giggling, "Whaaaat the hell did I just walk in on?"

"Oh, hi, baby," Eddie greeted in a grumble; one hand wiping his face, trying to hide his embarrassment, "so glad you heard that!"

"Hey, honey," Wayne followed, you stepping inside and depositing your usual purse by the door.

"Everyone okay?" You asked teasingly.

"Yeah, Eddie's bein' dramatic again," Wayne spoke casually. "Hey, I, uh, I heard about the Reunion. That's gotta be real excitin', 'uh?"

"Oh, God," you groaned lightly, Eddie straightening himself up to invite you onto his lap. "Honestly, Unc? I was hoping this might be the one place in town I could escape from talking about that."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't - "

"No, no, I only mean, it's been nonstop in my family," you pouted. "Everything's gotta be perfect, so there's this, like, palpable tension, which makes it a madhouse, you know, 'cause everyone's coming into town. It's peaceful here."

"They all stayin' at yours?" Eddie asked softly, acutely aware and in-tune with your tangible anxiety; deflating himself and his energy to better absorb yours.

"Yeah," you pouted.

"All of them?"

"Until the festivities kick off, then most are gonna camp."

Wayne frowned, "When was the last time you saw 'em all?"

You breathed deeply, mulling his words while Eddie took a swig of beer; fingers flexing to pet where he held your hip. "Years ago," you answered, "and while it's really nice to spend time with them all, it's just..." You trailed off, frowning.

"A li'l much?" Wayne supplied.

"In the simplest terms, oh yeah," you sighed deeply. "I'm really grateful to still have time with them, don't get me wrong, but Christ Alive. There's four people in my room, we have two cousins in the attic, there's an Auntie in my parent's room, another couple in the basement - it's an absolute mad house!"

Wayne nodded with sympathy, seeing the way you pouted and dropped into Eddie's chest under his chin. His brows instantly crinkled, collecting you closer into his chest in comfort; keeping you curled across his lap. Wayne glanced at the wad of bills Eddie had contributed and sighed, gathering up both paper and cash bills. As he cleaned up around him, Wayne spoke, "You can, uh, stay here, if you wanna."

"Huh?" You gaped, looking at Wayne in earnest shock. "No, no, no, it's not - I just meant to complain to get it off my chest, you know? I wasn't fishing for - "

"I know, honey, but I can physically feel your stress from here," he chuckled. "Tell you what, if you agree to make dinner, you can crash here for the week."

With a grin, you nodded, "Your bodies might go into shock, I'm gonna force y'all to eat vegetables."

Both men laughed in amusement, the tension melting as you were obviously relieved by the fact that you wouldn't have to stay at your family home for the duration of the Reunion. It loosened you up, the trio happy to indulge in witty, harmless banter before Wayne was filing the bills in a mucked-up manilla folder. He stood to get ready for work, leaving you and Eddie in the armchair.

"Can I ask a favor?" You whispered into his neck, slowly pressing open, languid kisses to the sensitive skin.

"Anything you want, baby."

"I should go pack an overnight bag."

"Want me to come, too?"

"No, no, I was gonna ask you to go grab us dinner while I was gone," you mused, smirking gently; his head tilting back and sighing through his nose. "Oh, don't - "

"No, no, baby, it's fine," he scoffed, "we've just been dating 4 years and I haven't met your family. Like the whole family."

You scoffed, "So?"

"Do you not, you know, like, want me to?"

"I think it's more really not wanting you to meet them, Eddie - it's different."

You tried to stand, but his arms were like vices; keeping you in place and speaking softly, "Baby, how? Don't you think it's time? Nothing - not even your family - is gonna make me love you less. Plus, like, isn't the whole town invited to this Reunion?"

"I mean..."

"Did you think we were gonna avoid each other the whole week?"

"I was kinda hoping we wouldn't even go, if I'm honest," you admitted sadly, "but I'm a really good girlfriend, so we're going 'cause I know who would be most inclined to buy whatever product you might have left."

"Wow, you're gonna bring me new customers? Your family, too, huh?"

"Who said anything about family?" You smirked.

"Baby," Eddie sighed, pinning you with the beginnings of his puppy dog eyes, "if you're embarrassed, you can just say that - "

"Of what? Of you?"

"Well, yeah, or of us."

"Eddie, that's the farthest thing from the truth!" Guilt sounded through your words, "Baby, I love you - but I know my family and I don't want them to, like, infect you."

"Not possible," he hummed, bringing you in close to press a kiss to your lips in reassurance.

Not wanting to dwell, you quickly changed the subject and whispered against his lips, "Will you please go pick up a pizza from Reggie's?"

Eddie's head reared back slightly, his expression morphing into confusion, "Reggie doesn't sell pizza, baby."

"He does for me, I'll call it in if you can pick it up. It's just in the opposite direction of my house."

"Baby gets what baby wants."

You scoffed a laugh, kissing him again and standing finally, offering your hand to him; helping yank Ed from his seat just as Wayne was reappearing. After calling Reggie, you all left at the same time, shuffling out into the parking lot together to bid Wayne goodbye; waving as he drove off. Then, Eddie swiftly huddled you into the backdoors of his van; holding your legs around his hips.

Shocked laughter racked your lungs, holding onto his shoulders as he nuzzled directly into your neck and balanced your weight in his arms. He breathed in deeply, you petting the back of his head, both feeling yourselves recharge; usually trying to refrain from these grand gestures of PDA in front of Wayne. "Missed you today," Eddie mumbled, lips tickling your ear, causing you to slightly squirm.

"We were apart all of, what? 4 hours?" You mused quietly with a grin.

"Too long," he whined.

"I know, pretty boy. Which is why we have to hurry up - the faster you go get dinner and I go home, the faster we can come back here. I'm thinking... Blunts and movies tonight?"

Ed lifted up, your chest feeling cold from his retracted heat; but his face was calculating, then agreeing, "Yeah, we gotta go, let's go, c'mon, let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Max could hear your laughter from where she pet her neighbor's dog.

Honestly? The only thing missing from the Reunion were actual carnival game prizes - like stuffed animals, goldfish, novelty gags, sports team embroidered plush memorabilia.

There were caravans of RV's - both rented and owned - lined up with cars of all shapes, sizes, colors, and passenger capacity; Christmas lights strung up around them like spiderwebs. Patio tables were erected to host intimate groups of people while banquet tables were used to boast an array of foods and drinks. Different speakers were set out and connected, playing the same soundtracks - while others at other distances played different genres. The soft ground from previous rain had hardened from the amount of feet (of all sizes) stomping over the mud and grass. Solo cups dotted the area like stars splatter the sky.

Oh! There was also a clown missing! The Reunion did not hire a clown - unless you count Uncle David...

"You scared yet?" You asked, sitting in the open passenger seat of Eddie's van, the back doors wide open to host the attending party members. Eddie was leaning at the hinges beside you, facing the back of the van, quickly dropping his gaze onto you and straightening up.

Eddie shifted subtly, side-stepping so he stood in front of you for a semi-private conversation. "Oh, please, think I'm the scariest guy 'round these parts. Your family's harmless."

"Oh, uh-huh," you mused, scoffing a small chuckle before taking a lazy pull of your red solo cup; matching those scattered in the field. Don't worry, though, 'cause your cousins were Litter Bugs and would pick up any and everything they come across when clean-up commenced. It was a rule of the Reunion - leave the area better than you found it.

"You good, baby?" Eddie asked softly, trying to keep his voice quiet; which was easy, since Robin and Steve were cracking boisterous jokes to the group.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," you nodded, eyes glazed as you peered over Eddie's shoulder to survey the absolute (controlled) chaos your family entertained.

"Yeah, 'cause that's so convincing."

You sighed and leaned forward some; legs hooking around Eddie's and encouraging him forward so your chin rested on his sternum. "I promise, I'm okay," you whispered with a smile, "just a little overwhelmed."

He nodded, petting a loose strand of hair off your face. "You've not really seen your family much," he noted, "been hiding here with us the whole time."

"I'll... Get around to it."

"When?"

"Eddie," you sighed, pulling back to still look up at him - curse his gangly frame.

"C'mon, baby," he pouted, "come introduce me to your family. Huh? I think it's time, I'm excited."

You felt frozen for a moment before Dustin's voice was whining, "When's dinner? Whole field smells like good eats."

Eddie pinned you with a small 'told you so' look, chuckling as you groaned and nudged him back a little to slide from your seat. "All right," you announced to the group, "c'mon, let's go mix and mingle. Play nice and they'll feed you."

You didn't even hear the small chorus of chuckles as your ears blasted the hammering sound of your nervous heartbeat. You cleared your throat as the group grabbed their things, Steve and Eddie closing the van doors before congregating together to begin stalking across the mud. With the red solo cup in one hand, your other was snatched swiftly by Eddie - tugging playfully to jolt you into his side and secure his arm around your shoulders.

You could see Hopper and Uncle David laughing almost to the point of tears; both with beers in hand, several others dotting around them to share in mirth. Wayne was tearing into a bacon cheese burger with an ice cold beer and a table full of "uncles" - or family friends you just called "uncle". Joyce Byers was playing corn hole with that PI the Hollands hired, Murray Bauman, to find their daughter, Barbra, years ago when Will Byers first went missing, too. They were being cheered on by a sea of cousins - all heavily intoxicated and keeping score on a chalkboard. The Wheelers were seen playing a few table games; Holly happy to play with your aunt's Australian Shepard, Auggie, while her parents were distracted. The Sinclairs were dancing together under the strung Christmas lights, Erica accepting a gargantuan size cotton candy to share with a few friends. Well, honestly, with the way she was eyeing the sugary treat, you wouldn't be surprised if she inhaled it all by herself.

"Hey now, baby girl! Ova here!" You heard, glancing over automatically just to catch sight of your father waving you over to where he and his siblings stood with a few cousins, your mother, and a couple siblings.

"Baby," you mumbled, squeezing his hand. He instantly parted from Steve and followed you; both missing the looks exchanged amongst your family, a few perking their brows swiftly and others even rolling their eyes. "Hey, guys," you greeted kindly when you arrived around the patio table.

"There she is!"

You were happily received by your loved ones, exchanging pleasantries before automatically returning to Eddie's side. "Um, hey, guys, can I introduce you to my boyfriend, Eddie?" You made the proper introductions, holding his arm as he offered his dominant hand to shake as he greeted the family members he had begged you to meet.

"Got you this," your father purred, handing you a full plate of ribs and all accompanying fixings.

"And this, for Eddie," your mother handed you his plate carefully. "You know Cooper's cookin' goes first."

"Thank you, guys," your boyfriend appeared as if out of thin air over your shoulder, leaning in to peck your mother's cheek. He straightened up to shake your father's hand and take both plates from you as your sister stood from her seat.

"Here," she waved, letting you take her spot because it was the only place beside an open seat so you and Ed could sit together.

Darlene, some distant cousin, daughter of your Aunt Rebecca, scoffed, "What? You two have to sit right next to each other?"

You pulled a face, "Girl."

"It's no biggie," your sister instantly defended, "and it's Eddie's first time here, can't let him sit alone."

"Mhm," Darlene snickered, your hand subtly latching onto Eddie's thigh to give a comforting squeeze. He dropped a quick wink, leaning over to take a fork full of baked beans from your plate - humming obnoxiously when he ate it.

Before you knew it, a couple hours had passed, the sun setting, and the bonfire was being structured. In fact, your name had been hollered for aid, looking to Eddie out of habit. He smirked at you, petting the hand he held with his thumb, nodding slightly - not in permission, but in assurance. Before either could say something, your Aunt Rebecca mused (but really scolded), "Oh, Jesus Christ, you two! You're not gonna fall apart if you're not together 20 seconds, he'll be fine to hang while you get the fire goin', girl. Go!"

You bristled at her tone, but only minimally rolled your eyes at Eddie before pecking his lips as you stood from the chair you had been offered. "Be back, baby," you whispered, and as you straightened up, raised your voice, "don't listen to a single thing they say and don't let them bully you!"

Laughing over jeers, you offered your middle finger, slapped your hand into Cousin Allison's, then skipped towards the wooden teepee pyre. Turns out, all "adults" were too intoxicated to deal with the bonfire and your cousins all too nervous to use gasoline - hence why they needed help. So, you playfully pushed them back and fixed the structure; stuffed kindling in ideal places, sprinkled a responsible amount of gasoline, and with a piece of old newspaper, used a lighter to ignite the flame. Then, when it caught, you carefully used it to catch along the gas-soaked kindling. Once that initial contact was made, you dropped the paper and stepped back because, a moment later, the entire pyre caught flame with a small but defining whooshing sound.

The cousins cheered you on, amusement shared as Cousin Maxwell handed you a fresh solo cup as a reward. You blew past the praise, knowing they were just being dramatic for humor's sake; making your way back towards the group you had left - intent on making s'mores with Eddie. Except, Aunt Rebecca stood to meet you, just enough of a distance away that her words weren't overheard.

"So," she smiled, "he seems real nice."

"Hmm?" You took a sip of your drink.

"Your boyfriend."

"Oh," you nodded, "yeah, no, he's arguably the nicest guy I know."

"Even more than that Harrington fella?" She asked, eyeing your friend and twiddling her fingers flirtatiously. Steve smirked and waved back.

"Uh-huh. C'mon, Auntie," you nudged her, "your husband's right over there."

"He's fine," she scoffed.

"Well, all right - "

"Hang on," she halted you from leaving, seizing your arm. "I was just wondering, you know, how nice a boy can be with all them tattoos? I mean, only delinquents defile themselves like that."

You scoffed, "I seriously doubt inking your skin is an indication of kindness in a person - but that's a good one."

Rebecca halted your departure again by asking, "Well, how healthy do you think this is?"

"Be more specific, Auntie."

Her eyes rolled, "Your relationship, girl, pay attention."

You chose not to engage fully, just sighing, "It's the healthiest relationship I've ever known - not much thanks to you, since nobody in this family would know a healthy, functional relationship if it punched them in the face."

With a fake smile, you pulled your arm from her grip and only managed two steps before she was sneering, "You sure it's healthy the way you cling to him?"

"What was that?" You asked, slowly turning to face her.

"You're so clingy, it's actually concerning! David, Kyle, Bethany, Darlene, Casey, and Tom all agree with me, and not to mention, your mother told us that's normal behavior for you two - which is just a red flag, sweetie. You're lucky, though, 'cause when I was your age, my mama would've slapped me silly if I hung all over my boyfriend like that in front of her. You know it's distasteful, right, honey? Men don't like that - they don't want girls who are desperate for love that they claw onto them."

"I'm not clawing - "

"Whatever you're doing, sweetie," she mocked, "it's not a good look. I can smell your desperation - you do know, there's gonna be more boys later. This Eddie guy? He's not your end all, be all. First loves are fun, sure, but this is where you make your mistakes - so, take notes and then try not to do the same shit with your next man. Okay, pumpkin?" She patted your upper arm as if a child winning a sports participation trophy. "The kid is nice and all, but he's not gonna last, honey. Women in our family are prizes, you see, so, it takes a real stud to earn us - not some long-haired, tattooed punk. Don't embarrass this family anymore than you already have by thinking this is a sustainable relationship."

You slapped her hand away and stepped into her space, snarling, "You wanna try that again?"

Eddie glanced over and saw the two of you; needing a double take when he realized how tense the exchange looked. "Shit," he whispered, sitting up in attention while nudging Steve.

"Huh?" Eddie pointed, Steve turned, and after a beat, repeated, "Shit."

Rebecca stuttered and tried to explain, "I-I-I'm just saying - "

"Sounds like you're making pretty snap judgements about the man I love - based on what? His fucking appearance? Do you fucking hear yourself? Like, you're reprimanding me for dating when you're not even my parent. You need to take several steps back into your lane."

"I'm not reprimanding you for dating! Just for... For..."

"For dating Eddie?"

"For being so dangerously desperate!" She snapped. "Jesus, a kid like that? You don't have to cling too hard, he's lucky to just breathe your air! So, maybe loosen the reins, babe, it's not a good look to keep a man so... Beneath you so close and so tight."

Eddie launched from his chair in time to hear you laugh in response. "Yeah? Yeah? This comin' from the woman whose husband cheats on her more than he remembers their anniversary or her birthday? Is that what you mean by desperate?" You narrowed your eyes, "You're right - that is a real bad look. I mean, I've had years to watch you and decide, that's not what love is. That's not respect. Wow. Being desperate for love really is embarrassing, isn't it? Thanks for the advice, Auntie, but don't worry - first place for worst relationship is still steadfast yours. I mean, Eddie and I are actually compatible, you know? He and I actually like one another, mutually love another. Now, I know you're not used to that, so I guess I can excuse you mistaking 'love' for 'desperation' and being 'clingy' - "

"Baby, hey, hey, hey," Eddie caught you around the waist and pulled you back a few steps. "All good, it's all good - don't gotta argue, c'mon. Walk away, just walk away, c'mon, come with me." You scoffed in amusement while Rebecca looked close to tears, Eddie directing you in the opposite direction to force space. "What the hell was all that?" He asked in worry, arm slung around your neck as he checked over your shoulders to make sure you weren't being followed.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Didn't seem like it. C'mon, baby, what happened? Talk to me."

"When my family drinks, you know, they can just get a little mouthy."

"What'd she say?"

