#fic: retribution road | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fruitcoops · 11 months

Note

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

#remus lupin #julian lupin #sirius black #lyall lupin #hope lupin #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fic o’ween 2023 #illness #sickfic #lupin bros #hurt/ comfort

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hardstraykidshours · 2 years

Note

hiiii m’shy so im sending on anon. but uh……. jealous!minho where you flirt with someone else for the entire night even though hes told you not to do so lots of times alr. he then brings you home and edges you for hours jus to punsih you…

pretty down bad for minho rn

please never feel bad for sending anything on anon! we want everyone to be comfortable, so if sending on anon is best for you, please do that! but anywaaaaaaaaays, i'm always in my loving minho hours so this was amazing to get to write, thank you for putting this idea out in the world, i feel blessed. minho and edging? holy shit. tears running down my legs low key.

anyways, i hope you like the fic!

❤️ courtney & abbie

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

pairing: minho x afab!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff?, 18+ (minors dni)

length: 1.7k

warnings: profanity, sexual/suggestive content, jealousy, mentions of alcohol, dom!minho, sub!reader, orgasm denial, edging, oral (f receiving), finger (f receiving), unprotected sex (please wrap before you tap), possessiveness if you squint, praise, pet names, afab reader, nsfw 18+ (minors dni)

going out to a bar with minho is always fun. you like spending time with him and getting drinks, but you’ve been out with him enough times to know he has one rule: don’t flirt with anyone else. minho knows he’s a lucky guy to have landed you, so it’s not surprising to him when other people come up and hit on you or offer you a drink. hey, a free drink is a free drink right? you both just have an understanding that you never cross the line and flirt back, and the same goes for him if someone hits on him.

tonight you're feeling a little adventurous, though. maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the sheer curiosity of what he would do if he saw you flirting with someone, but you decide to strike up a little conversation with a guy who offered you a free drink while minho is in the bathroom. you know minho knows you’re not actually going to do anything with this guy, but you still want to see his reaction.

as minho walks back to the table, he sees that guy you’re talking to sitting a little too close for comfort. he rolls his eyes. ‘who does this guy think he is?’ he thinks to himself.

suddenly, jealousy starts to seep through his veins when he’s sees that you’re flirting back. laughing, twirling your hair, the whole nine yards.

“hey, babe,” minho states loudly as he places a hand on your shoulder. you meet his gaze and see his eyes are dark with emotion, the tips of his ears red.

“babe?” the guy asks, surprise in his voice.

“oh, um, yeah, this is my um, my boyfriend,” you reply, fumbling over your words. even though this was your plan all along, now that you’ve actually been caught, you feel a little shy.

“boyfriend?!” the guy asks, even more surprised.

“yeah, boyfriend,” minho states before you can even open your mouth. “babe, i think we should probably get going, we have to get up early to do that thing, remember?”

you have no idea what he’s talking about but get the feeling you should just play along. “oh yeah…that…you’re right, we should go.”

the car ride on the way home was tense. you could practically cut the silence with a knife, so when minho finally speaks, his words seems to resonate.

“did you have fun back there?” his asks, voice emotionless as he continues to stare at the road in front of him.

“what? are you jealous?” you respond, playfully taunting him, hoping to ease the tension.

his grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly. “i thought we agreed we wouldn’t flirt with anyone.”

he still has no emotion in his tone. you’re racking your brain trying to figure out what he’s thinking, and you ultimately decide that teasing him even further probably isn’t the right move. “look, i’m sorry. i know it was dumb. i wasn’t actually flirting with him, i just wanted to tease you a bit. i would never actually do anything.”

“i think behavior deserves a little retribution tonight,” he says, face blank as he gives your thigh a tight squeeze with one hand while the other stays on the steering wheel.

your heart starts to beat a little, mind racing as to all the ways he could punish you. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache that’s growing between your legs at the thought.

the second you and minho get home, you’re both practically running towards the bedroom, stripping yourselves of your clothes along the way. you lay down on the bed, and minho hovers over you, mouth crashing onto yours.

“i’m gonna make sure you never want to talk to another guy like that again,” minho grunts as he kisses his way down your neck. “because no one else gets to touch you like this. taste you like this.”

your back arches when his mouth connects with your nipple, lightly sucking as his hand squeezes your other breast, occasionally rolling your nipple between his fingers. he continues to kiss and suck his way down your abdomen until his head is between your thighs. he places a soft kiss on your clit before licking a clean stripe all the way up your dripping pussy. your fingers tangle in his air, making him hum against your core.

“who’s the only one that can make you feel this good, princess?” he asks tauntingly before sucking on your clit. the sensation is already so overwhelming that you can’t seem to form words. “answer me.”

“you,” you cry out. “only you, min.”

he gives you a lustful grin before his lips wrap around your clit again to suck on it with even more fervor, occasionally lapping up your juices with his tongue. he holds onto your thighs to keep your legs open as he plunges his tongue deep inside your cunt, rubbing the tip of it against the sensitive spot inside. you start to roll your hips against his face, craving even more friction as he practically makes out with your pussy.

“please, so close,” you pant out, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching.

he stops his ministrations, mouth detaching from you. practically screaming from the sudden loss of contact, you look at him with furrowed brows. he licks your wetness from his lips before crawling back up your body to lean close to your ear.

“i told you your behavior deserved a punishment,” he growls. “and your punishment tonight is that you’re not going to get cum for a long, long time. does that sound ok?”

you nod your head.

“i need to hear you say it, princess,” he states.

“yes,” you say with a quick nod.

although you’re frustrated from being denied what you can only imagine was about to be a mind-shattering orgasm, you quickly forget about it when minho plunges two fingers deep inside your pussy while he rolls your clit with his thumb. he nips and sucks at your neck, guaranteeing there will be marks all over you tomorrow.

“who does this pussy belong to?” he whispers against your neck as his fingers continue their work inside you.