Insecurity exploded in your chest, freezing your tongue and heart, pumping icy shards through your body. You didn't want to worry nor upset Eddie by being honest, so you sighed, "Oh, just some dumb shit. She honestly sounded jealous... And bitter..."

"Ah, Uncle Paulie isn't giving it to her, huh?" He teased and you laughed, if only to not tip him off to the brewing storm of emotions threatening to take over.

"Guess not. Hey, uh," you glanced around, "you wanna get outta here?"

"What?" Eddie chuckled, "Baby, no, nah, c'mon, night's just starting. Fire's finally lit, and look," he pointed, "Dustin's challenging Mike to corn hole. And... Is that...?"

"Max and Lucas playing... Pong?"

"Looks like," Eddie smirked. "Think we're bad influences, baby."

"They're not even drinking - how much of an influence can we really be? Do they even pay attention, learn from us?" You teased, arms crossing across your chest in a light hold as Eddie tugged you a fraction closer to place a kiss on your temple. "Well, can we go back to the van and smoke? I left your hoodie in there and it's getting kinda chilly."

"Oh, you left it, huh?"

"Since I was the last in it? Yep."

Eddie chuckled and kept you under his arm all the way to his van, opening the backdoors and letting you climb in first. He shut the doors after himself and instantly rocked onto his back; you mimicking his position.

You both just stared at the ceiling for a moment; breathing together; existing as one. Then his head turned, yours did the same, meeting each other's eyes and without a single word exchanged, let your lips spread in matching smiles. Like two charged magnets, you both leaned in at the same time to let your lips meet in a sloppy meshing; playful, heated, and quick-tempo'd.

When Eddie pulled back, he whispered, "I love you."

After returning the sentiment, you both sat up to rest against the metal van walls and Eddie reached over to snag the wee box he used to store (some) of his drugs in. You breathed a sigh of relief while watching him, engaged in a new and distracting conversation - grateful he seemingly forgot about Aunt Rebecca's bullshit already.

Yet those words seemed to haunt you.

It's been about two weeks since the Reunion and you felt as if you were slowly losing whatever was left of your mind. School had officially started and with all your AP classes, you were already juggling several assignments.

Everywhere you went, everything you did - you second guessed the amount of energy, effort, and diligence you put forth into everything! School! Friends! Family! And you know who suffered the most? Eddie - of course he did! He was closest to you, of course he was on the frontlines; enduring some kind of silent attack.

You didn't know what to do - so, you did nothing! You avoided Eddie because you were afraid of being ridiculed like a bug under a microscope in biology class. It seemed reasonable; not wanting to dig a deeper grave, not wanting to give further room for judgmental assholes to feel comfortable enough to voice their opinions. It drove you insane, living in silence, in this empty space; going from joined at the hip to severed Siamese Twins.

"Hey," your mother perked up when you came through the front door, "what're you doing home?"

"Uh, I live here?"

She sat up from her lounging position, "No, I meant, it's Thursday - isn't Thursday date night with Eddie? You didn't go last week."

"Oh, uh, no, not this week, Ma, I've got this crazy essay I'm swamped with."

"Hm," she nodded slowly.

"What?"

"Hmm? No, no, nothing, it's nothing," she waved you off, and just before you could take a step, she continued, "it's just - last week, you said you had some big test to study for. And now you're blowing him off for an essay? Honey, school just started, you shouldn't be this stressed and upset so soon."

"What can I say, Ma? I'm not blowing him off, I'm focusing on school. You know, the thing you love yelling at me to do?"

"I'm happy you're buckled down, sweetie, I'm just not used to you being here so often. You know? Since you started dating Eddie, I feel like you're only really home some weekdays, and sometimes, I don't even see you! Now, you've been home and I'm just worried something might be, I don't know, wrong."

"The only thing wrong, Ma, is the amount of work I have to do."

She sighed and nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile; finally allowing you to make your escape. First, you stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and bag of trail mix, then, you made your way to your room; throwing your windows open, turning your stereo on a low volume, settling at your desk, and rolling a joint - but setting it aside for now. You unpacked your supplies, cracked your knuckles, and got to work handwriting ten pages on The Lord of the Flies.

There came a knock at your door, eyes cutting to your clock and noting you'd been working about an hour. Waving smoke from the freshly lit joint away your face, you plucked it from your lips, inhaled sharply, and called, "C'min!"

Eddie slipped in your room.

"What're you doing here?" You asked in shock, tilting your head back when he stood over you and accepting his kiss. The ends of his hair tickled your face from where he dangled himself over you.

"It's date night."

"Yeah, but I told you I had work, baby," you pouted at him, watching him set the paper bag he brought in front of you and taking the joint from your stalled hand.

"Mhm," he agreed while taking his pull, holding smoke in his lungs and still speaking, "which is why I brought it to you."

"Oh, yeah?" You chuckled, opening the bag and revealing your usual burger and fries order. "Eddie - "

"Eh?" He grinned, producing a milkshake from behind his back, "Ta-daaaa!"

"Oh, a man after my own heart!" You laughed, "You're literally perfect - thank you. This is really sweet."

He smirked and sat in the plush chair you left beside your desk just for him. "All right," he reached out to pick up the essay prompt as you ate a fry, "let's see here, uh... Lord of the Flies?"

"Yeah, it's about - "

"No, no, I know," he nodded, "I read it."

"You did?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I thought you didn't read anything except your D&D manual and Hard Rock Magazine?"

"Oh, ha-ha, don't forget Playboy," he mocked, you smirking. "All right, well, let's get crackin'."

"What?" You asked, watching him toss aside the paper prompt and pick up the novel.

"I'm helping you," he shrugged like it was common knowledge.

"You? You're gonna help me write this essay?" You laughed, handing him the half-eaten fry - which he accepted into his mouth without hesitation.

"Why is that funny?"

"You don't even do your own homework, baby!"

"Yeah, well, figured I'd help if it'll get done faster, you've been acting real funny."

"How?"

Eddie pinned you with a harsh look, "You've been distant."

You froze, knowing you're caught, but still responded, "Uh, no?"

"Uh, yes? Since the Reunion, I've barely seen you. And even when I do, it's at school. You don't come over, you don't invite me over, you canceled our date last week, tried to today, too. Baby, look, if something's wrong, you gotta tell me 'cause I can't fix shit if I don't know what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong - "

"Try again."

"Eddie."

"Are you serious right now?" He asked, his voice no longer light and lithe, playful nor silly. "You might have yourself convinced, princess, but I know you better than that. Something's up, something's wrong. Talk to me, please."

"Why does something have to be wrong? Why can't I just be, like, tired or stressed? Or both?" You avoided his eyes, taking the joint from him.

"If you really want me to believe that, answer when you started smoking with homework?" This made you pause, shrugging in embarrassment. Eddie scoffed gently, "Lemme guess? You're just stressed?"

"It's not a lie!"

"But you're not telling me the full truth!" He leaned forward in his seat, reaching for your hand, frowning deeply. "Baby, I just want to help you. Since the Reunion, you've been distant, and I think it's to do with whatever your aunt said."

Tears filled your eyes, mutely taking another long inhale; gently ashing the joint in the tray on your desk hosting several stubbed-out filters. Swallowing the saliva that had pooled in your mouth harshly, you coughed gently upon exhaling the smoke; tears pooling and slowly cascading down your cheeks. Eddie sat closer in worry - literally sitting in a balancing act on the edge of his seat.

"You're right," you squeaked, unable to look at him; fingers beginning to shake. "Y-You're right, and I'm sorry, I just - I didn't know what to do, how to feel - "

"That's why you gotta talk to me, baby, so we can figure shit out together. Right? I help you, you help me," he spoke gently, reaching out to caress the back of your head. He sighed, standing, ushering, "C'mere, c'mon, stand up for me. C'mere."

He lead you to your bed, letting you sit as he toed out of his shoes before joining you. He settled on his back and pulled you in tight to his side; your arms like a vice around his waist, resting on his chest that was dampening from your tears. He rubbed your back and shoulders, up to your head, down to your waist and hip. Eddie spoke softly, encouraging you to talk when ready.

"She scolded me, I guess," you whispered, "because according to her, several other family members think I'm too clingy."

"She said what!?"

"Eddie," you groaned, his voice loud under your ear.

"Sorry, sorry - I just - she said you were too clingy? What? Seriously? Like - Like with me?"

"Yeah. Said it wasn't a good look," you admitted, and then, Eddie just remained silent as you poured your heart out and admitted all that was said. It felt like a never ending cycle; confessing that you loved Eddie so effortlessly, you didn't think you were loving him 'wrong', but your Aunt Rebecca's words made you second guess your own emotions.

And it honestly angered Eddie. No, not (only) about you being upset - but the reason for you being upset. He wished he knew the night it happened, remembering hearing your response to Rebecca, understanding your words now. He wished he knew, he would've had a word or two for your aunt; angry that this woman successfully made you doubt yourself. Doubt the way you love Eddie.

"Hey," Eddie whispered, hand on your jaw to gently encourage your head up so your eyes met his. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Pull away from me. Try to change, doubt yourself, do different. Baby, I love you - and no, you're not fucking clingy. And even if you are, I love it because I love you, and that means loving all of you, exactly the way you are. Fuck your aunt, fuck anyone who had something to say, their jealousy and bitterness and ineptitude are their problem, not ours. And anyone who makes it our issue can get bent." You were honestly shocked into silence, just staring up at Eddie in a daze of wonder. "What?" He asked.

"I'm just processing you using 'ineptitude' correctly," you teased in a whisper.

"Oh, you little - " He laughed, rolling onto you; fingers digging into your flesh and wiggling. Your laughter was loud and genuine, Eddie grinning in amusement before just staring down at you; gently petting hair off your forehead. "Listen to me. Hey? You listenin'?"

"Yes, Eddie," you chuckled.

"Don't ever pull away from me," he told you sternly. "I need you close to me, always. I don't care what anyone ever thinks or says - you're not a bother, not to me, never to me, so, please, for my sake, stay close. I'll fuckin' fall apart without you."

Overwhelmed by emotion, his sweet words, and how they instantly settled your anxiety, you didn't respond verbally. Your hand shot up to hook around the back of his neck and pull him down - but it's not like he resisted. Eddie let his mouth descend onto yours in a heated display of passion, his hips involuntarily rolling forward to roll his hips so his bulge ground into your clothed cunt. His tongue was hot, wet, sliding against yours in a raunchy pace that made your head spin until you were dizzy.

And in exactly 436 days, Aunt Rebecca, Cousin Darlene, and any other outspoken family members sat at home, bitter, while the rest of you (and the town) celebrated yours and Eddie's union of Holy Matrimony.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[krirebr]

I'm Feeling Like I Never Should

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: It's bad enough you've been forced to be at this charity gala, but now you have to deal with your ex, Ransom.

Warnings: Explicit language, anxiety, insults, bad parents All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bonenanza!!! The prompts I used were seeking comfort (or sexy times) from an ex and “Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?” which both screamed Ransom to me. 😂 Thank you for hosting such a fun event, Siri!! I hope you had a great birthday!

Thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has an endless supply of patience for talking through ideas with me and helping me whenever I'm stuck.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The noise from the party floated down the secluded back hallway, muted but still audible. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall. You really hated these things. Too many people. Too much smugness. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t all just donate to charities in private. That’s what the internet was for. But no, you had to watch each other do it to prove how good you all were while eating canapes and drinking too much in designer gowns. You really hated these things.

And your parents knew that. Your mom, especially, knew exactly what rooms like this, full of distant acquaintances and strangers, did to you. Knew how hard forced mingling was for you. Knew the way it made your chest ache. And still, she’d insisted. And then she’d–

You wiped the stray tears from your face. It was pointless to get upset over things she’d always done, over a person who’d never change. You should know better by now.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and you reflexively looked over at the noise to find Ransom Drysdale standing in the doorway in a tux. Shit. Shit. He, of course, had seen you too and now he was striding over.  

 “Not fucking now, Ransom,” you whined, but of course he didn’t listen. He’d never fucking listened. Not when you were kids and knew him in passing. Not for the entire time you’d dated as adults. Why would he start now?

“Wow,” he said, gesturing to you with a crostini in his hand. “There’s a party going on out there and you’re playing wallflower in here? Color me shocked.”

“Yeah?” you said. “And what are you doing in here? Trying to find a caterer to pay to blow you?” No one could get your back up like him. He’d always brought the vile out in you.

He gave you a mean little smirk. “You rather I slipped you a fifty instead? Your mouth always was one of the best things about you.”

You felt your skin start to heat in embarrassment (and something else you had no interest in naming) as you growled, “Fuck off, Ransom. I’m sure this building has other hallways for you to lurk in. Please just leave this one to me.”

You looked down, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t move. Instead, you felt his intense stare on you. When you finally looked back up, his gaze was softer than you expected. “Is it your mom again?” he asked. 

You pushed yourself back into the wall, for lack of anywhere to hide. It was easy to forget when he was such an asshole, when all you did was trade barbs, how much he’d seen, how well he knew you. All you could do was shrug, with a quiet, “You know how she is.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Still wants a mini-me instead of an actual human daughter?”

You sighed. It was too much, too real, to have him here like this. You almost preferred it when he was insulting you. “I really just want to be alone right now, Ran. Please.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was so sure, firm.

“Excuse me?” you bit out, the acid coming back.

“If I leave you alone, you’re just going to stand back here and spiral until you’ve made yourself completely fucking miserable. To the point where it’ll take you days to come out of it. That is not what you actually want.”

His certainty lit a fire inside of you. “I know,” you growled out, “that you think you know everything, but you aren’t actually the expert on me, Ransom.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked, with a hint of that smirk returning. It made you want to punch him in his beautiful face.

“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you? I know it’s been a while, but I know you. Better than any of those assholes out there.” He threw an emphatic arm back towards the party. “Including your fucking parents. You can talk to me.”

“And say what, Ran? That she’s still dragging me to these things even though she knows what they do to me? That she’s decided that there’s not much to brag about in a single daughter to her society friends, so these fucking events have become matchmaking opportunities too? That she will never tire of reminding me just how much I’m not the person she wants me to be? It’s just the same old bullshit. It’s not your problem anymore. It barely was even when we were together.” You sagged back against the wall, all of your energy leeched out of you.

Ransom was quiet for a very long moment. You hoped that meant he might leave, finally seeing what a lost cause this all was. Instead, when he finally spoke, he said, “She always really hated me.”

“Yeah, Ran,” you sighed. “She hates a lot of people.”

“No,” he said, with a smile that still had a touch of meanness to it, but, as always, you could somehow tell that none of that meanness was directed at you, “what I’m trying to say is I bet it would fucking piss her off if you walked back into that party with me on your arm. Spent the whole night with me. Left with me, even. I bet she’d be so angry. I bet it’d ruin her whole fucking week.”

You burst into laughter. You couldn’t help it. No one could do petty like Ransom. You’d forgotten how fun that could be. “Yeah? That’s why you want to hang out with me? To piss off my mom?”

“No, that’s why you want to hang out with me. I want to hang out with you because you’re always the hottest person at these things.” And then he gave you the most shameless once-over you’d ever received.

“Oh my god,” you chuckled with an overly fond eye-roll, despite yourself. He was always just so Ransom. The things about him that pissed you off and drew you to him in equal measure never changed. You were sure they never would. “What about you? I’m sure you have lots of people to piss off. How are Richard and Linda?”

He gave you a bright smile. “Oh, just the absolute fucking worst. As ever.”

You laughed again. “Glad to hear we’re still in the same boat, at least.” You pushed yourself off the wall and took a step closer to him, feeling like you might finally be ready to venture back into the party. “What were you doing back here, anyway? Do you need to finish finding whatever it is you were looking for?”

Ransom glanced away from you for just a moment and then shrugged. “Nah. I was bored out of my mind out there and then saw your mom swanning around, in rare form even for her. Figured I’d probably find you back here.”

You touched his arm without thinking, warmth spreading through your chest. “Wait, you were looking for me?”

He shrugged again. “I know how much you hate these things. Thought you might need checking up on.”

All you could do was stare at him, all the best feelings from your time together rushing back over you. “You’re very surprising, Ransom,” you said, quietly.

He shook his head with a rueful grin. “No,” he said, “definitely not that. I’m just the same old asshole.” He offered you his arm. “Come on, let’s see if we can make that vein in your mom’s forehead throb.”

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly

[ddollfface]

There's just something about... a silent yandere, who's constantly overthinking, that gives me an eerie feeling. You never know what they're thinking, but you know that something's brewing in that mind of theirs, and it sure as hell isn't anything good.

They're smart, no doubt, that was clear the moment you met them. The way they hold themselves just gives off an air of natural intelligence, something they were gifted the moment they spoke their first word. And they've kept that same energy throughout their whole life, until they met you, you, you.

The moment they met you, for the first time in their life, they had no idea what they were doing. They had no control over their breathing. Their heart pound through their ribcage in a rhythmic bum, bum, bum. Their palms become sweaty and the hairs on the back of their necks begin to stand, causing their brain to go foggy and all rational thinking to go out the window. No doubt, you were something different, something they'd never encountered before. And they had no idea what to do.

You made them feel weak in the knees, and they couldn't think of a way to stop it. At first, they thought to avoid you at all costs, only to find that an ach in their chest began to form. This feeling in the pit of their stomach opened up their heart, and it burned, searing through their flesh, and they began to cry.