“belongs to you,” you moan.

since you were already so close to your last orgasm, it doesn’t take long before you feel this one approaching, but as soon as minho feels your walls clench around his fingers, he pulls them out.

this continues for what feels like hours. whether it be with his mouth, his fingers, or a toy, minho consistently brings you to the edge of your high before quickly pulling you away. you need to cum so badly that you’re begging for it now.

“min, please,” you plea. “wanna cum so bad. i promise i won’t flirt with anyone again. just please let me cum.”

he presses his lips to your temple. “well i think i've made my point clear. and you’ve been so, so good tonight, princess, so you can cum now. but i want you to do it around my cock.”

you feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of finally having him inside for the first time tonight. he aligns his achingly hard dick with your entrance before slowly pushing in. you’re so sensitive from the hours of edging that you honestly feel like could cum just from him bottoming out inside you. the way he fills you up so perfectly feels even more intense. without needing any prompting, he begins to rock his hips to slide in and out of you.

even though you’ve been deprived of your high for so long tonight, you're determined to hold off for as long as you can so you can relish in the way minho’s cock feels between your warm walls. after a while, he continues to pump into you as he snakes his hand in between your bodies to play with your clit.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he moans.

his breathing is becoming more jagged and his thrusts are growing erratic. you can tell he won’t last long. you pull his head down towards you to kiss him deeply, silently telling him to let go. he stops his work on your clit to use both hands to hold himself above you, but he continues to thrust into you as his dick begins to twitch inside you. moans of curses and your name slip past his lips as he spills himself inside you, hips stuttering occasionally.

he continues to slowly roll his hips into you as he comes down from his high. once he’s gathered himself, he immediately turns his focus back to you.

his finger reattaches to your clit as his thrusts become more powerful again, fucking his cum deeper inside you. it all feels so good, and when he looks at you with his lust blown eyes, you know you don’t have long.

“min-” is all you manage to get out.

“you’ve been so good. doing so well,” he coos, pressing his lips to your cheek. “cum for me, princess.”

your orgasm washed over you with such intensity that you almost can’t believe it. your legs shake as you throw your head back in pleasure, fingernails scraping down minho’s back as his name falls from your lips. he moans at the way your walls flutter around his overly sensitive cock. you’re practically seeing stars for what feels like an eternity as you catch your breath. once you’ve regained your composure, minho slowly pulls out of you, pressing his lips to yours as he does.

he quickly gets up to grab a towel to clean both of you up before crawling into bed next you, taking you in his embrace.

“wow,” you say, still a little dumbfounded from out intense that was.

“i agree. wow,” minho lets out with a chuckle.

“sorry i flirted with someone else. it was just a joke, but it was a bad one, i shouldn’t have done it” you say bashfully.

“it’s ok, i know you didn’t actually mean any of it,” he responds.

"you're my favorite person. i love you," you state.

"well, you're my favorite person," he responds with a smile. "i love you, too."

tag list: @sensitiveandhungry

#lee know smut #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #lee know #stray kids #anon #ask #request #minors shoo #hard stray kids hours #mine #ask: minho is too busy with the cats

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thusspoketrish · 15 days

Text

WIP SNIP

OKAY! TAKE TWO! Thank you to @smehur for the tag!

Guys, I'm so silly. I had originally posted a snippet but forgot that the fic is for an anonymous fest! Whoops! Now this one, not for an anonymous fest! Anywho! It’s Halloween night, and married Harry and Draco are hoping to enjoy a romantic evening with a few scary films and a big bowl of popcorn. But their quiet evening is disrupted by an endless stream of trick-or-treaters—some of them more trick than treat. Also tagging (again, sorry!) @orangepellets @lizziedrip @xxspideyrebellexx @vukovich @sortofshea @newskyillusion @fictional, I'm so eager/curious to see what ya'll have been working on lately! No pressure to participate, though! xx

There, at the end of the drive where the streetlights barely reached, a shadowed figure stood watching him.

Harry squinted, brows furrowed in confusion. The person was blanketed in darkness, just on the outskirts of the moon's silvery stream of light, their form indistinct. He couldn’t make out any details—just the unsettling outline of a person no taller than the hedges, standing perfectly still.

Frozen for a moment, Harry called out, "Hello?” his voice steady but edged with a sharpness.

No response.

The figure didn’t move at first; it simply lingered there, a part of the shadows. Harry stepped forward, believing he must be mistaking a branch for a figure, but then, without a word, the shadowy figure turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

A faint unease crept through Harry like winter’s first chill, breaking his skin into gooseflesh. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he quickly stepped off the porch and cautiously made his way toward the end of the drive, his defensive instincts kicking in. He glanced up and down the road, seeing no one. His unease began to fade as he returned to the house. It was probably just some nosy teenager pranking him on Halloween or a local curious about the new residents. After all, the house at the end of Helix Road had remained empty for almost two decades.

As he shut and locked the door, Harry’s mind drifted back to when he and Draco first saw the two-story house. It had been charming in a way that caught them both off guard—an old Victorian with ivy creeping up the white brickwork and a wide porch with a teal-coloured door that seemed to beckon them in. They had fallen in love with it almost immediately. It was close to the Muggle primary school where Harry taught PE and the basement was easily converted into a lab for Draco’s potion-making. Everything had lined up so perfectly that it almost felt like fate.

The estate agent, of course, had tried to be discreet during the initial showing, lowering her voice as if the very walls might overhear her and seek retribution. She whispered that the house had a haunted history—perhaps even a lingering ghost or two. Harry had snorted at the idea, and Draco had rolled his eyes in amused exasperation. They’d faced Voldemort, Death Eaters, dark curses, prophecies, war, and death. A ghost or boggart would be a welcome distraction compared to what they’d endured in the fifteen years since the end of the war. “Haunted” was hardly a threat; it was practically a warm welcome to their usual brand of crazy. He had assured himself that they would handle whatever entity lingered in the shadows here without ever breaking a sweat.

But now, as he stood in their foyer, his hand still resting on the doorknob, concern wormed its way into his thoughts. It was nothing, he reassured himself, a harmless shadow or an annoying local, and no reason to alarm Draco. Draco would only smirk and say it was his overactive sense of vigilance getting the better of him again.

#WIP SNIP #current wip #drarry #drarry wip #Halloween fic #Drarry Halloween fic #this is legit horror though and I am feral about it #so ya'll should know things are about to go from 0 to 100 for Drarry #tag game #tagged post #no pressure to play!

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bard-llama · 2 months

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WiP Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS. anyone who you think might enjoy this.

tagged by @gasmeros! Thank you for the tag!

Warning in advance - this will be LONG! I physically cannot tag as many people as there are wips - but if you're interested, please do it!

Setting: OG Cartoon

Pre-Canon

Air Nomad Avatar Zuko

Early War AU (The First Reaction to Truth is Hatred)

Multi-Bending Zuko

Zuko's Odyssey

Unyielding

Crew Bonding: First time they see Zuko breathe fire when frustrated (I'll keep my silence, though it burns my tongue)

Aang in the Iceberg: Dreams

Airbender/Firebender Dual Wielder Zuko

June and Zuko walk into a bar

Our Love Become a Funeral Pyre

Ozai is not a people person

Zuko becomes Fire Lord at 13 AU

Earthbender Zuko

Haunted Toy

Instinctive Bending

Gyatso adopting Aang

Crooked World

Pirate Zuko (Fire, Water, and Government (Know Nothing of Mercy))

Another dream

Author Zuko: The Truth About the Air Army

Artist!Zuko: Pre-Canon

Aang Haunting Pre-Canon Zuko

Monk Tashi’s Journal

Friend of the Sex Workers

Gyatso/Roku

Season 1

Spirits Made Them Do It series

Two Lovers, Forbidden From One Another series

Soulmate Dreamsharing AU (Once Upon a Dream)

Damned by a Look

Baby AU

Helping Hands

Time Travel Zuko (A Second Chance at Family)

Agni's Little Flame

Storyteller Zuko (Those Who Tell Stories Rule the World)

Zuko stops chasing Aang, so Aang chases Zuko (Zhao’s Retribution)

Viva la Resistance

Bed of Leaves

De-aged Zuko

“I’m in love with your voice.”

Working Together/Mission Fic

Toph Joins S1

Gyatso Runs Away With Aang

Self-Harming Zuko

Animal Transformation: Zuko is a finch-hawk

Time Travel Zuko 2: Electric Boogaloo

Soulmate Potential

Bad (?) Reputation

Silence

Time Loop/Loop Zoop

Aang being worthy of power

“Come with me.”

Dreams/Nightmares (Freudian Nightmares)

Dreamsharing, but it’s all sex

Blue Spirit puts out fires

Genderfuckery: Genderfluid Aang

Genderfuckery: Puberty Blockers/The Avatar Has Tits

Grappling turned Frotting

Season 2

Ba Sing Se Boyfriends series

Seduction of the Innocent series

Earth and Air (sequel to Fire and Water)

Accidental Shaman Zuko series

Healing Fire

(Going) Down and Out in Ba Sing Se

The Fire Lord and The Avatar

Azula and her brother

Aang in the Iceberg: Angst Coma Time Travel

Demonic/Ghostly Possession (Blue Spirit Tagalong)

Spontaneous Combustion

Gay Bar

Aang Approaching Zuko Morning After

Pampering Zuko (Rose Petals and Candlelight)

Truth Serum

Body Swap

Ozai finds out Zuko joined the Avatar

Continuation of Wan Shi Tong's Uninvited Guests

Identity Porn

Nerd Lords

Fight Club

Southern Water Tribe – why are there so many more men than women?

Drugged Zuko Rescue

To Choose One’s Own Destiny

Joo Dee

Masking (Masked Affection)

Gaang in Ba Sing Se with Aang trying to befriend Zuko without telling them who ‘Li’ is

Fuck for-profit healthcare (How Zuko Became a Radical Socialist)

How tf is Li dating the Avatar? A teashop customer perspective

Jasmine Dragon Gift Shop AKA Li the Glassblower

Fantasies

Iroh Ships It

All Roads Lead to Ba Sing Se

Season 3

Justice, Served Cold with a Side of Vengeance series

Hope for the Future

Dragon Mama Zuko

High Priest of the Dragons

Zuko adapts other bending techniques

Fire Control

Following the Rules (The Consequences of Breaking The Rules)

Nightmares

Katara hating on Zuko

Punishment

Rope Burns

Trusted with Weapon

Custard Pie/Cheering Up on a Bad Day/Pining

Zuko Asks Forgiveness Through Action (Actions Speak Louder Than Words)

Aggressive Zuko (I'm Your Fire, Your Desire)

Shirtless Sparring

Early S3 AU

Fluffy Zuko/Aang

Zuko blows Aang while Katara watches

Choosing Nonviolence: Aang sees Zuko’s Scars

Choosing Nonviolence: What Is Forgiveness?

Flower Language

Gifts

Katara POV Zuko tortured by Fire Lord

Zukaang Western Air Temple (Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You)

Sexytimes – Voyeurism

Gossip

Zutaraang

Dad Convo

Something to Live For

Keeping the Avatar Alive

Zutaraang Lap Sex

Hidden Communities

Blue Spirit Reveal

Balance/“. . . sorry, I talked too much” “No no no not at all. Keep talking”

Attacking a surrendered opponent

Dream Sharing - Mid-S3: Zuko is back in the palace with everything he ever wanted, but his nightmares are worse than ever. Meanwhile, the Gaang end up helping this kid in the Spirit World or something and have no idea it’s Zuko.