What the hell have you done to them, Goddamnit! All rationality wasn't found and was replaced with an insufferable need to talk to you, to touch you, and to consume you. They wanted to know everything about you; why you don't you like math? What's your favorite color? Do you want kids, they sure want your babies, if only she had a dick...

What?

What the hell is wrong with them? They must've gone mad... but they're far too gone to rationalize what they're feeling, so they decided to follow along with their heart, ignoring the impending feeling in their head, telling them to run away.

As each day passes, they grow closer, and closer to you, finding more reasons to stay near. They found that they like you, everything about you. And now, instead of wanting to run away, she wants to be as close as possible. She wants to be your best friend, the person you turn to when shit hits the fan, she wants to be your girlfriend...

If only you'd wake up and realize that your friend in fact does not want to go on a date with Javier. That she is in fact not interested in Daniel, or Owen, or Chuy, or Carlos- Goddammit! Can't you get it through your thick skull!? She wants you, you idiot!

Who knew someone so smart could be so dumb. She surely didn't because sitting here, listening to you talk, she's realized that you're utterly oblivious. For the past seven years, she's been giving you hints as to her sexuality, but instead of taking the hint and waking the hell up, you've decided that she's unlucky in love... Yeah, right... You've taken her love life into your hands and have made the decision to set her up on multiple, and I mean multiple, blind dates with far too many men to count. Each and every time the topic comes up, she tries to divert it away from her barren, and honestly sad, love life towards something far more interesting like the haircut you got last week, or the recent Kardashian drama. But nope, you don't want to hear it, instead babbling on and on about some new guy you've met, who would be the "perfect" fit for her. If only you knew... Maybe there's something about the way you seem too enthusiastic about setting her up, or the way you know so much about these men, that gets her riled up to the point where her knuckles turn white and her smile becomes taught. You're completely oblivious to the storm that's brewing, going on and on as you take a sip of your warm beverage, sitting right next to her. Her eyes drift down to your lips, which haven't stopped moving since the two of you walked into the cafe. And, without thinking, she grabs your chin, smashing your lips together, nibbling at your bottom lip. Her tongue piercing rubbing against your upper lip, asking for an entrance. And at that moment- oh You get it now.

[veeluvss]

could you write something about JJ and her kid getting into an argument about them getting into a fight at school context isn't important just something like that

I loved this ask! Thank you. Here's about 2k words :) Non-binary reader (they/them pronouns)

You're not listening.

JJ pulled up outside your school in an angry fit. This was her third time being called in this month for your fighting and she was sick of it. Sick of your behaviour. They’d already suspended you for a few days after your first fight. Since you didn’t start the second one there was no disciplinary but your mum was made aware but now with the third one this month which had called her out of work - she was not happy. 

She marched through the glass doors, her blonde hair bounced behind her and she looked powerful in her suit. However, you didn’t see her as that. Sitting in the principal's waiting, your fear grew thicker. She was angry. Really angry. 

You watched the way she held herself, so assertive. You held the bloody gauze against your nose more and sniffed. The blood still hadn’t stopped but you didn’t even think she’d noticed.

She took a deep breath, not looking in your direction, before addressing the receptionist. “I’m here for Y/N - to see Principal Alex,” she said. Her voice was thin and sharp. “Of course, I’ll let him know you’re here. Thank you for coming so quickly,” the receptionist replied. “Just take a seat and he’ll call you in.” JJ nodded and turned to you. She looked you up and down. Your shirt was stained with crimson blood. Your hands were covered in blood too as no one had cleaned you up - you’d been sent straight to the principal. “Excuse me, can we have some wipes for their hands?” JJ asked the receptionist. The woman behind the desk quickly grabbed some wipes from her desk drawer and handed them over. 

In a huff, JJ came over and sat beside you. “Hand,” she ordered and held out her hand for yours. You swapped your hand holding the gauze against your nose and put the bloody one in hers. She quickly began wiping you down, making sure to get around your fingernails and in your knuckles. “Mum-” You tried to speak but she raised a finger. That meant it was not your turn to speak. “Save it,” she said, clearly upset with you. Once your hands were clean, she looked up at your face. “Let me see,” she said. Her voice was softer but still strict. You pulled the gauze away from your nose. It was bruised and very sore but you didn’t think it was broken. “They didn’t even give you ice? Goddamnit,” she whispered and stood back up to talk to the receptionist. You sat there, sullen. You hated that you’d made your mum this angry and that she wouldn’t listen to your side first. When your mum got angry, she went silent and that frustrated you. It was the easy JJ had always coped but you hated it. 

“I’m sorry but only the school nurse can administer that sort of medical care,” the receptionist said. “Well get the school nurse down here then. They need ice on their nose before it gets anymore swollen,” JJ replied, her anger rising. “I’m afraid we have to wait until after Principal Alex has spoken to them.” “No. Just because they broke a few school rules, doesn’t mean their needs are pushed aside. I want the nurse down here with a bag of ice for them before I even think about stepping into that office.” JJ’s tone was assertive and dominant. The receptionist didn’t hesitate to pick up the phone and call the nurse. 

After you had been given the ice for your nose, you and JJ were called into the principal's office. The person you fought walked out sheepishly with their father and took a seat. You hobbled behind your mum into the office and sat down in the large leather chair. Your mum shook the principal’s hand and sat in the chair adjacent to yours. 

“Now, Miss Jareau,” Principal Alex began, addressing your mum. “It’s unfortunate I have to see you here again but by my reports, Y/N started the fight this time and as we discussed previously, that means expulsion.” Shit. You gulped and looked at your mum. Her expression was serious and upset. Expulsion? This was never, ever discussed with you. “I understand however, I’d like to know what happened before we get to such extreme circumstances,” JJ said. “Y/N? I’ve heard the story from the other person's account - I’d like to hear yours.” The principal said, turning to you. You shuffled in your seat and removed the ice from your nose so you could be heard better. “I was sticking up for myself,” You began. Your mum had turned to you too and you felt sweat form on your brow. Her gaze was scary. “They were making fun of me again, Sir. Calling me a girl and throwing tampons at me,” you whispered. Your gender had always been something you struggled with and while a lot of people accepted you were non-binary – there were people at school who didn’t. “And why didn’t you walk away and report it like I told you to if it happens again?” Principal Alex asked. “Because they were surrounding me, just coming at me. All three of them. It was scary!” You said, growing angry again. No one understood the struggles you faced internally and externally. However, the principal shot you a stern look and you turned away. “Did you have to punch them?” your mum asked, breaking up the silence. You looked at her. Her blue eyes held a different kind of emotion you couldn’t quite figure out. “They were just coming closer to me, Mum. Calling me a freak and asking what was between my legs,” You explained. “But violence is never the answer,” The principal said. “Neither is targeting me for something I can’t control!” You spat. “Watch your tone, Y/N,” JJ said and you scoffed, turning away. “No one understands or listens or even thinks of me in these situations. I get expelled for retaliation - what do they get?” You addressed the question Alex and he sighed and shuffled the papers on his desk. “What do they get?” You asked again, raising your voice and standing up. “Suspension.” “Y/N sit down,” JJ said and grabbed your hand. You pushed her off but sat down in a huff. “Why do they get suspended for repeated bullying and I get expelled? How is that fair?” You asked, turning to your mum in hope she’d stick up for you. “This is the third fight you’ve been involved in this month and we’re only three weeks in, Y/N,” Principal Alex said. “Their alleged bullying hasn’t been reported and there’s no evidence of it.” “Oh so my broken nose isn’t evidence enough?”  You retorted, throwing up your arms. JJ shot you a ‘please calm down’ look but you ignored her. “You threw the first punch.” “They cornered me, it was my only way out!” You shouted, losing your patience. “Y/N, calm down, now.” JJ said. 

“No. No. No mum, I won't calm down because you’re sitting there, peaceful as anything whilst I’m trying to fight for my place in this school even though it’s a literal hell hole and I get bullied constantly. Although apparently none of my reports have been filed. I’m sick of all of this stupid bullshit!” You said and crossed your arms in a huff and kicked out your foot. “Curve your language right now. This behaviour is not acceptable, angry or not,” JJ said. “And you won’t even address the fact I’m being bullied. All you care about is your stupid FBI job and all those other hurt kids you save. You can’t even see that I’m struggling.” 

“That’s not true whatsoever, of course I care about you. I’m here - aren’t I?” “Because you have to be. You didn’t even ask if I was okay when you came in. You didn’t give me a chance to explain myself. When was the last time you checked in with me?” You shouted. JJ sighed and looked around the room, embarrassed. You scoffed. She knew you were right. “Can we save this conversation for some place else?” She asked. You felt a punch in your stomach from her words and turned away before the tears could form in your eyes. “Whatever, mum.” 

Silence fell upon the office and Principal Alex shuffled his papers again. “Y/N, Miss Jareau,” he sighed and addressed the two of you. “I’m going to cut the expulsion to a month’s suspension. In the meantime, I expect you to start therapy, Y/N - anger management or anything you seem fit. I think it will help you massively. The other girls involved in the incident are being dealt with accordingly as I understand their behaviour today was also unacceptable. How does that sound?” “I can come back in a month?” You asked, through gritted teeth, still overwhelmed and angry at your mum. “If you can prove you’ve started regular therapy appointments and keep up with your school work whilst you’re away, yes.” “Okay, that’s a good deal. Y/N?” Your mum said and turned to you. You only nodded and shrugged. “Okay, thank you, Sir,” JJ said and stood up to shake his hand. “Come on, you.” You followed her out the room with the ice back against your nose and out to the car. You climbed into the passenger seat and she made sure both belts were on before setting off home. No one spoke for the twenty minute drive. 

You pulled up on the driveway and noticed your dad’s car. You wanted your dad. He cared. But your mum's voice stopped you. “Wait,” She said. You stopped, with your back turned to her. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t care. I do care, Y/N. More than anyone or anything. I worry about you.” You didn’t know what to say so you let her continue. “I lie awake at night thinking about what goes on at school, about how you cope. You’re so strong and I just - I’m proud of you. I feel like I don’t need to check in when you’re always so smiley and happy and always on your best behaviour. When you act out, like you have been, I get worried I’m doing something wrong and it scares me.” “But you never tell me this,” You whispered. You sat back in your seat and turned to face her. She had tears in her eyes and you felt yours fill with tears too. “You’re growing up, it’s natural for a parent to be scared. You’re different from other kids at school, it worries me more. But you have your bubble. You don’t need your mum checking up on you everyday and making sure everything is okay - I thought it was. I didn’t see past the facade, I guess because it scared me.” “You’re an FBI agent who faces danger everyday but asking if I’m okay scares you?” You asked. She chuckled and sniffed, nodding. “It does. Because believe it or not, I care about you and Henry and Michael so much. You’re my babies and I’m sorry I failed you.” She looked up at you and quickly wiped a tear away. You felt your heart burst and leaned over, you wrapped your arms around her and she held you tight. “I’m sorry I shouted at you,” You whispered. “It’s okay, I deserved it. I wasn’t listening to you.” “I love you, no matter what,” You told her. “Oh you're too grown up,” she blubbered. “I love you so much my baby,” she replied.

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 5487

Ao3 Link

Summary: Arthur revisits Rhodes Parlour House, hoping to get information about the Braithwaite gold from working girl Ettie. He leaves with more questions than answers and a gift he wasn't expecting.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honour Arthur Morgan, angst, emotional smut.

Chapter Two - The Whore

[Chapter 1]

Arthur.

The air in Lemoyne is cloying. Sticky and thick like Molasses. He hates it here, hates waking up wet with sweat, bitten to an inch of his life by the mosquitos that swarm the lake behind his tent.  He’s never been this far south and would gladly leave soon as convenient, except for Dutch’s insistence that gold lies somewhere between the warring Gray and Braithwaite families. He’s less convinced but far from him to try to question Dutch once his mind is set on something. 

A high-pitched buzz by his left ear is met with the thwack of his open palm. Gotcha.

Something else is gnawing away at him, too, besides the mosquitos. A stirring in him, he thought, all but laid to rest after Mary, after— the kind that makes itself known only when he’s here, lying alone in his tent, staring up at the ceiling. 

Want. 

Fuck. He wants her so bad. Ettie, that working girl, up in Rhodes. With her daring eyes and smart mouth — her hands on him, days ago, in the parlour house. Bold as anything. God, if the very thought of her didn’t make a beeline straight down to his cock. He don't like it, don’t like it at all — what she does to him, how she makes him feel. Unarmed. Weak even. But also lighter.

He is appalled to admit he’s considered taking himself in hand more than once now to the thought of her breasts, her smile, the way she looked at him, full of doe-eyed devilment. He’s like some hapless kid. Should be ashamed. 

He’s not been with a whore since his 20s. There was that one Dutch paid for when he turned 17, a string of them after Mary ended things the first time around. Abigail? Once. The last time he lay with a woman was when he and Mary briefly came back together before she married. What was that 94… 95? Would he even remember what to do? Would he be able to last? As a whore she ought not to care, especially if he’s paying for the privilege. But he wants to please her. Wants to fill her smart mouth with sounds of pleasure. Watch those daring, teasing eyes roll back in her head as she comes undone for him. 

He’s stroking himself now. Her imagined sighs. His name on her lips—

Arthurrr—

“—ARTHUR!”

Dutch shouts him from outside his tent. Inescapable like the soupy Lemoyne air. Goddamnit, he hates it here. 

*

“Best I can stoop to is twenty.”

Arthur nods, weighing the expensive-looking silver bracelet loosely in his palm before handing it over. Hosea was better at knowing the worth of fine things, but the fence was on his way back to camp, and it didn’t make sense to make two trips. Still, twenty dollars wasn’t bad for an afternoon playing errand boy to two star-crossed lovers. Not quite the gold Dutch was hoping for, but something at least.

“Deputy.” The man flashes him a knowing wink, touching the brim of his hat. He winces before stiffly nodding back—damn badge. 

He won’t feel too bad about it; the Braithwaite girl, Penelope, had seemed more than content with just the letter, and neither family looked short on finary, as ill-gotten as it was. No, no harm done. 

The sun is at its hottest, leaving him half-blind as it beams punishingly up from the road ahead. Sweat pours from his brow, and he can barely see where he’s going when he finds himself steering Branwen right up the hill towards Rhodes rather than carrying on straight in the direction of camp. 

Only the stench of the butcher’s meat left out too long in the midday heat is enough to break him from his trance and acknowledge where he is. As though Branwen had been steering herself, with him merely passenger. 

Too late to turn around now, he concedes. Might as well carry on heading where he’s heading. 

He takes a long glug from his waterskin before dismounting. Hitching Branwen to the shadiest post of the parlour and making sure she has her fill from the water trough provided—a few extra sugar cubes for good measure. 

“Won’t be long, girl.” 

The heat was just as hard on the horses. 

He assures himself he’s here for reconnaissance— nothing more. If anyone’s likely to have information on the Grays and Braithwaites, it’s her. Probably had enough of them to pick something up the gang could find useful, what with her knack for seeing the stuff folk didn’t want seen. 

The twenty dollars burns a hole in his pocket. 

Ettie had seemed willing the last time, hadn’t she? Not put off or disgusted by him that he could make out. Maybe the badge had its uses, after all. 

Hell, maybe if he slept with her, got it out of his system, he could get on with the job at hand and stop all this silly early morning pining.

*

The parlour house is sleepy as he enters, too late for the lunchtime trade, too early for the field workers to have downed tools and made their way into town. His eyes skirt sheepishly across the bar. 

He’d found himself coming here quite a bit since the gang moved south, not just to avoid Pearson’s cooking but because it was one of the few places that offered solace from the outside sun, the thick leafy green curtains keeping out the worst of the rays. I was nicer than most places he tended to frequent, the white-clothed tables suggesting a level of expected cleanliness from its clientele. And though he’d made sure to kick the mud from his boots before entering, he now chose to stand on the hardwood rather than risk marking the floral rugs that lined the rest of the room.

He can’t see her. Not even sure she's started working yet. And though a couple of girls at the bar make him double-take, none of them are Ettie. 

He’s just about ready to skulk out, feeling old and feckless, when he hears her. Laughter carrying brightly from behind him, awakening the entire place from its slumber. He’d forgotten how alive she was. The rough sketch he’d drawn of her the night he’d got back to camp had barely captured her likeness, let alone her charm. 

She is sat in one of the wooden booths, perched on the lap of a stout-looking man, happy and light, head thrown back, though he’s certain the man at her seat did little to merit such pleasant sounds. 

He stalls for a moment, watching her work and is reminded of Hosea’s ability to tell a person exactly what they want to hear in order to rob them blind — except he isn’t sure who would be robbing who in the current circumstance. 

The stout man’s hand paws lecherously at Ettie’s waist, bouncing her on his knee as he ogles up at her. Surely, no amount could be worth the touch of a man like that. Is that how he had looked, too? Leering and pathetic? Sucked in by talk of sketching and paints. She had read him like a book, and he’d allowed it — a fool to think her interest was in anything other than the dollars in his pocket. 

Well, if money is all it will take to get her pretty face out of his waking thoughts, so be it.

“Miss White?” 

Ettie shifts to face him mid-conversation and grins impishly as though expecting his arrival.

“Hello, stranger.” 