Dark Water Spirit Curse

Depression and Executive Dysfunction (Cut My Heart Into Pieces (but it's still yours))

Artist!Zuko: Western Air Temple Discovery

Katara Jealous/Mad about Clingy Aang with Zuko

Aang with a cunt: Cunnilingus

Aang with a cunt: Aang hiding how aroused training with Zuko makes him

Touch Starved Zuko

Honor

Early S3 Aang Pining

De-aged Aang and Zuko both

Underwater Blow Job

The Fire Nation’s Flaws Revealed

Altruistic Help

Zuko’s hair

Post-Canon

Imprisoned DoBS!Zuko becomes Fire Lord and has an awkward conversation (Thrice Cursed, Once Broken)

Prosecution of War Crimes (Action, Inaction, and Consequences)

All the Politics (A Seat at the Table)

A Royal Heir

Zuko collects strays

Sibling Rulers

PAIN (The Long Road to Recovery)

Wearing Zuko’s clothes (What’s Yours is Mine)

Relationship Reveal: Post-Canon to the FN Court

Gaang Established Routines – Domestic Fluff fill

The Tournament of Kingship

Airbender Blow Jobs

Everyone wants Zuko (Reading Lips)

“My heart feels like it’s dancing when I look at you.”

Kuei & Zuko Arranged Marriage (To Weave a Tangled Web)

Gaang Marriage (Commitment to Balance)

Zuko navigating 10 (billion) relationships'

Treasure (sequel to Pearl)

First Kiss/First Time

Kanna

Shaking it up down South

Getting Zuko to Sleep

PWP Genderbent Aang picks up Zuko without Zuko knowing

Blue Spirit x Avatar Aang

Toph and Zuko’s Life-Changing Field Trip

Crossdressing Gaang

“I can’t stop thinking about you. When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep…”

Aang loves his friends

Katara and Aang decide to pursue Zuko

Everyone is in love with Zuko: He catches a clue

I Still Dream About You (Are You Lonely For Me Too?)

Sparring for who gets to take Aang

Jeong Jeong

Southern Water Tribe Mixed Children

Brother

Toph/Zuko Political Marriage (An Arrangement for World Peace)

Toph/Zuko S3 Hookup (Aged Up)

Author Zuko: Blue Spirit/Avatar Aang

Author Zuko: Zuko writes about the Fire Lord and Avatar’s Bond Thru Time

The Southern Waterbending Line

Post-canon Iroh and Zuko

Jet Redemption

Zuko is not in touch with his emotions

Consolidating Power: Zuko vs the Dragon of the West (The Power Behind the Throne)

Post-Canon Hanahaki AU

Cultural Differences/Fuck “Aang is so innocent and pure”

Touch Me Please

Marking

Facefucking

Destined to Love You/You’re the One I’ve Been Searching For

Sauna

Shaving/Aang serves as Zuko’s hands

Zutaraang Double Penetration

Femslash Zukaang

Post-Canon Horny Aang/Trying not to get caught

Voyeurism/Eyes on You

Desirable

Massage/Rimming

Zutaraang Pining

Inappropriate Use of Bending

Aang as the Sun: Zuko’s Astronomy Poetry

Zuko Ass Worship

Thigh Riding

North Pole Huddling for Warmth

5 Love Languages

Fuckbuddies while Pining for More

Weak to Aang

Katara and Mai Conspire

Thigh Fucking

Mastery (Post-Canon)

Aang Dances with Disguised Zuko in Front of Everyone (Veiled Desire)

Setting: Netflix ATLA

Pre-Canon

Avatar Fam Adopts Zuko (Family is a Title that is Earned)

NATLA Zue Arranged Marriage

Zuko’s Notebook

Season 1

Zuko’s Notebook/Aang wondering about Zuko (So Familiar, Yet So Unknown)

Silk

NATLA Crew Mutiny and Aftermath (Shifting Tides)

“Avatar Who? I’m just an Airbender”

NATLA Spirit World Developing Friendship (Seeking the Shards of a Shattered Soul)

JFC that's 220 WiPs.... and those are just the ones I'll admit to 😅

Also, I have a lot more post-canon WiPs than I ever realized! I always kinda figured I mostly did during-canon AUs - which like, I do, obviously, because there's 116 of those set during the OG canon - but still! 71 was a lot more post-canon fics than I was expecting!

#atla #natla #wip list #tag game #wips

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merinsedai · 2 months

Text

Square/Prompt: D1 knight Hob, replacing sexline

Title: A Giant Problem

Rating: G

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Legends, the legend of the giant of Shrewsbury, Missing Scene, more anachronistic language

Summary: Part way through his quest to find the chapel of the Black Knight, Sir Robert and his bard encounter a very angry giant who is hell bent on destroying the nearby town of Shrewsbury

A 'missing scene' from my fic, Sir Robert and the Black Knight, but can probably be read just fine without reading that first. This is a short retelling of the Legend of the Giant and the Cobbler, but Dreamling.

Link to ao3

for @dreamlingbingo

Chapter 1

Sir Robert Gadling, knight of Camelot, has a date with destiny. 11 months ago, he rather foolishly chopped the head of a mysterious stranger at King Arthur’s Christmas Feast and is currently on a quest to meet said decapitated stranger at the Black Chapel on New Year’s Day and face his retribution.

New Year’s Day is still a month off, though, and for the preceding four weeks, Sir Robert- or Hob, as he prefers- has been led a merry dance around the countryside by another mysterious stranger, a nameless bard, who had latched himself onto Hob as soon as the knight departed Camelot and whose sole purpose in life seems to now be to get Hob to the Black Chapel by the most dangerous and indirect means possible.

When they arrived in the town of Shrewsbury, Hob was entirely sure there’d be something he’d need to face or fix in the town. Since his peculiar bard had placed himself in charge of their destinations over the last month, he had done his level best to put Hob in some sort of predicament wherever they went.

Not here though. They’d ridden in early the previous afternoon, found a room at an inn, ate the best meal of Hob’s life (four weeks of unseasoned winter-thin rabbits and whatever other meagre sustenance the land could offer turned any other meal into a feast) and slept undisturbed all night on mattresses that were ostensibly stuffed with straw but could well have been clouds considering how favourably they’d compared to the frost hard ground Hob was used to. All in all, after a morning spent exploring this pleasant, bustling market town and not once having to leap dramatically to anyone’s rescue, Hob was feeling well rested, well fed and well content.

As they ride out of the town walls after a magnificent lunch of mutton stew and fresh bread slathered in honest to goodness butter , Hob remarks upon this good fortune to his companion, who favours him with one of his mysterious smiles and heels his mule on faster. Hob follows, still chattering away. His bard lets him talk offering very little in the way of response, and they ride for some time like this, putting some little distance between themselves and the town as the afternoon wears on

“I mean, no foul fiends?!” Hob says, flinging out an arm in a dramatic gesture. “Come on, Ben Beirdd, not even any pesky piskies? I expected something , at least.”

“There are no piskies this far North,” his bard replies serenely “And as for foul fiends-”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more thriving place outside of Camelot,” Hob interrupts, and lets Gringolet follow the bard’s mule as he finally swings off the main path and down into the forest surrounding the road. “I know they get the trade off of the river, so it makes sense for a settlement to be here, but this area is well known for being giant country… how has the town survived? I didn’t even see any fortifications?”

“An excellent question,” his bard murmurs, turning to fix Hob with his intense stare. His eyes, always slightly otherworldly, Hob thinks, are the only bright thing in this dead winter woodland. They seem to gather all the light and gleam, despite the overcast weather. “The answer being that the citizens of the town made a deal.”

“A deal?” Hob repeats

“Indeed.”

“A deal. With… the giants?”

“With one giant. His name is Gwendol Wrekin ap Shenkin ap Myndmawr. A most unpleasant sort, by all accounts. Even by giant standards.”

“What sort of deal?” Hob asks uneasily.

“Maidens.”

“Maidens?”

“Yes, Sir Robert. Maidens. Must you repeat everything I say?”

“What do you mean, they made a deal with maidens?” Hob says slowly, though he rather suspects the answer. His bard looks at him and purses his lips.

“I believe the terms of the deal were that the mayor of Shrewsbury would provide a steady supply of maidens for Gwendol and in return he would refrain from ‘smashing up the town.’” These last words were clearly some sort of direct quotation, and Hob inhales sharply, opening his mouth to say something, but his bard puts up a hand to stop him, and continues.

“To forestall your next inane questions, Sir knight, yes the maidens were eaten by the giant and no, the mayor did not know that was happening to them.” He snorted derisively, “Well, that is what he claims. What else he thought was happening to the stream of young women leaving the town to seek the giant and never returning, I do not know.”

Beneath him, Gringolet snorts and dances a few steps, no doubt sensing the tension of his rider. Hob deliberately unclenches his hands on the reins and gives the horse his head. Sending their womenfolk as tribute… how many women have died for this? How have the citizens not revolted? Surely they know? It cannot be a secret. “Wait,” he says suddenly, whipping round to meet his bard’s eyes again. “You kept saying ‘were’. What has happened? Has the deal been broken?”

Ben Beirdd smiles thinly. “Quite. A young woman recently returned to the town. The very first to do so. A clever woman, and a cunning one. She at least recognised that no woman ever returned and, knowing much of herblore, concealed about her person some plants with which she brewed the giant a potent sleeping draught. How she persuaded him to drink it is unclear; she is clearly a remarkable woman, but drink it he did, and while he was asleep she stole away and returned to Shrewsbury with her tale… now the truth of the deal is out in the open, and the mayor will not risk the ire of his people by sending any more maidens.”

“Christ on the cross,” Hob says fervently, “What will happen to them now? I can’t see the giant taking kindly to a sudden cessation in his food supply.”

They emerge from the trees quite suddenly and the view opens up before them. Hob draws rein with a muttered curse, hand leaping to his sword. Because there, not a quarter mile distant, sits the slumped shape of a truly enormous giant. He is clearly sleeping, head tilted forward against his chest, rumbling snores clearly audible even at this distance; and beside him on the ground rests a humongous spade piled high with a great mound of earth.

“No,” Ben Beirdd says mildly as he stops his mule beside Hob’s stallion, “I do not believe he is taking kindly to it at all.”

#dreamling #dreamling bingo #sandman fanfic #dreamling fanfic

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randomfoggytiger · 10 months

Text

Eight Nights of Mulder: Day 5, Endurance & Miracles (Part II)

Mulder includes Scully in his post-Drive thoughts.

*****

“Mulder? We need to follow the ambulance back.”

He hadn’t heard her walk up, intent on the calming rhythm surrounding him-- so different than the one he'd been locked with for hours. The thought Mr. Crump is waiting struck suddenly, stung; and Mulder peeled away reluctantly from his peaceful corner of the world.

Scully remained a few feet apart, waiting for her partner to make the next move. Remarkably distanced from the more personal aspects of this case. Remarkably whole, remarkably kind. Miraculously alive.

“On days like this it’s hard to believe in miracles, Scully.”

For the first time in their partnership, Mulder gloried in being the sole eidetic pontificator because all he could think next was weariness of the flesh and he knew that quote was somewhere in Scully’s bible and he was grateful, so grateful, that he could count on Scully not to quote chapter and verse of her scripture at him, either in agreement or correction. The whispers of his maternal grandmother hovered at the edges, her tongue clucking over the Christian additions to the Jewish religion-- another normal person with a normal life that he’d lost along the way.

Scully, meanwhile, stayed silent and watchful.

He’d forgotten: she distrusted miracles, spent too much time juggling her science and her faith to argue semantics with him or a higher power. He, the unbeliever, espoused belief in yet another metaphysical she chalked up to Christmas magic or pixie dust. She explored her world with the same map and compass that guided her steps in religion, cancer, and death: God and science. Mostly an "either, or" between the two, with some careful hedging thrown in to cover the gaps; and that system-- he guessed-- covered a multitude of Congressional and familial sins. Did nothing to repel unexpected disasters, however: the ones that clung to collars across state lines and threatened to permanently injure with nothing more than bad timing and chance.