But as he opens his mouth to respond, the words of solicitation stick in his throat, and he realises how unpracticed he is at this whole buisness. The man beneath her glares back, warning him off what’s his. Arthur swallows dryly, raising an arm to rest awkwardly on the booth’s divider, the other hooking into the buckle of his belt. 

“I believe— Last time I was here you—”

Ettie raises an eyebrow, choosing to watch him flounder rather than step to his salvation. 

So she’s toying with him. He sees how it is. Hadn’t acted quick enough the first time around and had her plucked from his side by the drunkard Leigh Gray. Now if he wants her, she’s expecting him to do the same to the dolt under her. He grits his jaw. The glint of his badge catches his eye, and he tries a different tack.

“I’ve heard word there’ve been dangerous men spotted in the area.”

Ettie scans the empty bar and looks back at him plainly.

“Everything seems fine from where I’m sittin’, Deputy.” She puts a playful hand on the stout man’s knee. “Wouldn’t you say so Ernest?” The man nods, wrapping his arm ever tighter around Ettie’s waist. 

“Would you just—I’d like it if—” He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he avoids meeting her eye and instead looks over his shoulder towards the central staircase. He speaks low, “Last time I was in, you asked to show me your work— but we was interrupted.”

A twinkle of recognition from Ettie. “Oh? You still interested?”

“Yes.” He sniffs. It’s out there now. Can’t take it back. 

She silently weighs up some mental calculation before placing a palm on Ernest’s chest. “I’m sorry, Darlin’. Would you mind terribly if you bought me a drink some other time? The Deputy and I have a prior arrangement.” 

He almost sympathises as he watches the man’s face shift from confusion to disappointment, but before it has a chance to twist into anger, Ettie kisses Ernest squarely on the mouth. “Wait right here. I’ve got someone who’ll know how to make it up to you.” She leaves with a wink and no room for protest, springing up and scurrying across to the bar. 

Arthur regards Ernest with an awkward salute, unsure what to say given the circumstances. At least when he robbed men at gunpoint, there was no pretence of polite conversation. 

It’s Ernest who is first to break their silence, “She’s a wily one, Deputy. Not as perky as some of the younger girls, but makes up for it with experience.” He slaps Arthur’s arm in a fashion far too familiar. It makes his skin crawl. “Clean, too.” 

“They’ll be cleanin' you off this floor if you speak about the Lady like that again. We understood?” He’d done his best not to raise his voice, Dutch’s instructions of keeping a low profile never far from his mind, but the man is still white as a sheet as Ettie arrives back at the booth. With her is a lofty-looking girl with ashy blonde hair, who regards Arthur with an amused up and down as she passes. She doesn’t bother to say hello, instead making a beeline straight to Ernest’s side. 

“A birdy told me you were in need of company since yours is being so rudely snatched away,” she says pointedly. 

Although Ettie rolls her eyes, it’s obvious she’s in on the bit. 

“Ernest, Ida’s going to take good care of you while I take the Deputy upstairs. Don’t have too much fun without me now.”

*

The walk up to Ettie’s room is long enough for the dread to start to kick in. He can feel his heart pumping in his throat and remembers why he stopped all this nonsense years ago, but then the warmth of her touch meets the small of his back, and she smiles at him gently from under her lashes.

 “I’ve been wantin' to get you away from prying eyes,” she says quietly, for his ears alone. “Here’s my room, first on the left.” 

As the door closes behind them, he can finally allow his shoulders to relax as he is greeted by the smell of lavender and something sweet he can’t quite place—chamomile, maybe? Her room is small, with sunny yellow walls and surfaces laden with bric-à-brac, the type which collects only once a space has been lived in for some time. Things that would be prone to getting lost or damaged travelling from pillar to post as he did, things he wanted to pick over and admire. 

A painting hung to his right catches his eye: a handsome-looking dark bay drinking from what looks like Flat Iron Lake. He moves towards it to inspect it up close.

“You wanna leave your gun by the door, Deputy?” Ettie says softly.

He looks down. Of course. And undoes his gun belt, wrapping it around itself before setting it on the side, along with his hat. He stands before her, disarmed, not quite sure what to make of the curious way she watches him or where to rest his twitching fingers without the cool metal of his buckle to anchor to. He folds his arms.

“That’s Burdock, my baby. I take him out ridin’ whenever I can.” Ettie says, gesturing to the painting that caught his attention. 

“You painted this?” 

She grins, sticking up her nose with pride. “I did!�� Her lack of reticence surprising. 

“S’good.” 

He’d never been much of a smooth talker when it came to women. Even when first courting Mary it had taken months to build up to asking her for a kiss. But this wasn’t courting, and he’d do best to remember that. 

“As flattered as I am, I know you didn’t come up here just to look at my art.”

“Can a man not appreciate a paintin’?”

“They can,” she says, slinking up to him and running a trail of fire across his chest. Pressing herself flush against him. Her hair smells like rose water — not mud, or sweat, or blood. And it disturbs him to think that the last time he felt the heat from another’s body so close, his hands were wrapped around their neck. The tip of her nose aligns with his collarbone, and he could rest his chin on her crown if he felt bold. “But it would be an awful expensive trip just to look at a picture.” 

She steps back slowly to look at him, her absence leaving him cold. For a moment he fears she’s sensed the danger he’s sure he radiates — realising a beat too late, the expected next step of their dance. 

“How much do I owe you?” he says, flusteredly reaching into his satchel. 

“Five dollars. Anything ‘French’ is an additional two — Though considering I’m due payment from our little sweepstakes, I’d be happy to waive the fee for that on this occasion.” 

He’d almost forgotten about the bet placed on his head and wondered how often the women discussed what went on behind closed doors, how he would fair in comparison. He cringes at the thought and tries to push it to the back of his mind. 

“I ain’t expectin’ special treatment, don’t worry.”

He hands over five dollars, and with the money on the dresser, Ettie retakes her position. The plainness of the transaction and the affection it now entitled him to feeling implausible. 

“Relax a little,” her voice comes out like a breath, encouraging him to breathe deeply in time with her. “It’s okay. We’re gonna have fun.” She guides him over to the bed before stepping back to remove her shirtwaist and skirt, each button revealing new skin he now had permission to touch. 

As he stands there watching, something about the ungraceful practicality of her undressing fascinates him, how in contrast it felt to the choreographed movements of the rest of her performance. He wonders if this is her more natural state, all furrowed brows and uncoordinated limbs, and if so, what it took for her to keep up appearances. 

When down to her corset and underthings, Ettie faces the mirror to unpin the hair fixed neatly atop her head. He is silent as it falls like water, spilling over the ridge of her shoulders and pooling loosely at the base of her spine. 

“Your turn now.” She says, and he hardly has time to react before her nimble fingers are working open the buttons of his shirt. 

From this angle, he can see how the sun has caught the high points of her face, leaving behind a sprinkle of freckles lightly masked by powder. The slope of her neck is decorated by loose curls and a small silver locket that bobs up and down above her— He dares not gaze lower. Only as she begins to work at his fly does his sluggish brain arrive at the moment in hand.

“You ain’t taking this off?” His voice comes out hoarser than he expects, and for the first time, Ettie looks a little startled, stepping back to look at him hesitantly. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“I wasn’t planning on. My draws are split, and this unties. Look—” She pulls the ribbon at her shoulder. And he hates that it’s Ernest’s words that colour his view as the loosened cotton strap of her chemise falls away to expose a pretty breast, pushed up by the boning of her corset. Was the man blind? “It’s a little cumbersome to get on and off.” He aches to see her fully, to touch the skin still hidden from view, but he won’t push. 

Her hand dips back into his open fly, sliding between a gap in his union suit. He lets out a wince to feel the pads of her fingers making contact with the base of his dick. “That feel good?” she goads. His whole body gone rigid. Barely able to summon words. Nodding sharply in response, as she begins to ease him out. 

The pace in which she palms him feels foreign compared to his hand's efficient strokes, but she is responsive to each breath, learning him with every shudder and tense of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in the sensation of her experienced hands. Rare he is permitted such selfish pleasure. Rare anyone did anything for him without expectation of its return tenfold. And yet— The lopsidedness of the arrangement suddenly feels too much to bear. He needs to touch her, needs to make her feel as good as she’s making him. 

As her speed quickens, he moves a cautious hand to her breast, cradling her delicately before lightly skimming his thumb across her nipple. Testing. Her rhythm falters slightly, and he is rewarded with a small whimper that escapes half-bitten through her lips. That’s it. He circles the pebbled skin, harder this time, and delights to feel her swell under his touch. Confidence growing, he dips his head lower to taste her. She moans again, but this time unrestrained, head lolling back as he sucks. 

“Arthurrr—”

Her strokes hasten, and he needs to hear her keen for him again. Needs to touch her. He reaches down between them, between her legs, trying to find the source of her heat amongst rumpled cotton, but then she is pulling away. Stepping back. Straightening up. 

“Hey, this is about you. Don’t worry about me, okay.” She says.

“But—” 

“Shhhh, trust me,” Ettie whispers calmly and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. He worries that he has done something wrong, hurt her in some way he didn’t intend, too forceful, too coarse. But like she can read his mind—

“Stay put, I ain’t goin' nowhere.”

She’s good at that, he thinks, toeing the line between gentle and firm. Never going as far to bruise a man’s ego but not coming across as a pushover either. Had she always been that way, or had she learnt how to soothe a man, just as he’d learnt how to intimidate them? Through necessity. What was her natural temperament? What was his? 

Ettie walks over to the dresser and grabs a small glass jar, scooping out a little of the contents before returning to the bed. 

“You wanna get a little more comfortable?” She says, eyeing his half-open union suit and the jeans around his ankles with amusement. What a sight he must look. But if she was going to remain in her underthings, shouldn’t he? It didn’t seem proper to be exposed when she was not. He kicks off his jeans but leaves his Union suit open, but on. 

“What’s that?” He nods to the creamy concoction cupped in her hand.

“Just a little somethin’ for my comfort.” That playful look again. “You are quite… sizable. I wanna make sure I’m ready for you.”

His cheeks darken, her lack of arousal confirming his worst fears.

“Maybe if you let me touch you, you might enjoy it more.”

Her sigh is affectionate. “Who said I wasn’t enjoying myself? Anyone ever told you you worry too much?”

They face each other at the precipice of the bed. His toes curling whilst she slicks up his length with the salve in what feels like one continuous gliding motion, till he is rock hard and panting before her. She shifts herself to bend over the bed, guiding him behind her with a hand on his hip. She arches her back to rest with her forearms on the mattress. 

“You ready to show me what you can do, Deputy?”

“Arthur. Please.” He manages to huff out, unable to look away from the way she is presented so brazenly for him.

Ettie gives him a wry grin over her shoulder. “Arthur, I want you to show me what you’ve been dreamin’ on since we first met.” And he wants to show her, too. 

Swallowing thickly, he carves a hand between the slit of her draws, spreading them open to finally expose the supple flesh of her backside. The sight alone has his dick twitching in anticipation, helpless to prevent the full handful of her ass he takes in his grasp. 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He croaks.

“Might have heard it mentioned.” 

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, steadying his breath, before aligning himself with her entrance. He is mindful not to push into her too quickly, and though the salve helps some, he hears her breath hitch in her chest as she takes him, inch by inch.

“Too much?” He asks, trying to mask his trepidation, but he is answered by an enthusiastic grind of her hips, which sheaths him fully inside. He stops breathing for a moment, caught by the clutch of her cunt. Senses all but lost to the sensation of her heat. His lids grow heavy, but the sight of his cock buried to the hilt has him straining to keep them open. Hypnotised by the way she encases him. 

He gently rocks himself backwards and then forward, shallow at first and then deeper, slowly increasing his pace with each slap of their hips.

“Ettie-”

“That feel good, Arthur?” So good. So good. And he wishes he could look into those teasing eyes as she spears herself back onto him. At first, matching his tempo and then provoking him to speed up, take her faster, harder. 

He won’t last much longer at this rate. And tries to bat away the sinking feeling that that might be something she wants. For this to be over quickly. She’s making all the right noises, but then again, he walked into this room with a badge on his chest, so honesty was hardly something he felt entitled to. 

He wants her closer, craving the reassurance only her face could bring. He arches down over her, carefully hooking an arm around her chest, drawing her up into him, until she kneels upright on the bed with him holding her weight from behind, bodies remaining locked. 

“This ok?” He huffs.

“Mhmmm” She nods back hazily.

From this position, he can see her better, the rise and fall of her chest, the growing flush that has spread from her cheeks down her neck, the way her eyes shutter when he reaches for her breast, his other seeking out her heat from below. She hums a little then, a sound so pure it answers all suspicions about the authenticity of those proceeding it. God how he wants to watch her come around him, if only he can last long enough to get her there. 

His fingers slip between her folds, spreading her open as he continues to fuck up into her, the slick of her cunt undeniably her own making now. Ettie’s back arches wildly as he begins to rub a tight ring around her clit, and she lets out a noise halfway between a shriek and a moan like she is surprised by the pleasure. But when he tries to continue, she is grasping his wrist, pulling it away from her core and bringing it up to her mouth to suck hard on his fingers. The debauched way she looks at him then almost sends him over the edge. 

“Come for me, Arthur.”

God, his name sounds like honey on her lips. 

“Just like that—”

 Surely she’s not inferring what he thinks she is? But he is near losing himself in the thought alone.

“So close—” She coos, “Just let go, fill me—” 

Fuck. Fuck—

He drags his erupting cock out of her just in time as he spills violently onto her ass and then the floor, staggering backwards, trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus! Jesus. I nearly— I’m sorry.” He babbles, feeling boorish and out of control. 

“Hey there. I know. I said you could.” She says, turning around to run her fingers through his ruffled hair. He looks back at her, confused, still out of breath. 

“Ain’t you worried about—” he stops, trying to find the correct phrasing but becoming aware of the fond, almost patronising look on Ettie’s face. 

“I ain’t worried, no.” She smiles gently, “Wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t take precautions.” 

He nods sheepishly, though still not entirely at ease, before sitting back down at the edge of the bed, sighing deeply, struggling to enjoy the last twitches of his high. 

When his breath returns to normal, he grabs his jeans from the foot of the bed, trying not to cringe at the mess he’s made of her and her floor.  

“Don’t feel like you have to rush on account of me,” Ettie says, making her way to a small porcelain jug and basin in the corner of the room. She dampens a washcloth and wipes away all trace of his spend still marking her skin. 

“Want me to clean you up?” She approaches him cautiously.

“I’m alright.” He says. 

She raises a silent eyebrow. 

“I mean, I can manage for myself.” 

She nods and hands him over the rag. He’s not sure how to feel as he tidies himself up, but he's aware of her eyes on him, watching, trying to figure him out. Knowing he’s been read before she even opens her mouth. 

“When did you last lay with a woman, Deputy?” 

He pauses. That bluntness that throws his head through a loop. Dangerous. And he doesn’t know how to answer—what she’s wanting to hear— that it was likely five years since he’d been touched like that? That he’d touched someone else? Was she looking for an explanation for his rustiness or an apology? 

“Was it obvious?” he asks, unable to fully meet her gaze. 

“Well, you ain’t got a ring and—” She hesitates momentarily. “I shouldn’t say it,” The apples of her cheeks start to ripen uncontrollably until she breaks into laughter. “You fuck like you’ve somethin’ to prove.” 

He might be inclined to take such a comment to heart if it wasn’t for the pleasure he took in seeing her so genuinely amused, and before he knows it, he’s chuckling too.

“I just didn’t want it to be awful for you.” 

Ettie nudges him with her heel. “You paid me to make you feel good. So as long as you had fun, I did too.” 

She lights a cigarette and offers him one from her case: silver, engraved with the initials A.B. in an ornate filigree. He accepts and allows her to light the smoke from the tip of her own. He still doesn’t quite know how to make conversation but is relieved to have something to occupy his hands. 

“Still wanna see my paints?” She asks after a few moments quiet.

“That’s why I’m up here, ain’t it?” He says wryly. She scoffs before darting across the room, opening draws, rooting through cupboards, pulling things out left and right—a tornado, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. 

When she returns, her arms are laden with supplies, and she settles down next to him cross-legged on the bed, spreading out her wares between them. She opens a battered-looking sketchbook and smooths out the page.

“See,” she says, stroking the paper and encouraging him to do the same. “Just like the paper in your journal—Oh, wait a second.” 

She stands abruptly before dashing off again, this time to the water jug. Her back turned, Arthur flicks through the pages and is rapt by a flurry of faces looking back at him. A few he recognises as girls from the parlour, but there are others too: an elderly woman in a bright feathered hat, a rakish-looking man in spectacles, a little girl with pigtails holding a ragdoll, each of them living and breathing on the page like she had rendered their very souls. 

“You snoopin’?” Ettie tuts in mock disapproval, though she doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion. “And after all the grief you gave me for looking at your art.”

Art. 

Arthur had never thought about his sketches in that way before. Sure, he sometimes felt pride if he managed to capture something or someone’s likeness in a way that felt true, but he’d never had any training to consider what he did art. Not like the pretty pictures spread out in front of him now. These felt so full of life he swore he wouldn’t be surprised to see one of them moving.

“These are good,” he says as she settles beside him, her thigh resting lightly against his. 

She rolls her eyes, then nudges his arm. “Get your journal out— Don’t worry, I don’t wanna look at any of the drawings— Well, I do, but I’m not going to force you. Just want to show you something.” 

He relents and gets his journal from his satchel, handing it over suspiciously, realising only after it’s in her hands how reckless he’s being, and for what? He hadn’t asked her about the blood feud between Grays and Braithwaits, nothing about the gold. The only information gleaned was that his dick still worked, and even that had only served him.

Keeping to her word, Ettie opens the book to an untouched page and submerges her paintbrush into the jug, tapping off the excess water and swirling the tip into a square of dried paint. Her hand hovers over the blank page before gliding the brush across the paper in a flourish of crimson, blooming as it settled, like petals opening at dawn. 

“Here, you try.” 

She dips the brush back into the jug to clean it off before holding it out towards Arthur. Following her direction, he scrubs the brush into a dark green pan and brings his hand to the paper. His line comes out fainter than hers and less fluid, the brush strokes looking scratchy as he reaches the edge of the page. 

“Not enough paint. Got to get it saturated.” She smiles. “But look,” she flicks over the page, “it hasn’t gone through.” She starts to explain about wetting the paper before applying the paint, working in layers, letting stuff dry, getting more and more animated, that he starts to laugh. 

“You have to start adding colour to your work. I could—” She stops. “You planin’ on seein’ me again?” The question is abrupt, as though she realises she is getting ahead of herself and needs to square off the basics first. 

He hadn’t considered that this would be more than a one-time occurrence but he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the sense of relief that had spread throughout his body and mind in the past half hour. More settled than he’d been in months, maybe even years. Perhaps next time he could get some information out of her. Perhaps next time he could prove himself a less selfish lover.

“I’d like to if you’ll have me.”

“Marvellous! Here—” She thrusts a small wooden box into his hands.

“What’s—?”

***

“A watercolour set for travelling. Not amazing quality but perfect for a beginner or someone on the move.” She gives him a wry smile “You can borrow it and show me how you get on next time you see me.” 

She’s a whirlwind, and even as he’s riding Branwen back into camp he still feels bowled over. Not sure how he’s agreed to as much as he has, or if he’s being played, or if he cares to stop it.

Tag list: @redwritr, @twola, @ultraporcelainpig, @cassietrn & @milesology

If you would like to be added/removed from the tag list, just let me know! x

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Boss Clark Kent or Bully Sy??

Bully Sy who happens to be your boss

Help (Un)Wanted

Warnings: this drabble includes bullying and self-esteem issues. Please proceed with caution. This is not fluff.

Please leave a comment and reblog.

"Girl, what're you looking so dumb for?" The burly man snarls as he grabs a wrench. 

"Your-- your two o'clock is here. Mr., er, Mr.... Cray--" 

"Crayton," Sy snarls and you nod. You sway nervously as he lays back and rolls under the car again. "Don't I look busy? Hell, you go on and tell him to wait." 

"S-sir--" 

"Scram," he spits. 

You don’t hesitate to do exactly that. You flee the smell of oil, though it wafts through the entire place, along with the damp chill. Just like your boss’ anger, neither relent. You smile at Mr. Crayton as you emerge and resume your perch behind the front desk. 

“Um, he’ll be a couple minutes. He has to clean up.” 

Sy is just as good as dealing with his customers as he is you. You feel bad for him. He can’t be very happy if that’s how he treats people. The way his face turns red and that vein bulges in his forehead, he can’t have much peace. You don’t dwell on it. Like your dad, he won’t change. 

You go back to your crossword book as you wait. The radio drones behind you, filling the dearth, and Crayton taps his toe impatiently. People might not like the grumpy mechanic, but they respect his work. He charges a fair price and he’s efficient. 

“Did he say how long?” Crayton asks as he puts down the magazine in his hands. 

“Umm, not long,” you lie. With Sy, it could be a few minutes or an hour. 

“Can I leave my keys with ya? I gotta get to my kids’ game. You just tell him it keeps stalling.” He stands and crosses to your desk. 

“Oh, er, sure, I can do that.” 

“Thanks,” he says curtly and drops his keys on the desk. 

Before you know it, he’s on his phone and halfway to the door. You suppose he has more important things than waiting around on the mercurial mechanic. You’re only there because you get paid for that task. 

You turn on the squeaky chair and turn the dial in search of a different station. You find something relatively recent and go back to trying to find a seven-letter word that might describe a cactus or unpleasant person. 

You hear Sy before he comes out. He wipes his thick fingers on an oil-stained cloth and growls as his eyes search the front room. “Where’d he go then?” 

“He had to go. Left his keys. Says it keeps stalling’.” 

“Goddamnit, girl,” he snarls as he stomps towards you, “you couldn’t tell him to wait?” 

“His appointment was forty minutes ago--” 

“I didn’t ask that, did I? You really are stupid. You know, if I didn’t like your daddy, you wouldn’t have a job,” he scoffs. “Then you’d truly be useless.” 

You frown and set the pen between the pages, “sorry, sir, I tried--” 

“Tried.” He shakes his head. “Thought I asked ya to put coffee on.” 

You glance over at the machine. “I did... couple hours ago.” 

“Well, it’s cold,” he charges over to the table in the corner. “You want me to drink this piss?” 

“No, sir,” you stand, “I’ll make some new stuff. It’s okay.” 

“It’s okay? You sittin’ there with your puzzles like you actually got a brain,” he sneers. “You fill up my mug and bring it to me. Too busy to be dealin’ with your lazy ass.” 

You wince as you empty the filter and set a new one in the basket. You don’t like your job and it seems your job doesn’t like you. You can’t do anything right. It’s better than having nothing at all and in a small town, that’s more likely than not. You can put up with Sy for the cash, even if it isn’t very much. 

As he leaves, you let the breath out of your tight chest. You got out into the garage to retrieve his insulated cup. The silver is dented and scratch from years of use. You take it and rinse it out in the tiny bathroom. 

The coffee brews slowly and you fill his cup, twisting on the lid tight. He likes it black. That doesn’t surprise you, as bitter as he can be. You take it out to the garage as he pulls Crayton’s car in through the open door. 

You put the thermos on his table as he slams the door. His treads hammer across the floor as he lumbers toward you. You back up and he huffs. 

“Maybe you should have a cup and wake up,” he jeers as he snatches the cup. 

“Sir,” you clasp your hands together. “Anything else?” 

“Didn’t I tell ya to sweep up?” 

“I did--” 

“Well do it again. I don’t pay ya to sit around. You’re not pretty enough for that,” he turns away, nearly knocking you with his elbow. 

You back up and turn away. As much as he likes your dad, you don’t get why he agreed to this. It’s been six months and nothing’s gotten better. You told your dad and he just laughed and said ‘that’s Sy’. Your mom told you to grow and do your work.  

You can’t argue with either of them so long as you live under their roof. Twenty-four and you’re still at their table eating their food. Maybe they think you deserve it. Maybe your dad did it on purpose. After all, they never missed an opportunity to tell you how unwanted you are. 

“Call Eileen. Her car’s ready,” Sy hollers after you. “And in my fucking way.” 

[elaemae]

The premium version of human is here to wreck house, mfs.

[Twst x ObeyMe!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 7

Again, I thank y'all for the reblogs, likes and comments guys, it really helps me :)

CW: Blue pronouns or address for MC every time they get mistaken for a guy. Also, I'm a potty mouth so MC is too.

Inhale..

Exhale....

Inhale......

Exhale.......

Inhale.........

Ex-fucking-hale.......

You're about to have a stroke right now.

You should've just went back to the goddamn infirmary instead of checking in on these obnoxious, bitch-less, probably father-less, motherfuckers.

It's just cleaning windows!! How the hell can you mess up like this?! Why the fuck did the cafeteria chandelier get involved??

GODDAMNIT!! WHY IS YUU INVOLVED AS WELL?! AHHHH—!

*One eternity of screaming like a banshee later*

After sending those damn kids and cat away to get some sort of magical stone in some godforsaken mine, you wrangled with the headmaster for at least two hours to prevent him from writing up the expulsion papers of Yuu and that Blue-haired kid who was mostly innocent about the ordeal.

(Meanwhile, encouraging him to kick that Ace kid and the damn cat off the school. You ain't about to let audacity run free rn, mostly because you feel yourself start genuinely tweaking as you almost got possessed by the urge to sucker punch someone's soul out of their body.)

[Satan perked up, there it was again.

That distinctive spark of wrath that he can feel through your pact with him is both concerning and comforting.

On one hand, the anger he feels means that you're alive. And seeing that what he's feeling through the pact is mostly annoyance, then that must mean that nothing marginally bad or traumatizing had happened to you yet.

You're actually more pissed off in a 'someone-had-the-audacity-to-eat-my-snacks' kind of way more than anything else, meaning that you're safe for now.

But on the other hand, he doesn't know how long that temporary safety will last.

There's also the fact this is the fourth time he'd felt that spark of 'I-wanna-punt-someone-into-the-fuckin-sun' kind of anger from you, which is worrying because it hasn't even been 48 hours since you were kidnapped by some mf.

He shook his head, calling upon a subordinate (read: Devoted fan) to collect more and more books to learn what type of teleportation and sleeping magic was used in your kidnapping.

With the massive search party spanning all three realms that they'd called upon, they will find you sooner or later.

And once they do...

Well... You'll need to get used to being with someone at all hours of the day.]

*Passive-aggresively reminding Crowley that he can't kick out an innocent kid for something they didn't directly do as they had no way of stopping the events that transpired.*

["You don't want the word to get out that you let an innocent teen roam around in a foreign world with absolutely nothing to their name and nobody to protect them, right?"

"That is true, but I still can't just let this go unpunis–"

"Especially when it's the school's faulty equipment that took them so far away from all of their loved ones and belongings, right?"]

Needless to say, Yuu ended up being "fired" in the end, quite an unfortunate result because they will need to freeload off of you until the end of your stay in this world. (Poor them, they got fired before they knew that they had a job in the first place.)

Oh well, it's better than being kicked out from practically their only way back home right now...

Hays... That cruel crow..

Anygays, it's time to snoop around and hopefully make some connections to the residents of this school.

This is a well-known college, right? So there should be influential people here somewhere...

Hehe.. It's time you bring out your gaslight, gatekeep, gold-digging skills so that you can girlboss your way into stability inside this foreign world.

• • • • • •

Suddenly, more than a dozen individuals felt a strong shiver run up their spines.

Haha... Well that's ominous!

• • • • • •

Ortho deadpanned at his brother.

It seems that almost burning down their dorm room last night isn't enough to deter him from making his [Mr. L/n x reader] fanfiction complete with mandatory fan art for every single chapter.

Haaa....

But at least his brother isn't 'fanboying' about another fictional character again...

Hm... Now that he thinks about it..

Maybe his brother will be more inclined to make friends if it's Mr. L/n!

And thus begins Ortho's journey of being an unknowing wingman as he tries to get his introverted brother to make friends.

• • • • • •

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at the small gift on top of your temporary bed in the infirmary.

Dats suspicious....

Dats weird......

You turn your necklace into a staff and start poking the box, trying to see if it'll suddenly turn into a horrific eldritch monster and jump you. (Won't be the first time that happened.)

• • • • •

"It is done, ××× ×× ××××××" (This is too easy to guess😑)

• • • • •

Diavolo sighed for the tenth time that hour, lamenting how trying to focus on his paperwork is a really hard task when MC gets thrown into the situation.

'Maybe a small break will help clear my head?'

He might as well just go out for a walk in the garden to get some fresh... air...

Oh? what is this?

His eyes scanned the dark envelope he'd seen wedged under the 'To burn' stack of paperwork in his desk.

This envelope wasn't here yesterday...

After confirming that the piece of paper wasn't cursed or charmed, he opened it with apprehension.

...!

This..!

• • • • •

Barbatos appeared in the office, tense as he'd heard his lord call out his name with haste.

Reading the letter shoved in front of his face by the serious Diavolo, Barbatos made a mental note to get the dungeon chambers ready.

They've got themselves a lead.

← Pr.6 | Chapter List | Chp. 1.1 →

Just tell me if y'all wanna get added in the permanent taglist, even if I already tagged y'all here.

That's just so I'll know if you wanna get tagged in all the upcoming chapters of this fanfic.

@caprinaesprout

@iameliseposts

@leviathans-tail-scales

@twst-om-lover

@a-traveling-void-human

Reblog or I'll take your ankles😈 (Pls like and reblog, it really gives me motivation🥺)

Also, the next chap is the start of Arc 1: Satan but short.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

The Stirrings in the Junkyard

Summary: A one-shot set during season 2. Eddie was hanging out in the junkyard when he caught sight of a side of Steve Harrington that no one had ever seen before, and it caused quite a stir in Eddie's secret romantic heart. Also, with a side of monsters.

Eddie was just minding his own business, really. Here he was, late at night, sitting in a junked out old car that he turned into a little fort. Wayne's trailer was occupied tonight. . .their trailer was occupied tonight. He was still getting used to calling it that since he moved in a few months or so ago. Well, officially anyway, he's lived there on and off the last few years since he was eight. It wasn't until his goddamn house burned down due to his own stupid decision-making skills and his father's that he had to move in with Wayne. Not that he was complaining. He loved Wayne. He just missed that house sometimes, the house his mom had picked out herself. He sighed and tried to get the image of his mother's records going up in smoke out of his head and focused on the book he was reading under a flashlight. That's when he heard it, the sound of hushed voices and something. . . something growling.

Shit, was the junkyard occupied by someone else tonight? Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. He finally found a perfect place to escape to, and someone else was here. God, was it someone doing something sketchy. . .like maybe a drug deal. Eddie snorted. He was the one to talk, considering he had just started selling drugs to help pay the bills. Shit, did he have competition? No, these sounded like kid's voices, and someone was yelling for a guy named Steve. Eddie peered through the broken door frame from the back seat of the car. His eyes widened when he saw what was next to the very car that he was in. At first, he thought that it was a fucked up looking dog but there was no way that this creature belonged here on Earth. There was just no fucking way.

Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling out. One sound and he was done for. The creature was black with long, gangly looking limbs. It walked on all four of them, so it was an easy mistake to make, thinking it was a dog. It had no face. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. How did it eat? Oh God, he didn't want to find out. That's when he saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Steve Harrington. He stood in front of the bus like a guardian or a knight, a nail studded baseball bat in his hand and wielding it like a sword. He could see kids' faces peeking out and calling for him. Steve was protecting them. He was a gallant handsome knight, protecting his young charges. He's more like a paladin, really, Eddie thought. Wait, handsome? He must have let out a wimper because suddenly, the creature was trying to get into the car.

"Shit!" Eddie cursed as he backed away from the window and pressed himself up against the other door.

Suddenly, the creature's non face opened up to a giant flowery shaped mouth with thousands of rows of teeth. He was going fucking die. . .or so he thought. A moment later, he saw more creatures approach Steve, and Eddie watched for a moment as Steve took a swing at one, hitting it with everything he had. Eddie couldn't stop watching the swing of his hips. The creature growled and moved away from the window. It joined the others in their fight against Steve. Eddie couldn't stop watching the way he moved. The man was breathtaking, a word he never used to describe a man before, but it was accurate. The word belonged to Steve, and now, suddenly, Eddie could see what so many of the girls were saying about him. He was utterly gorgeous. Yep, Eddie Munson had a crush on a boy. Goddamnit, those stupid jocks were right. He wasn't straight. He wasn't gay either though.

"Fuck," Eddie muttered.

Suddenly, the creatures ran off like they were called away, and for whatever reason, Eddie still couldn't stop watching Steve. Okay, he knew about his crush and the things that go bump in the night, Eddie could look away now. He was in awe of Steve Harrington, though, completely enamored, and he couldn't look away. He watched as Steve ran his hands through his hair, and Eddie's eyes followed his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Eddie licked his own. Steve’s side was turned to him so he could see his profile pretty well in the moonlight. Eddie's eyes followed past his hair and down the curvature of his back. He liked the way his back curved, and Eddie could image running his hands down it until they rested against the small of his back. . .maybe even cupping his well-rounded ass. Holy shit, you could probably bounce a nickel off that thing. That's when he realized he was being watched. Steve’s eyes were on his or were they? He couldn't see him, right? Steve started moving toward the car. Shit.

"Steve, come on, they're heading toward the lab!" A boy shrieked.

"I thought I saw - Nevermind! Wait for me, you little shitheads!" Steve yelled.

Eddie sunk low and laid down against the seat. He pressed a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. He shut his eyes tight, hoping that it had all been a dream. He wasn't sure when he had drifted off to sleep, but when he had opened his eyes again, sunlight was peaking through the window. Shit! Eddie sat up and quickly climbed out of the car. Wayne was going to be worried. He hopped in his van and drove off. When he got back to the trailer, Wayne was waiting for him out on the couch out front. It was earlier than he thought it was. The sun hadn't quite woken all the way up yet. Eddie plopped down next to him on the couch.

"Your friend leave?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. You fall asleep in the car again?" Wayne asked.

"Yep," Eddie said, his leg shaking.

"You know, you don't have to keep doing that. Going to the junkyard," Wayne said.

"It's fine. I loved it there," Eddie said.

"You look a little pale there. Is everything okay?" Wayne asked.

Eddie looked at him and debated on whether or not he should tell him. Knowing his uncle and his conspiracy theories, he knew he would believe him if he said anything. It was best to keep it quiet.