The past summer…. He’d never asked her what she’d believed since; but he liked to think that Scully would rationalize that he, her partner, was the common denominator in each scenario. “Believe in a miracle and you’re halfway there” she’d said once; and perhaps that’s all that could be drawn from her on the subject. Willpower and determination were more steady, achievable things than luck and miracles.

Mood askew, Mulder sighed, scrambled for stability, nodded, and followed her back up the road. There was an investigation still to wrap up, Kersh still to face, government lies still to choke down; and, reflecting, he shifted swiftly back into his former gloom.

Scully beat him to the driver's side. They locked eyes tiredly, without challenge; and he saw a flicker of hesitation before she straightened further and softened her tone.

“Mulder, Crump would have died hours ago if not for your efforts. In a way, your concern and cooperation gave him a longer life.” She paused, and her expression shifted: serious, angry. “And now we give him justice.”

Any other day Mulder would have glibly ribbed his partner’s bloodthirst for retribution. Today was not one of them: today he let her words seep into his cracks and crevices, followed them into the car and around the parking lot and back up the hill, and hoped they would drive him closer, faster, to normal.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

(Tagging @today-in-fic~)

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middlingmay · 3 months

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Chapter 3 of That Ol’ Devil Called Love was so perfect! You write dialogue so well, I just end up falling into the conversations like I’m there with them. Love the Egan family and the scene with them all fighting in the car 😭. It’s quickly becoming one of my favourite fics of all time

Also, for your WIP game: “We’re going to need that bat” is calling to me xx

Thank you so much 😊 that really means a lot 💛 I'm loving writing That Ol' Devil Called Love, and already have future fic and side story ideas jotted down for once it's finished 😅 never ending!

Oh I'm looking forward to writing this one. Okay, so, "we're going to need that bat" is a Bikeriders inspired oneshot.

Buck and Bucky are in an established relationship. Bucky isn't a biker, and Buck keeps him away from The Vandals and the whole scene as much as he can.

Bucky is very different to the other men in his life. He's loud and brash and physical, sure, but kindness is embedded into it, bravery, gentleness, goodness. Bucky's not perfect (though Buck definitely puts him on a pedestal and doesn't quite see it that way), but he's miles away from The Vandals.

Anyway, long story short and not to give too much away, Bucky is attacked because of The Vandals and is hospitalised. Buck finds out, takes it about as well as you'd expect, and turns to Johnny (who had to drive him to the hospital so he didn't drive himself off the road) and wants a steel bat Johnny had earlier, for retribution.

#clegan #buck x bucky #asks #ask me anything #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fics #my wips #todcl

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rainbowfic · 10 months

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You can:

use either or both prompts as given

use either or both lists for prompts

use the name of either or both lists as a prompts

complete as many or few days as you want

write, draw, craft, or anything else!

There's no deadline and this is just for fun. I'll reblog this with links to the lists if you want to explore.

What's RainbowFic? We're a community of original fic writers on Dreamwidth using prompt lists named after colors (for a very VERY loose definition of color). Our lists range include song lyrics, quotes from books and tv, themed words, contrasts, and a whole lot more (we have over 400!)

Text version of the list under a readmore

Text version:

Day 1: Royal Purple #11 Further beyond / Iceberg #12 Snowman

Day 2: Lilac #25 Freesia / Opera Mauve #20 Curtain call

Day 3: Lavender's Blue #2 Mermaid / Periwinkle #14 Enamel heart pendant from a garage sale

Day 4: Caramel #8 Gummies / Vert #16 As the lord/lady asks

Day 5: Midnight #6 Furtive / Psychedelic Purple #15 I know I'll never be the same

Day 6: Lotus #19 Truthfulness / Ignition Yellow #10 There are some nights I wait for someone to save us

Day 7: Green Go #21 Rideshare / Gold #12 The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it

Day 8: City Street #4 Highway / Greenstick Fracture #9 I got the velocity and now all I need is the mass

Day 9: Paprika #8 We've got something kinda funny going on / Harvard Crimson #14 Library

Day 10: Danish Red #2 The Snow Queen / Amaranth #5 Stars

Day 11: Pull Me Over Red #1 Parking ticket / Daffodil #5 Flowers

Day 12: Fluorescent Pink #19 It doesn't matter who they are, I won't forgive anyone who tries to stand out more than me / Parrot Green #13 Call

Day 13: Crane White #18 Tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight / Spirits of Saturn #15 Overgrowth

Day 14: Cherry #12 Grapes / Skylight #4 Smoking on the fire escape

Day 15: Calcite #4 Soft/Hard / Burgundy #2 Varietal

Day 16: Yellow Submarine #17 The long and winding road that leads to your door will never disappear / White Opal #2 Dream

Day 17: Tigers Eye #8 Eerie empty spaces / Moonlight #1 Liminal

Day 18: Baby Blue #4 Sling / Red Dress #5 You need to find a new solution, adaptation or retribution

Day 19: Gunmetal #14 Crossbow / English Violet #3 Since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain

Day 20: Heirloom Silver #2 Heirloom / Brown #5 Brown bagging

Day 21: Coomassie Blue #1 Repressor / Folly #14 Relax, I saw it on TV

Day 22: Fuzzy Wuzzy #3 Hugs /Alien Green #6 This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass

Day 23: Fawn #4 Cat / Grand Ink #20 With a mug of hot tea and some Vicodin in my bloodstream, I look up from my book to watch the bugs outside the windows

Day 24: Royal Blue #2 Queen / Spirit Purple #19 Screw the binary gender system

#advent calendar #rainbowfic original #prompts #pastels prompts #modeling clay prompt #oil prompts

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writingwhilecaffeinated · 1 year

Text

So… I have a fic idea. Of course. I mean, I need to finish my two WIP first. But I like the idea enough I write something.

It’s inspired by the fairytale The Six Swans as well as the classic 80s movie, Lady Hawke. A Regency fantasy Au. Everything’s the same except there’s magic. Should I write it? Or just kick it down the road? No idea…

It was a calculated risk Penelope Featherington took when she threw herself in front of the Queen and her trusted warlock.

A gamble, a trick, in order to protect those she loved most without revealing the truth of her heart.

It was, of course, her fault the Bridgerton Family was cursed. But that did not mean she couldn’t prevent the worst of the spell from falling upon her favorites.

Penelope, in her writing as Lady Whistledown, was certainly witty. Yet she grew ambitious, wanting more recognition, especially from her dearest friend, Eloise, who was growing tired of Whistledown’s gossip. Eloise wanted to focus on greater equality for women, magic and non-magic alike, so that they may study at the best colleges as the men do. All persons had some innate magic, although some were more gifted than others. But while warlocks were trained and celebrated, women had been burned at the stake for wishing to rise to power, and were suppressed to be nothing more than regular hedge witches and medicine women. Eloise was one such talent, unable to do more than he taught simple herbs and remedies, and even that was frowned upon since she was of noble lineage.

Penelope’s own magic manifested in her writing, easily letting opinion sway one way or the other depending on her intent. But Penelope had never intended for the Queen to be so incensed by her words that she would seek retribution. But she had, and Penelope knew she was paying a heavy price.

The worst of it was, the Bridgertons were not even aware it was her fault.

The particular pamphlet that had stoked the Queen’s fury had been about the… failed progeny of her lineage, both in securing matches and actions. She had written a particular paragraph that the Queen quoted at them as she barged into the Bridgerton home unannounced, like vengeance itself in a gown of blood red, her tight black and gray curls piled high upon her head. A crown of onyx sat atop her head, and her loyal warlock, Grimsby, by her side. With a wave of her hand she forced the entire family on their knees in the parlor, trembling against the natural burn of her magical rage. Penelope, who had been visiting Eloise to get her opinion on the scandal sheet that day, was unaffected as she was not the target. She paled, hand quavering over her mouth as Eloise and Colin shook in confusion and terror. The rest of the family was no better, all of them, including Kate and the Duke of Hastings. Violet Bridgerton, a weeping Hyacinth bent over beside her, tried to speak.

“Your Majesty, please, my children–”

“Are apparently superior to mine in every way,” Queen Charlotte remarked dryly, snapping a finger so that Grimsby handed her a folded bit of parchment. Penelope felt her stomach turn when she recognized the printing.

“‘Gentle Reader, it must be acknowledged that not only are the King and Queen’s brood quite useless in making advantageous matches, but in doing anything of real import. While the unruly sons breed like rabbits with all the whores of the realm, the daughters simply sit and simper. It appears our monarchs are nothing but figureheads. It is a sad day when the exemplary Bridgerton family act and are treated more like royalty, with their good works and even greater looks. The Viscount’s marriage to the beatific Kathani Sharma, and the Duchess of Hastings growing home of her own already surpasses the accomplishments of the Queen’s spawn in a matter of two years. Soon, the rest of the Bridgerton children will follow, under the Dowager Viscountess’ exemplary care.’”

Queen Charlotte looked up to arch an imperious eyebrow at Violet who blushed deeply.

“My Queen,” Anthony hurried to say, sweat beading at his temples. On one side of him he had Gregory tucked under his arm, the other hand clasped Kate’s fingers. “We had nothing to do with this. We would never dare claim to be better than your most esteemed family–”

“It does not matter whether you did or not,” the Queen snapped, her eyes narrowing on Anthony’s pleading face. “The damage is done, and an example must be made!”

She waved her hand airily and Francesca began to sob alongside Hyacinth, fear gripping the entire family’s hearts. Violet and Anthony were pleading as Brimsley took a step forward. Penelope looked from the Queen, who was beginning to turn her back, as Brimsley stepped forward, the blood red cloak he chose to match his Queen stepping forward, raising an arm with the golden band around his bicep that marked his status. Penelope’s brain worked quickly, flying between options faster than a bird in flight. Queen Charlotte was from Prussia, a descendent of a family of old magic, the type of magicians who loved to make deals… Queen Charlotte could never turn down a challenge when she saw one, but it could not be too obvious. No. Careful–

Penelope made a calculated choice, but she had to make it seem as random and powerful as a lightning strike.

“No!” she screamed, purposely tripping over her feet as she chose her target. With barely a glance at Eloise and Colin, she stumbled to the astonished form of Benedict Bridgerton and shielded him from view. Turning towards the lithe artist she embraced him, his face nestling above her breasts in a way that was more intimate than any encounter she had ever had. She bent her head, her fiery red curls curtaining his face as she whispered, “Please.”

She prayed he understood. That he would play along and would not hate her. Her risk was calculated. To provoke the Queen’s challenge, she also risked infuriating her more, and Penelope was not willing to risk the Bridgertons she loved most: Eloise and Colin. Her heart ached at the mere thought of putting any of the children in harm's way, and the family needed their mother, and needed the leaders that were Anthony and Daphne. And without Kate or Simon, Anthony and Daphne would crumble.

But Benedict had no spouse, Benedict was not as dear to her as Eloise, Colin, and Violet. And Benedict was no child.

So she chose her sacrificial lamb, in hopes he would rise to the challenge. And Benedict locked his gaze on her, his ocean eyes meeting her sky blue ones. She recognized the exact moment he understood, and his face set in firm resolution. Penelope’s shoulders shook with relief, her heart twisting as she recognized the fire that blazed in his eyes. The look of a man who would willingly die for his family.

All of the Bridgertons had an uncanny knack for self-sacrifice.