"You ever ran away from something because people were telling you that's who you are, and they acted like it was a bad thing, but really, you didn't want them to be right because of your own stupid fears?" Eddie asked.

"Tried to run away from being a Munson when I was younger," Wayne shrugged. "But then I realized it wasn't just my daddy who shared the name but my mama too. She chose to be a Munson even after everything he put us through and even after he died. I ain't ashamed of it no more because you're one too, and I'm happy to share it with you, too."

"The crazy thing is, is that I never thought that it was a bad thing, I just ran away from it, and I don't know why," Eddie said.

"Looking into a mirror and being aware you're looking at yourself can be an unsettling thing. It's hard to open up to people and even harder to open up to yourself," Wayne said. "You want to tell me what this is all about, son?"

"I like women, but I also like. . . ," Eddie said and suddenly pictured his own dad walking out of his life, giving him pause. ". . . I also like men."

He was leaning forward, sitting on the very edge of the couch and trying his hardest not to look at Wayne. Suddenly, he was pulled back, and Wayne was hugging him tightly to his chest.

"You're my boy, and ain't nothing going to change that," Wayne said. "I love you, kid."

"I love you, too," Eddie sniffled as Wayne kissed the top of his head, and Eddie pulled back.

"Besides, you really thought the friend that I invited over here last night was a woman?" Wayne asked.

"You're - "

"Gay. Always have been," Wayne said.

"You never said," Eddie said.

"You never asked. I never asked you either. I figured you would come to me when you were ready," Wayne said.

Eddie sighed, grinning, and leaned back. He sank lower into the couch and rested his head on Wayne's shoulder like he used to do. They watched the sun wake all the way up, shining down over the trailer park as though it was letting them know that everything was going to be okay. For a moment, Eddie believed in the sun, and then he remembered the creatures in the junkyard. The image of the teeth chowing down on Uncle Wayne popped into his head. He couldn't stop the shudder from coming. He wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure there isn't anything else that you want to talk about?"

"I'm good, Uncle Wayne. I'm all good."

He had been hoping to talk to Steve that very day at school, but he wasn't there that day, nor was he there the following day. The next time he saw him was on Monday, and it looked like someone had done a number on his face. He managed to get him alone when Eddie himself was also going to the bathroom. He had spotted Steve going in first. He waited a moment before following him in there. Steve hadn't noticed him at all, struggling with the lid of a Tylenol bottle. Eddie made sure no one else was in the stalls before locking the bathroom. He swiped the bottle from Steve’s hand and hopped up on the bathroom counter.

"Those are not going to help you," Eddie said.

"And how do you know what's going to help me, Dr. Munson?" Steve scoffed.

"I've been called worse," Eddie said, cackling. "I don't know if you've heard about what I've been doing lately - "

"Selling weed," Steve said.

"Yes, that," Eddie said. "It's going to help you a lot more than these things will."

"I don't have a whole lot of money on me," Steve said, looking embarrassed.

Eddie tilted his head, studying him. He looked weak, pathetic, and sad like the bruises weren't the only things that were hurting him. He was curious about the bruises and it won out.

"What happened to your face, man?" Eddie asked.

"I don't really want to talk about it," Steve winced.

Eddie could tell that he meant that. He wanted so badly to tell Steve about what he had witnessed in the junkyard, but he could see it in his eyes that whatever he went through, he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe another day.

"Okay. Do you still want the weed then?" Eddie asked.

"I told you, I don't have a lot of money on me," Steve said.

"I don't want your money," Eddie said softly.

"What?" Steve asked.

Eddie couldn't believe what he was saying next. He couldn't believe how brave he was being considering that Steve could punch his lights out. Maybe he was just being stupid.

"A kiss," Eddie said.

"A kiss?" Steve asked. "From. . .?"

"You."

"Right. On the cheek or. . .?"

Eddie puckered his lips at him, and Steve swallowed. Oh, this was stupid. Steve was going to kill him. Suddenly, though, Steve was moving closer to Eddie and spreading his legs apart before stepping in between them. Steve grabbed Eddie's legs and slid him closer, very roughly. Eddie wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder as the sudden movement, grabbing the back of his jacket. Steve’s face was very close to his, his lips hovering over Eddie's lips.

"I'm not doing this for the weed," he whispered.

And then Steve was kissing him, like actually kissing him. It was like out of a goddamn romance novel, the kinds that Eddie always denies reading when people ask him, the kind that he was reading in the car in the junkyard. He gasped, his mouth opening when he realized he had left his book in the junkyard. Like he always does, he put his name on the inside cover. Steve slipped his tongue in his mouth, and suddenly, every thought fell out of his head. Eddie moved his other hand into his hair, his legs squeezing his hips as he moaned. Steve cupped the back of his head, his large hand cradling him so gently. Suddenly, Eddie became very aware that the hands holding him so delicately, so softly, were man hands. The lips that were on his were a guy's. Eddie broke the kiss with a gasp, feeling very overwhelmed.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, cupping his cheek.

"Yeah, I just - ," Eddie trailed off.

"This is your first time kissing a guy?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to guess that it's not the first time for you," Eddie said.

"Yeah," Steve said.

"I'm sorry, I only just figured out that I like guys, and I thought I was ready, especially when I saw you, but I don't think I'm quite there yet. Sorry, if - " Eddie babbled.

"Eddie," Steve said softly, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. "It's okay. Take your time. Breathe."

Eddie inhaled and slowly exhaled, leaning his face into Steve’s soft touch.

"Thank you," Eddie whispered.

"Take your time, man. When you're ready, come and find me," Steve said. "I'm in the big book."

"The bible?!" Eddie exclaimed.

Okay, yeah, that kiss turned his brain into oatmeal. Goddamnit.

"The phonebook," Steve laughed and grabbed the Tylenol bottle from Eddie. "You're right, I don't need this. I feel much better."

He kissed the tip of Eddie's nose, and he walked out of the room with a spring in his step. Eddie eyes were glued to his backside the entire time he walked away. He ended up leaning so far forward that he fell off the counter and onto the floor. Eddie flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh, I am in trouble," Eddie said.

It was a statement he repeated a couple of years later, when Chrissy Cunningham died in his trailer and he was hiding out in Reefer Rick's boathouse. He never expected him to show up, and he certainly never expected to see him after Eddie pushed himself away after Eddie distanced himself like a coward that he is. Eddie didn't deny himself after that kiss. He even went up to Indianapolis and discovered the term for himself. Eddie Munson was a full-blown bisexual. He wasn't afraid of that anymore. No, it was the fear of actually getting close to someone in an intimate manner of letting his guard down that kept him at bay. He had hoped that Steve somehow knew. As Eddie pushed him up against the wall of that boathouse, he could see it in Steve's eyes. Steve knew. He cupped Eddie's face and brushed his thumb against his cheekbone.

"It's okay, take your time, breathe. It's okay, Eddie," Steve said softly.

Eddie whimpered, leaned into his touch, and dropped the beer bottle. He buried his face into Steve’s neck. He broke down sobbing as Steve wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just ran," Eddie sobbed.

After that, everything happened so fast. They barely had time to talk except for that little moment in the woods in the Upside Down, where they admitted that they had been jealous of each other's relationship with Dustin. God, he really did love that little dude, and yeah, every time Dustin brought up Steve’s name, he had been a little jealous, but he had also felt guilty about not going to Steve. That one stupid kiss felt so perfect but also final, and it was like he realized he was never going to have a first kiss ever again. They had barely interacted, but when Eddie saw Steve swinging that bat in the junkyard and protecting those kids, he had known in that moment that this guy was it for him. God, did that scare the shit out of him, so he ran away.

"Hey," a magical voice sang to him.

White lights floated above him, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. There's no way in hell. . .

"Am I in fucking Heaven? Who in their right mind would let me through the gate? Oh my God! What's that obnoxious beeping sound? Someone get your fucking food, man," Eddie groaned and then he blinked more clearly to find that Steve was sitting by his bedside. "Yeah, I am in Heaven. There's a fucking angel sitting beside me."

Steve grinned and blushed. Eddie heard giggling coming from somewhere. He looked around and groaned. He was in a goddamn hospital and surrounded by his uncle as well as the members of the party.

"Don't be embarrassed, son. That's not the worst thing you ever said," Wayne told him. "I could tell everyone about the time you got your appendix out, and you told the nurse - "

"Nothing! I told her nothing!" Eddie exclaimed.

"It's good to see you're awake, Eddie," Nancy said as she started to push everyone out of the room.

"Um, okay, I guess I'm not as interesting now that you guys can no longer watch me sleep," Eddie said.

"We're giving you some time, son," Wayne said.

"Time for what?" Eddie asked with wide eyes. "Time for what, Uncle Wayne?!"

He didn't answer, just followed everyone out of the room, leaving Eddie alone with Steve.

"This isn't the first time you woke up, you know," Steve said.

"It's not?" Eddie asked.

"No, you were still pretty out of it. You kept apologizing to me about waiting too long, then something how when you saw me swinging that bat in the junkyard protecting the kids, that you knew I was it for you," Steve blushed. "And you said it scared the shit out of you which, I totally get."

"You do?" Eddie said.

"Do you think that you're the first person who ever ran away from big scary feelings? You're not. I mean, why do you think that I didn't chase after you? I had just gotten dumped, I was still hurting pretty bad, and suddenly, the guy that I've been crushing on since freshman year wanted to kiss me. I pushed you away too because when I kissed you, I knew you were it for me too," Steve said. "It was easier to run than to risk getting hurt again. I think I'm ready to take that risk, if you are."

"Yeah," Eddie said, grinning when Steve took his hand and kissed it.

"So, I guess you never went back to that junkyard after that because when I went there, I found this," Steve grinned.

He pulled out a book from his pocket and wiggled it in front of Eddie. It was his romance novel. With his name writing on the inside cover.

"Oh, no," Eddie said.

"Oh, yes, Eddie Munson likes romance novels," Steve grinned. "Apparently, he has a type, too. You know that guy on the cover looks awfully familiar. I think I've seen a guy like him in the mirror a time or too. I've got better hair, though."

"Goddamnit, how do you make being a bitch look so sexy?" Eddie muttered.

"It's a God-given talent, baby," Steve winked. "Now, let's crack open this bad boy because you're in luck, I happen to love romance novels too, and I haven't read this one yet."

With one hand, he held the book, and the other he held Eddie's. Eddie, meanwhile, gazed lovingly at him as he listened to him read. Steve paused for a moment before pulling out a pair of glasses from his pocket and slipping it onto his face. Oh God. He has glasses. Yep, Eddie Munson was completely gone for this man. Time of Love - wait, there's no fucking clock in this room. Goddamnit. Time is a funny thing. One minute, you're just minding your own business, and the next thing you know, you have got the best thing that ever happened to you reading by your hospital bed. Time, what a mischievous bitch.

[kalifornia1025]

The Red Circle Pt. 3 (SPOILERS)

*Cutely drops my notes* 

John’s REALLY struggling with the tech. I almost feel bad for the guy (almost).

Aww the episode starts off with John asking the gang (Mariana & Sherlock) if they’re okay after finding a dead body. Always nice he checks in with them!

“The good doctor here” SHERLOCK COMPLIMENTING JOHN

Imani’s back, yay!

Oh no, poor Imani…

This exchange:

Imani: “Sorry about this” (sending another red circle pic)

Mariana: “No no no-don’t be sorry”

Sherlock: “Yes you musn’t it’s fantastic”

John: “Sherlock”

Gregson and Mariana are formerly meeting!

THE MUSIC IN THIS CASE OMG ITS SO GOOD!!!

John, you’re playing Italian Mob style music to “capture the mood”?? What happened to “not wanting to stereotype?!”

JOHN JUST REPLACE THE MIC GODDAMNIT

“Ahh do I have a PTSD friend?” John’s new method to making friends apparently 

Mariana’s right this is stupid just GET A NEW MIC!! You can still keep the old one, John!

I now have a mental image of Sherlock staring wide-eyed at a big tv like he’s in a trance and I LOVE it

Aww possible future movie nights with a new tv!!

DONALD TRUMP JUMPSCARE

Wives of Cheshire comeback HA!!

“Oh you out of your trance are you?” Seriously how mesmerized was Sherlock to the tv for John to make this joke TWICE?!

Mariana discovers the next clue, awesome!

Sherlock: “I don’t seem to have (seat)belt”, Gregson: “What a shame” Gregson you’re such a salty bitch and I love you for it

Poor John trying to get around copyright stuff

“That’s a good start, you did knock and you did say please-“ another sweet moment of Sherlock getting better with social norm stuff

Wow John is REALLY stressed, and Sherlock is NOT helping

Hehe Sherlock is an iPad kid confirmed

I’m starting to love John calling Sherlock ‘Sherls’

“What’s the Site manager like? Is he…she…they?” John says nonbinary rights

John: Ah I’ve stepped in piss”, Sherlock: “Show me the urine”…um what???

You really can’t catch a break your shoes, huh John?

I’m listening to Sherlock and John talk about possibly reaching down into toilets in order to solve the case…man I love this podcast

John: “You’re doing the next one”, Sherlock: *sharp inhale* “fine” tbf Sherlock this was YOUR idea

“The Patreon numbers are gonna collapse” no such thing sir I’ve checked and we’re all here and loving this

Sherlock: “Imani would you perhaps like to have a go?”, Imani: “No”, Sherlock: “Bugger” I love how quickly he says it

Neuralizer mention! I love the Men in Black movies so much

OOOH, John and Sherlock making the realization at the same time!

Sherlock why do you always have a gun??

NOT THE CHIPMUNK VOICES DURING AN EPIC MOMENT

“English pigs, wot?” John sounded so genuinely confused by that

AHHHHHHH CLIFFHANGERS, THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!!!!!!

Okay as painful as that cliffhanger is, this case is getting GOOD! I’m loving it. It’s definitely jumping up to my top five fave cases from the podcast. I was not expecting the case to be as silly as it is, and I’m absolutely relishing in it. I love the irony of John insisting this case is gonna be a bad one when I’m loving every minute of it! Alright everybody, now we just have to not die from waiting on the last part…see y’all next week!

[formulapookie]

:)

Under the cut to read on tumblr, here to read on Ao3 <3

I'll commit your every scar to my memory rosquez, 6k words

(set 2025)

Marc has been looking at himself in the mirror for twenty minutes now.

Inspecting for every micro feature which signaled he was getting older.

He doesn’t want to get older, he can’t.

All his career, his success had come when he was a kid and he had been nicknamed “alien” for it goddamnit.

youngest pole sitter, youngest podium finisher, youngest winner, youngest champion.

key word being young. 

he doesn't feel old, but older, god yes. Everyday.

A new source of pain coming out, an old one resurfacing, the fear of falling behind, of not fitting in anymore and of running out of time.

All present and heavy on his body, which took the hit every time.

Why he thinks that, he isn’t  sure.

But he feels like he must get everything now or it will all have been useless.

It’s been one year now since he and Vale reconciled, and nine months since they made their relationship official, but only to intimate friends and their families, since Marc was still a target in the paddock, and they both knew that having a gay relationship wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to share in a sport like theirs.

And while the respective families had reacted well (except for a bit of skepticism on Alex’s side) the Academy had been more bitter, especially Uccio, but it was to be expected since he is so obviously in love with Vale since the dawn of time.

The mirror in their room at the Ranch keeps reflecting his toned and muscled body, along with his freshly shaved face and regrowing curls.

If he has to be honest he isn’t the one who brought up the aging thing.

First Vale, at his birthday, after he was officially a Ducati factory rider for that year, telling him he was “growing up”, getting closer to 35.

And it terrified Marc.

Then his brother, joking about him retiring so that he could be the only Marquez on the grid “haste que tu y Mr doctor creéis un hijo con magia y aterroricen a MotoGP” (Until you and Mr Doctor will create a son with magic and terrorize MotoGP) 

And finally Bezzecchi two weeks ago.

He was talking to Celestino, to which he seemed glued to the hip, almost symbiotic, as if they only existed one attached to the other.

“Sta invecchiando comunque, magari Vale con i gusti per i più piccoli che ha se ne trova uno più giovane e meno sfasciato” (He’s aging by the way, maybe Vale with his taste for younger people will find a younger and less broken one) 

“Sei un coglione Marco dai” (Marco you’re a dickhead come on)

“Dico la verità, magari tra una settimana ci porta un ragazzetto di 20 anni che lo guarda con gli occhi a cuoricino e che non sia mezzo pieno di cicatrici” (I’m saying the truth, maybe in a week the he’ll come to us with a 20 year old boy who looks at him heart-eyed and who’s not half covered in scars)

“Immagini? Tanta fatica e poi se ne sbatte un altro”

(Can you imagine? So much trouble and he ends up fucking another guy)

“Sarebbe karma” (Would be karma)

Marc had been hidden behind the door throughout the whole conversation, and a wave of nausea and vomit overwhelmed him, causing him to rush silently to the toilet and throw up.

Maybe they were right. 

He was getting older, Vale had said that himself, joking about his smile lines.

He had started exercising even more, buying more products for skincare and trying to act like he was 20 again.

And suddenly he didn’t feel pretty anymore, he just wanted to ride a couple laps on the dirt track and forget about it.

He looks at himself one last time, not failing to notice the faint line of a wrinkle in the corner of his eyes staring right back at him, menacing.

He puts on his gear, ignoring everyone in the kitchen and heading straight for the track, grabbing the bike with the bright orange “93” plastered on front.

It’s the best way to shut his mind off, it’s just him and the track, the bike being a direct extension of his body.

He completes ten, twelve, fifteen laps then he slips, bike flying out of his hands and his body tumbling down in the dirt.

His arm hurts, but his brain aches more.

Finished finished finished.

He goes to grab the bike to climb on it again when he feels a pair of arms around his body. Vale.

“Are you ok Marc? Do I need to grab your painkillers? I’ll help you back on the bike if-” the older one gets cut off harshly by Marc, who has pain in his eyes

“I can still do things Valentino you know?”

He's angry, his tone bitter and his words harsh.

He’s not like that and Vale knows, he’s tender when they speak, they’ve hurt each other way too much already to be cruel to one another now.

Vale has a concerned expression painted on his face, his eyes quickly running to Marc’s right arm, then to his face again.

“Let me get up”

“Ok but-“

“I want to do some other laps let me do them” 

it’s not a plea, or a begging, his voice is resolute and firm.

Vale is visibly worried, but lets him.

He looks as Marc gets back on the bike and restarts, the corner of his eyes caught by Bezz and Celin giggling between themselves.

Marc gets off the bike after one hour, when his body cannot take it anymore and his brain is foggy enough with thoughts about breaking, turning, speeding.

He leaves the bike in the garage, stripping out of his leathers, the only clothing underneath a sleeveless adherent black top, half dirty from soil and grass.

And just when he was convinced to have sedated the thoughts for at least a good few hours his eyes trace the outline of his scar, dead tissue on his arm.

He goes to their bedroom bathroom quickly, to avoid more sensations to overwhelm him, getting into the shower and turning the hot water on, letting it rinse away scenarios where he’s not present in Vale’s future. He spends at least twenty minutes under the water, washing himself carefully and almost trying to clean away the scars littering his body, obviously without succeeding.

As he gets out of the bathroom he’s only wearing a towel around his hips, and he inevitably meets his reflection staring back at him from the mirror.

He wants so desperately to see the 20 year old wonderkid he used to be, but that’s his past. Marc knows time passes for everyone, it takes from you, sometimes more than it should, sometimes it’s harsher on your body and sometimes on your soul.

He isn’t fucking eighty he knows that but still. He’s grown. He’s not the starstruck kid Vale first met and with whom shared many nights during their rivalry.

He’s a grown man now, he looks different, he can see the tiredness in his own eyes, pain sometimes so much it eats his body whole, the same pain which has him stay awake some nights.

And he knows Vale is older than him but Vale is also Vale and no one in their right mind would ever question his capacities or greatness, not even if he was 90.

And like Bezzecchi said he had a taste for youngsters, full of life and ready to do whatever he said as if it was a command.

He used to be one of those, but now…

He hears his name getting called downstairs for dinner, yells back he’s getting dressed and will soon be there.

He avoids the mirror while changing, his body feels wrong every time he tries to look at it, his face transpires the worry sleeping in his chest.

They all eat together, Pecco is there too, he’s getting used to sharing spaces with his future teammate which is good, but Bezzecchi is there too, casting funny glances at his best friend making them both giggle while sometimes looking over at Marc. He speaks maybe four words during the whole dinner, his brain feeling like it’s underwater and needs to be saved from drowning into the abyss.

As they finish eating he helps clean up the table and when he’s proposed to stay and watch a movie he fakes a headache, heading upstairs and leaving the academy to enjoy their time. 

Not even two minutes later he’s in his boxers under the sheets, back turned to the glassy hell his mirror has become.

He hears the door opening and quiet steps making their way to him.

“Ei amore, everything ok?”

Vale’s tone is tender and caring, something which only surfaced once they reconciled, a side of Vale making him humane, not the cold and distant concept of a God Marc still had in the back of his mind.

It was good in a way, but on the other hand it made him feel weak, like he needed to be spoken softly otherwise he would’ve broken like glass. 

“Si, I’m a bit tired and have a headache, can we just…can we just sleep?”

It was the most obvious of the answers, the fakest one, and yet the only one he could give him at that moment.

Valentino nods, taking off his shirt and pants and climbing into bed, Marc laying his head on Vale’s stomach, feeling the man’s hand stroke his curls gently.

Valentino is tired too, he had to follow an event all day and close a contract for VR46, he falls asleep in a half hour, while Marc has his eyes wide open in the darkness of a night lightened only by a pale moon in the distant sky.

He hears his mind speaking again, telling him how he’s not himself anymore, he’s not what Vale wants and he’s not the best Vale can have, because afterall he is THE Valentino Rossi and everyone wants a piece of him and Vale could feel entitled to request a piece of every one just because of who he is.

You’re not the one Vale deserves.

He could have them younger, prettier, faster, better.

He could have someone he can be seen with, with someone he could bring to races and shit like it was normal to do.

He could have someone who didn’t try to fight him so hard back then.

A new rookie maybe, fast, magnetic, idolizing him.

Vale would have every right to just let him go to find someone who doesn’t look so broken, who doesn’t risk getting more and more broken every week.

Perhaps he wants children.

And well for how much you can adopt kids maybe, no surely, Vale wants his kid to look and be like him.

Marc doesn’t cry, but just because he’s too afraid of waking Vale up, and surely seeing him acting so pathetic would be the last straw Vale would need to leave him and go find someone else.

So he doesn’t, he cries a lot internally, he tries to trace every mole on Valenitno’s body because he’s so afraid that in a matter of time he’ll be unable to see him like this again.

or feel the heat of his body next to his own.

Afraid to wake up without the smell of his shampoo or go to sleep missing the pair of arms that are holding him at this moment.

He manages to fall asleep after more than an hour, thoughts feasting on his brain like worms on a carcass, the same word echoing endlessly in his mind.

useless

He wakes up to an empty bed, no sign of Valentino in the room whatsoever, and he imagines his life could become like this in a matter of time.

He doesn’t understand how those little comments managed to get under his skin so much, he had never been the one to take those things to heart because…

because he had never actually believed any of that shit talk before.

But now he’s the first one to think that, the first to indulge on it. 

He can feel a sense of inadequacy crawling in bed with him, wrapping his hands around his throat and slowly depriving him of the chance to breathe.

It’s burning and it hurts like hell, it’s ugly.

He scrambles to the bathroom, throwing up bent over the toilet, coughing and sniffing like during the worst hangover of his life.

He can make out rushed steps coming to the door, Valentino crouching down to level himself with Marc, stroking his hair and back, worry painted in his eyes.

“Marc, do you want me to get you something? Are you ok?”

Weak, undeserving, not enough

That fuckin voice doesn’t shut up goddamnit, it haunts his mind and poisons everything coming in close contact with him.

What if it can poison Vale?

What if by standing so close to Marc he’ll end up being corrupted by this voice?

No no no, he’d rather suffer alone and watch Vale be happy with someone else rather than seeing him hurting.

Because that’s what Marc is when it comes to who he loves.

Selfless, adoring and ready to let go, because he knows he’s not an easy person to put up with so he never pushes.

“No I’m ok I just didn’t digest dinner well that’s all”

“Marc”

“I told you it was yesterday’s dinner Vale, I’m already feeling better, see?”

And he smiles, the fake PR smile Vale has seen hundreds of times, he could recognise Marc’s true smile in a crowd full of people, his laugh in a room filled with clowns and most of all he could recognise Marc hurting in a massacre.

His eyes are lifeless, a veil of something trapping the joy and happiness inside, not letting them see the sun.

“Marc tell me what’s going on because you’re not ok and I am not letting you leave the room until you’ve told me what’s happening”

“I decide if I can get out of the room or not Vale, you’re not my mom, I told you i’m ok so let me go thank you”

Vale wants to stop him but he knows it would be worse, Marc would shut down and respond robotically to questions he dreads to know the real answer to.

“Marc. I won’t force you ok? But please tell me what’s going on, you look-”

“I know what I look like there’s no need to tell me”

Marc thinks of old, spent, expired, outdated. 

All different words to mean only one thing.

undesirable.

And weak.

He fucking threw up in front of Vale, he almost had tears in his eyes, he had to come up with his fake smile he knew Vale would recognise, he’s so fucking stupid god how can he act like that and hope to still have a chance in keeping Vale.

He gets past him, putting on a pair of joggers and a short sleeved shirt of his and walks out the room, grabbing his biker boots and protective jacket by the entrance and putting them on, ignoring the boys sitting in the living room looking at him with curiosity.

Probably he yelled before, and they heard him.

Amazing.

He slams the door shut behind him and goes to grab his street bike.

Once he’s put the helmet on he’s alone. 

Truly alone.

No other voices or sounds, not even the one in his head.

It’s quiet, like one of the earliest nights he remembers sharing with Valentino, the one in Aragon perhaps, or the many in between races when they could wander off in one of Vale’s secret spots and share everything, even the silence.

He starts the bike and goes for a ride, a long one, he didn’t bring his phone with him so he doesn't know how long precisely.

He comes back home once he’s hungry and beginning to feel tired.

Once again he doesn’t dwell on the academy boys watching him, he can only imagine what they’re saying.

He doesn’t let the thoughts come to him this time though, he just heads straight for the shower and gets ready for lunch.

Vale is an amazing cook, he prepared something that smells delicious, but Marc can’t eat more than half a plate before already feeling nauseous.

He eats everything anyway, he doesn’t want to upset Vale more, so he forces every fork until he clears the plate.

“Vale” it’s Bezzecchi’s voice, he has a strange tone to it “how’s Pedro? didn’t you say he should come to the ranch soon? To see what he’s capable of off track?”

Marc doesn’t want to suppose things, but the way he says the last sentence sends shivers down his spine

20, fast, starstruck by Vale, not half covered in scars.

Check, check, check, check.

The qualities Bezzecchi talked about a few weeks prior are all part of Pedro.

Marc excuses himself from the table for the second time in a row, feeling bad about doubting Vale but also not holding him responsible if that came up to be the case.

He had said it himself he was now the past of MotoGP, and Pedro the future.

Bezzecchi cackles from the table, Celestino elbows him in his ribcage, earning a harsh stare from his friend.

Vale just sits at the table, looking in the direction Marc had disappeared to, trying to understand what was going on with his boyfriend, because he truly has no idea and is scared something had happened outside of the peace of the Ranch, maybe someone finding out about them and threatening Marc to reveal their relationship to the public.

He decides to leave him alone for a while, maybe he’s just not used to having all these people around all the time and needs his space, a moment alone to quiet down his brain.

He spends the afternoon with the boys, racing around the track, checking and analyzing data and talking about Bezz’s newfound harmony with Aprilia.

The clock hits eight pm and they’re all hungry as hell, so the boys quickly make their way to the bedrooms to take their showers and change, since they also decided to go out tonight for a party held by one of Bezz’s DJ friends.

Meanwhile Marc had stayed in the room the whole time, spending half of it crying his eyes out because he couldn’t stop thinking about what if Valentino actually decided to break up with him again and the feeling of emptiness he would feel eventually.

The other half he spent it trying to understand how to make himself look younger for Vale, which clothes to wear, how to act, to talk, to lie when his arm hurt while they were having sex.

Fucking pathetic

He wishes he could tear his brain outside of his skull, anything not to hear that sharp voice commenting his every move and look, he just wants the world inside his mind to shut the hell up and leave him be, at least for a few hours, just that.

A few hours where he doesn’t have to worry about being abandoned by the one person he loves more than life.

A few hours where he can love himself again.

But his brain doesn’t concede him neither those few hours, it’s a machine programmed to drive him insane, unstoppable.

Vale knocks on the door, he recognises their passcode, never changed during all those years spent together.

“Dinner is in five minutes, are you coming?”

“Yes yes, just let me get dressed and I’ll be there”

“Ok, see you downstairs amore”

It cuts deep, the bug whispering in his ear the word amore is just a way to keep him close for need, not driven by real feelings.

He comes down two minutes later, a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt he stole from Vale not so long ago, still smelling like him.

He smiles softly at the man, sitting beside him, across Pecco, who greets him with a nod.

The boys eat in a rush, not speaking a word, apparently they were supposed to meet some other guys by nine and they’re never going to make it on time.

They practically absorb their food and are out the door in twenty minutes, in Luca’s car off to the bar they set as a rendez-vous point.

And so he and Vale are left alone.

He doesn't know how long it’s been since the last time they were completely alone, not even that annoying guard dog of Uccio staining the environment.

“You’re really beautiful tonight amore”

Lie

“My shirt looks really pretty on you, makes you look smaller”

He doesn’t actually like it

“Want to go upstairs?”

He just needs a release, not you.

“Yeah sure” he’s convincing, Vale doesn’t seem to notice his body twitching when his fingers touch his arm.

They reach their bedroom, Vale guiding Marc towards the bed, hands running under the stolen shirt to go catch on his abs, fingers looking for a strong grip.

They share a sweet kiss, nothing like the ones shared after their battles on track, quick, charged and filled with need.

 Marc knows Vale wants those back, not these ones, too plain and domestic for him to ever like.

So he tries to pull the switch, biting at Vale’s lip, pressing himself against him, backing up until his body is caged between the wall and Valentino, who looks rather surprised at the sudden change of attitude.

“Fuck me Vale come on” it feels dirty, demanding, but that was exactly like he was back then, and he so desperately needs to feel like that again.

Vale’s lips are on his neck, biting and sucking hard, matching Marc’s tone.

It’s not what he wants, it’s what Vale wants.

And that is enough for him, he’ll just try to enjoy what was probably going to be one of the last nights together, and he didn’t want Valentino to resent him for it too.

He’ll just have to relax, think about Vale’s happiness and take it.

After one particularly harsh bite he winces, but so quickly Vale cannot register it while dragging him to bed.

The grip on his wrist is strong, possessive, needy.

It’s what Vale wants, stop being fucking selfish and let him have it.

The voice is right, he cannot be selfish and wish for Vale to stick around out of pity.

He needs to earn his lover back, who cares if he has to do things he doesn’t want to do?

In the end it’s all for love.

He lets Valentino undress him, sharp teeth attacking his nipple, making him moan loudly, he’s exaggerating a bit his actions but it’s for a good cause. 

He keeps repeating to himself this is ok to do, he really wants to please Vale, it’s not bad, he used to like the sharpness and rush of adrenaline that came with battling on track so why should this be different?

He feels Vale’s hand cupping him through his boxers and he thrusts his hips up, eyes closed and hands gripping both on Vale’s hair and back, keeping him there.

“You smell so good Marc, never going to let you go”

And that’s where Marc loses his battle with himself.

He tries to keep it in but a sob comes out anyway, a tear rolling out of his eye and ending up on the pillow underneath his head.

And Vale knows Marc. He knows the difference between a sob due to pleasure and this.

This is not Marc enjoying it so much he cries, this is Marc not enjoying it at all.

He stops, getting up and sitting in front of Marc who has his eyes closed, hands balled into fists and his mouth shut in a rigid and thin line.

He’s fucked it up, he let his own feelings ruin everything again.

He doesn’t want to look at Vale, to see the disappointment and displeasure which surely the older has in his eyes right now.

He can’t bear to see how pathetic he is in Valentino’s eyes.

You ruined it for him, good job.

His head echoes with this thought, he was almost there, so close to faking it perfectly but he had to fucking cry.

He didn’t even cry in front of Vale when he told the world he hated him and he should be off the sport, but he cries for this.

“Marc?” Valentino’s voice is filled with something, it sounds like concern, fear almost.

“Marc, would you open your eyes?” no he can’t he fucking can’t because they’re filled with tears that are just going to spill out if he does, he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want Vale to see him weak and scarred and broken.

“Amore please, what’s going on? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I did just please open your eyes and tell me”

There, now Vale even thinks it’s his own fault, amazing, really fucking amazing, another step towards separation.

Vale is so fucking worried right now, Marc is practically crying in front of him, trying to hold his tears in to seem tough but his body is shivering and his lips already trembling.

If he seriously went overboard and hurt him he’s going to punch himself in the face, he would never want to wound Marc.

“Amore?” It sounds like a plea, and it is, he’s begging for an answer, because he has to know what he’s done wrong.

Was he too harsh? Too demanding? Did he hurt his arm? How many possible things may he have done wrong? 

Marc gathers what little forces he has left and props himself up, sitting on the bed and opening his eyes, but he doesn’t look at Vale.

He wouldn’t be able to see him even if he wanted to, tears clouding his vision and falling on the bed.

Vale grabs the shirt he discarded earlier on the bed, the one with a wrinkled 46 printed in front in a now not so bright yellow font.

“You’re shivering Marc put this on, you’ll get sick if you don’t” he lets Vale dress him, he feels like he doesn’t have control on his body and it makes him go insane.

He always needs to have control, otherwise how can he handle reality?

He finally manages to look up at Vale, and the man can see the pain rooted deep into his stare, and he aches.

He aches because how could he not notice how much Marc was truly hurting? His eyes look like the ones he had back in 2014, after the press conference where he first broke his heart.

God that stare, the haunted gaze he had that day, it will haunt him forever.

A kid, he was a kid and he managed to kill him.

And now he looks like that kid again. Confused, hurt, crushed and dead.

“I-I’m sorry I ruined it Vale, I didn’t mean to I-” he stops, a hiccup interrupting his words “I can’t I’m not what you need right now and I get it” What was he saying? What does he mean not what Vale needed? He is everything Vale needs and way more than what he deserves.

“I just…I thought I could at least still let you have this but I can’t even fucking bring myself to ignore myself for this while”

Vale is so confused right now, because he doesn’t understand. Why is Marc talking like he’s going to fucking die in a minute? Why should he ignore himself? 

He has so many questions but he cannot even pose one, his lips sealed by incredulity.

And Marc on the other hand feels like he isn’t even deserving of an answer, he wants to scream and cry and beg Vale for a chance, but he doesn’t.

Finally Vale manages to speak up, the feeling of instability being suppressed by the need to understand what was killing Marc’s mind.

“Marc, what are you saying? let me have what? you didn’t ruin everything and what’s with the 'I'm not what you need’ thing?”

It looks so real to Marc now, the concern and the preoccupation radiating from Vale.

You failed him, you just had to shut up and endured and you fai-

For the first time this week he manages to shut the voice up, sending it back to the hell it came from long enough to be aware of the fact Vale really cares about him.

He breaks down, crying in front of the man he loves for the first time.

It’s ugly and messy, and he’s fuckinging exhausted, he wants to hold Vale, he wants to be held by him, he needs to feel at home.

And even if he doesn’t say that explicitly Vale gets it, he throws his arms around the boy, keeping him there for a while, not bothering to check how long, he places him on his lap, Marc’s ruffled hair tickling his neck as he continues sobbing into his collarbone, shoulders shivering at every sound.

He gets his head up from Vale’s neck, and fixes his gaze on Vale’s.

“Please Vale promise me you won’t leave me for someone younger and prettier, because I know you could do that anytime if you wanted because you deserve it but please don’t, I know I’m not beautiful like before and that I’m broken now and that you should be with someone who doesn’t hurt himself every week and I know I can’t do what I did before in bed but I swear I’ll try to do it again, and and I get it you could have anyone because you’re you but I only want you please please I love you I can’t let you go I need to be with you I know it’s so pathetic and dumb but I beg of you don’t leave me”

He rushes his words out, one attached to the other not caring anymore if he sounds weak, his face is now completely wet with tears and Vale’s shirt is soaked as well, but he doesn’t care, it feels like he let go of an enormous weight and is finally free.

Vale's answer comes like a helping hand to a drowning person, the hand that grabs yours and drags you out of the angry waves keeping you underwater, your lungs burning.

“Marc I- I don’t even know where to start I mean…why would I ever leave you if you’re the best thing I ever got the chance to have in my life? Why would I need someone younger when I have you and how could I want someone prettier when no one’s more perfect than you?

You’re right you’re not as beautiful as before, you’re far more breathtaking now, and you’re everything but broken, do you think that just because you fell and injured yourself you aren’t attractive to me anymore? Those scars symbolize you never giving up. They are one of the most attractive things you have, amore.

Marc I don’t care if we cannot have that rushed sex we used to have when we raced together, I love what we do now, I adore it, I feel much more connected to you, back then it was adrenaline and desire, now it’s love and need, I wouldn’t trade it for any sum on money in the world you must know this, I would never want to hurt you or force you to have sex with me if it hurts you, ok?

And I don’t fucking care I am who I am, or the fact I could have anyone else because 

I. have. you. 

And you’re the only one I want or need or dream about sharing my life with, you get it?

I love you Marc Marquez and I’ll be damned if I let these thoughts get to you and make you act like that.

I’m never going to leave unless you want me to, because I already left once and I hurt you and myself and I cannot go through it again. 

It was the worst period of my life because I looked for you every night and you weren’t there, because of me.

I should be the on worrying about you leaving me because of what I did, never never never the opposite” 

And now Vale is crying too, his eyes holding onto Marc’s gaze like his life depends on it, like he needs an answer to breathe again, because he too feels like he’s drowning and being brought to safety by his lover.

“You still love me? You swear?” It sounds so feeble and desperate Vale wants to open his chest with his bare hands and gift Marc his heart as proof of his love, because the only way he could doubt his love for him would be Vale not showing it enough, not doing everything the boy needed to feel loved.

“Of course I still love you Marc, I never stopped, and I never will, I want to share my whole life with you, you are my star and I will never let you say those things about yourself again, got it?”

“Even if I’m older now? I’ve got scars and lines and I look-”

“You look perfect. Listen I know I said I don’t believe in therapy and all that shit but I just- it’s just I didn’t like what they told me there and I decided to shit on it, but it actually helped me realize I still loved you and if you need to go there to understand how much I love you I’ll pay for it, I’ll bring you to your appointments and I’ll accept whatever outcome you get from it”

It feels good now, to Marc. It’s like he got dragged out of a stormy ocean onto a tropical beach, sunny, warm, quiet and calm.

Quiet.

No wretched voice demonizing or belittling him, just Vale, the only other presence on his dream beach, so close to him he can feel their hearts beating in unison.

He locks his fingers with Vale’s, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah I- I want to go, because I don’t want to feel like this again, I need to free my mind. Do you understand me? It’s so full it feels like it’s going to explode”

Yes, Vale knows. He’s gone through it more than he likes to admit, and he just nods, pulling Marc even closer, pressing a sweet kiss on his forehead, feeling the boy relax under his touch.

Marc tilts his head, looking up at Vale, and goes to plant a soft kiss on the man’s lips.

No rush, no lust, nothing except deep love and trust, a feeling of peace hovering over the couple who drifts to sleep together, Marc being able to dream of a beautiful snippet of his life with Vale, them together at the Ranch, not worrying anymore about hiding because Marc is retired and nobody will say anything, Stitch and Shira running after a kid with big blue eyes in the garden, the academy boys discussing who’s the favorite uncle.

Marc and Valentino holding hands, Marc’s head on Vale’s shoulder as they look at the little  girl laughing, playing with the dogs and the grass.

It’s domestic, soft, and quiet.

So quiet.

The only sound being the laughter coming from their friends and families and the dogs panting behind the buzzing girl.

She looks like Vale.

She calls him and Marc picks her up, she smiles, they’re happy.

There’s no need to worry anymore, Vale never left him, Marc neither, they went through Marc’s insecurities together, they didn’t let go of eachother.

In the real world Valentino is smiling, putting Marc to bed, covering him with their sheets, dreaming of the same thing. 

A life, a future with Marc.

[hitlikehammers]

whole wide world

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, teacher! Steve, gooey-clingy-heart-eyes Eddie needs his Stevie ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, amateur musicals, steve needs to stop using a ladder unsupervised because nothing bad happened this time but eddie is concerned that is the love of his life, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day thirteen: Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask ❤️ (@steddieas-shegoes)

look who's back, just like every other day, it's the rockstar husbands from je ne regrette rien being their codependent, desperately-in-love selves again! ♥️

“Goddamnit,” Steve curses the staple gun, the dry-rotted wood he’s trying to use it on, the acrylic-covered tarp masquerading as a backdrop leaving little crackle-dust everywhere every single time it fucking falls because the wood’s shit, the staples are shit, his co-advisor’s kid’s sick with the flu, the kids are in the band room rehearsing the opening number and Steve really cannot fucking believe he got roped into this to begin with, actually, like, how the fuck did the middle school guidance-counselor-slash-study-hall-monitor get conned into helping with the high school drama club, just because one of his JV soccer players landed the lead and bemoaned loudly enough during laps how they didn’t know if they’d be able to make the performance even work, because the choir teacher’s on maternity leave and the band director’s kind of a dick, and the needed more help—

Steve only is even in the high school for the goddamn athletics office. For, y’know, the equipments for the athletes.

Yet: here he is. Standing on a rusty fucking ladder that probably needs a spotter, to be honest, and if Steve’s admitting that then yeah, it definitely needs someone holding the goddamn thing, but here he is, already two hours after the final bell, trying to stick a painting of mattressesin a stack that only vaguely looks like mattresses so thank god that’s in the show title—

The ladder wobbles a little when he tries to catch the tarp-thing again but he can’t reach far enough without risking a long way down to a very hard stage floor, so the backdrop’s sacrificed back to the ground—a-fucking-gain—as he shifts his weight to steady the steps and it’s a close thing, he’s about ninety-seven percent sure he’s aimed the teetering feet of it back to solid ground okay but he glances around quick just in case, tries to figure if there’s anything he can grab for and let the ladder go on its own if need-be, and—

“That’s fucking dangerous, big boy,” a deep, and deeply unexpected, voice trails up from the floor, clipped with stress, with fear because Steve fucking knows that voice, and the ladder’s suddenly fully steady so he can turn and look and—

“Gonna give me a goddamn stroke or something, finding you up on one of these all by your lonesome,” Eddie’s staring up at him, and the words could be teasing, and Steve thinks maybe they intend to be, but: those eyes are too big. There’s a pulse Steve can count in that throat, even from seven-feet-up.

So he does what any man in love with his husband would do in the face of said-husband in fear, and for him: Steve climbs down careful, but quick, with Eddie’s hands scrambling to make sure of the ‘careful’ part as soon as he can reach, and then he turns, and then he lands on solid ground again to pull Eddie in and thank every colleague of his he’d been cursing in his mind for leaving him alone to do all this shit, because alone is the reason he gets to kiss his lover hard, and full; wrap around him and let him squeeze Steve to the point where it aches, where it creaks in his bones, like proof.

Lets Eddie attach his lips to suck a bruise, possessive and needy and protective all at once along his throat, and yeah:

Exactly like proof.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks when they pull apart just the slightest bit, because he wasn’t expecting Eddie to be home until probably close-on to midnight, let alone at the school well before five.

“Thought you could maybe use an extra set of hands,” Eddie shrugs like it’s a casual thing, showing up just to help out when he’s on a press cycle, and it’s evident even in his attire that that’s the case, if you know what to look for: more chains from his jeans, thicker soles on his boots just flirting with being platforms, at least two rings on every finger—save just one.

One has a ring, and a carefully-preserved and repeatedly-reinforced bread-bag tie: both serving the same purpose in very different points in their lives.

Point being: Eddie was wading through photoshoots and magazine spreads and radio spots and every fucking thing, and no matter how high he’s raising his eyebrow in a clear calling out of how he found Steve atop a shaky ladder as being obvious evidence of having use of an extra set of hands, the fact remains:

“But you’ve got the interview—“ the big ass interview with that shock-jock guy Steve kinda hates, but that’s a big fucking deal, and was the precise reason Steve wasn’t lamenting giving up his afternoon and evening to the at-least-halfway-to-lost-cause of the not-even-an-actual-full-fledged-theatre department: he wasn’t going to have Eddie home before bed anyway.

And yet: here stands the man.

“The boys have got it,” Eddie shrugs, like he actually doesn’t give a shit, and that’s…he does give a shit, he had sounded excited about it last night when they’d talked about their plans for the week over dinner, when Steve had bemoaned the travesty of this fucking production of Once Upon A Boxspring or whatever, and Eddie’d told him he was pretty sure he was going to be able to say fuck on the show even if they’d edit it, like he wouldn’t get in trouble, and he’d looked like a kid in a goddamn candy shop about it so yeah: Steve thinks he kinda did give a shit.

But he’s…not there.

“Gareth’s been itching to take the reins after he won out the final track list,” Eddie offers as explanation; “cocky bastard.”

And they collaborate on all the writing, music and lyrics, they’re not even the slightest bit competitive about it which would be hard to believe if all you saw of the members of Corroded Coffin were their goddamn shenanigans during a campaign; but the one think in their music that they docompete over?

Whose title-idea gets the opener on a given album. And Gareth did end up scooping them all when the execs came back with a shuffle. Steve had watched it unfold in real time; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a grown man crow like Gareth had, and he is married to Edward fucking Munson.

So that’s saying something.

“Eds,” Steve tries to prod a little at the point of it all though, because Eddie’s got press, and this is a high school, and probably Eddie could get to the studio in time to catch the end of whatever, it’s prerecorded, he knows that much, they could squeeze a live interview in so they could probably do Eddie at the end and just shuffle it around, right, it’s easy, and that’s so much more important than this because this:

“Eds, it’s just a—“

“It’s the spring musical, baby,” Eddie says like he’s announcing the arrival of the president, of the Queen of England, then his eyes soften a little as he flicks at one of the real mattresses that will, presumably, be props for the actors if the show’s title isn’t a fucking lie: “you know that’s where my DM throne had its humble origins, before I elevated it to greatness?”

Steve did know that, not least because they’d smuggled Eddie in to DM a few special sessions before the gremlins graduated, and he’d taken his seat with regal aplomb every time, and Steve had learned that yeah, they used the random storage room that was mostly drama shit for Hellfire.

And the way he’d learned that was by sucking Eddie off hidden by some very ratty but very conveniently poofy ballgowns from a production of Cinderella.

“I missed you.”

Steve turns to him and blinks; Eddie’s eyes are on the mattress, his stance almost a little shy.

“You saw me this morning,” Steve doesn’t ask, exactly, but he…he’s not sure he’s following, is the thing.

“I was,” Eddie sighs, and flops to sit down on the mattress which, thankfully, is a mattress and gives a little, bounces under him.

“I was just feeling, I dunno,” he gives a shrug that fades into something like a shiver, and then Eddie’s arms come around too hug around his middle as he ducks his chin and, oh no.

None of that.

“I thought about you being, you know, you,” and Eddie gets to gesture at the mess of the stage only halfway before Steve’s catching his hand, lacing their fingers and pulling Eddie back up to standing, then back into Steve’s arms here he leans heavy, sighs deeper this time; relief instead of something shallow.

“Just you doing all this when you don’t even have a horse in the race, y’know?” Eddie muffles into the side of Steve’s neck, burrowed in tight. “And I was supposed to be in the zone about press and shit, and it just,” he shakes his head, which is more like the brush of his lips back and forth against Steve’s skin; “it wasn’t clicking at all, like I posed and did the looks and whatever,” and oh, Steve knows the looks, Steve has about half those looks printed out and framed in various parts of their home or tucked safe inside his wallet, whereas the other half he takes great joy in recreating at random to the chagrin of his darling husband, love of his whole goddamn life.

“Then Jeff asked if I wanted to duck out,” and Eddie smiles up at him, a little sheepish; they both know the boys can see right through Eddie feeling needy, or lovelorn; Steve’s grateful as shit for Eddie’s bandmates, their friends, for knowing when Eddie just needs Steve.

“I didn’t even think twice, just,” Eddie swallows hard, a little, peeking up through lashes and bangs as he exhales:

“Just wanted to see you before the middle of the fucking night.”

And what can Steve do in the face of that, really? He can’t argue it. Wouldn’t ever fucking want to.

“I love you,” he frames Eddie’s face and kiss the bridge of his nose, then soft between his brows as he breathes out with his whole heart: “so goddamn much.”

“Can you promise me you won’t do the,” Eddie tips his head behind them; “the ladder thing, at least not by yourself?” And Eddie’s eyes are so, so big again. “Like, pretty please, don’t do that again?”

“I won’t,” Steve swears it, and kisses him firm to seal the promise: “thanks for coming to the rescue.” Because there was a three percent chance Steve was going to wipe the fuck out from very very high, and he’s have survived it, but he’s not twenty anymore, and it would have fucking sucked, probably for a while.

“Always, baby,” Eddie murmurs, still tight against Steve lips before he straightens a little, and this time he’s framing Steve’s face, but more holding him still in place, emphatic:

“Actually, amendment,” he says seriously, eyes darting between Steve’s a tiny-touch frantic: “next time you need to be on a ladder, you call me first,” he damn-well declares it, rather than asks; “so I can hold it steady.”

“My hero,” Steve breathes against him with a smile, and there’s not even a hint of teasing in it.

“I don’t trust any other hands to catch you, baby,” Eddie tells him, a little too raw; full sincerity bleeding from him all the sudden as he caresses down the cheeks he’s still cupping: “no one else in the whole wide world appreciates what you’re worth.”

“And what’s that, exactly,” Steve scoffs a little, playful where he’s held in Eddie’s arms but Eddie: Eddie’s holding him tight, now, and his heartbeat’s heavy where he’s moving to crush Steve to his chest, and there’s a little wavering pitch of something in his voice when he whispers:

“The whole wide world,” and oh.

That’s the answer.

It’s Steve’s answer, too, to the same exact question, but hearing it said so plain never stops feeling like the ending and remaking of the whole wide world, every time.

So yeah, Steve has to take a minute to swallow through the tightness in his throat, and maybe he does that with his forehead bowed against his husbands so they breathe each other in as a rule just in the course of living in the moment, together—and when the straighten up Steve steals a kiss first, quick but hard, with feeling, before he cracks his neck and sighs, taking in the scene that’s settled around them.

“Help me try and figure this out to hang?” Steve kicks at the tarp-tapestry, and Eddie walks its perimeter critically before frowning up at Steve.

“Think it needs some touch ups,” he pronounces solemnly, and fuck, yeah, all the color-dust from the useless staple-holes and the falling. But his husband’s actually really good with details, and matching colors, and using a brush, and fantasy settings—

“Paint’s in the back,” he says with a lilt of suggestion and Eddie lights up and grabs Steve’s hand to drag him toward the promise of painting, like maybe all he needed really was just…this.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here