Swiftly he wrapped his arms around her waist, as if he was to say goodbye to all he held dear, and said just loud enough for all to hear, “My love, no, you must not–”

Penelope cupped his cheeks between her palms and tenderly kissed his forehead in silent gratitude, thought to all around it would appear like a paramour clinging to her doomed love. She tensed when she heard Eloise start, frantic, “Pen–” But she was on the other side of Daphne on the floor, and Penelope saw from the corner of her eye the oldest sister grip her Eloise’s knee in a silent plea. Penelope dared not look at Colin.

“What is this?”

Turning her face, head bowed, toward the Queen’s rich voice, Penelope kept Benedict shielded with her body.

“Please, your majesty, I beg you to spare him! I–” Penelope closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling tears sting her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Colin’s face swirled in her mind as she said, “I love him.”

She heard the Queen tut in amusement, and the swish of the older woman’s skirts move across the floor. A firm grip took hold of her chin, forcing Penelope’s face up.

“Look at me, little Featherington.”

Penelope opened her eyes to see the Queen’s usually brown gaze glow a molten amber, analyzing her for falsehood. Penelope held her breath, hoping there was just enough truth to her words to pass. She had not specifically identified the “him” she had referred to.

Penelope felt the burn of Queen Charlotte’s magic flow and surge under her skin. Benedict’s grip on her waist tightened, and Penelope moved her hands to squeeze his own in response. Soon the amber dripped from the Queen’s irises, the chocolate brown returning. She smirked and Penelope shivered under her assessing stare.

“Interesting,” the Queen remarked. “I tell you what, child. Let us test your love for this man and his family.”

With an airy wave, Brimsley was by her side, his short, stout form never once hindering the fear he inspired. Brimsley and the Queen appeared to be having a silent conversation, completely possible when loyalty and magical bonds were formed between two fated people. While the Queen was bound to her husband by romantic love, the bond between the Queen and her most loyal servant was a kinship that inspired absolute awe in all who beheld them.

Suddenly Brimsley moved his short arms in a swift upward motion and both Benedict and Penelope were forced to their feet. Brimsley’s magic, similar to the Queen’s own, blazed painfully as it forced them to stand upright. Benedict was behind Penelope, towering over her, and with a grunt of exertion he gripped her hips in his hands, trying to soothe the pain with his own power, like cooling water. It was a mere trickle, but it was a small comfort.

“I shall give you one exact rotation of the earth around the sun,” the Queen said, “To break the curse that shall be placed on your family, as well as the one that shall be placed on the two of you.”

“What?” Benedict huffed, his throat tight, sweat dripping down his neck. “How is that–”

“Fair?” The Queen cackled. “Dear Mister Bridgerton, nothing about this is fair. That is not the point!” She flicked her fingers and with an almighty crack Benedict’s head whipped back as if he had been punched in the face. Penelope gasped, and Benedict’s family screamed, Violet’s cry most heartbreaking of all.

“Please, please, we shall go along. Just don’t hurt him,” Penelope pleaded, daring to look up at her. “I beg you, if you must hurt someone, hurt me.”

“No–” Benedict choked, blood trickling down his nose just as Colin and Eloise yelped, “Pen!”

The Queen and Brimsley shared a conspiratorial smile before she continued.

“As I was saying, one rotation around the sun. During that time the two of you will have to find me three items from across the British Isles: the saddle of the trusted steed of Niamh’s mortal love Oisín, proof of love yielded to an ash tree, and the beating hearts of one who has loved and one who has lost. Bring these items to the sacred site of the Coldrum Long Barrow at dusk, and your curses shall be lifted.”

The Queen chuckled as if it was a game, and she was the benevolent gamemaster. In a sense, she was. Penelope was very aware that she could have cursed them or killed them and be done with it.

“What is our curse?” Penelope asked and when the Queen raised a perfectly arched brow, Penelope went on. “I think Benedict and I need to know what our handicap will be.”

“I concede your point,” the Queen admitted. “But let's get a look at what the two of you will be fighting for first, shall we?”

With a nod, Brimsley’s irises shimmered copper before he brought his hands up and across in successive, staccato movements. Benedict and Penelope turned in horror to see the Bridgerton family’s faces contorted in silent screams of terror as their bodies bent and contorted, bones breaking and reforming as long white feathers sprouted from raw, irritated skin. Clothes ripped and Benedict screamed as his mother and siblings transformed into ten swans of various size, shape, and color. Their plumage was stained bright pink from the blood they lost as the feathers emerged, and Benedict stumbled to the swan that was once Anthony, large and stark white, honking weakly when Benedict went to rest his palm on his soft head.

Penelope stood there, frozen, and she thought she was going to be sick.

“Lady Danbury will not be happy that her beloved godson is among them,” the Queen remarked absently. “But I shall explain it is for the best. It is good the Duke and Duchesses children are with her today. Two cygnets would be quite tragic.”

When Penelope’s silent tears would not cease, and Benedict’s cries did not quiet, the Queen rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop your annoying worrying. They shall be safe in my menagerie, well fed and given shelter. I am being quite merciful, do you not agree?”

Her narrowed brows signaled to Penelope what she was required to say. Penelope gritted her teeth, before curtsying, her knees wobbling and her stomach roiling as she forced out, “Most merciful, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Penelope straightened and walked forward, gently but firmly pulling Benedict away from his feathered family as they flapped their wings helplessly on the floor. She turned Benedict and used her small hand to push Benedict into a bow. Benedict knew what he must do, and he cursed his weakness as he said, flatly, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Now,” Queen Charlotte said, clapping her hands and that now familiar burns flooded her veins again Penelope and Benedict were forced to stand upright, like little soldiers. “My two little lovers, your curse shall be quite special. For this mission you shall always be together. You cannot go more than 10 leagues from each other without feeling intense pain. Yet, forever apart. I have a fondness for animals, you see. And Brimsley here is quite good at making them. By day one of you shall be an animal while the other remains human. As the sun sets, you shall switch places. The cycle will continue every day until you break the curse, or forever if you do not.”

She laughed, high-pitched and shrill and Penelope had to physically fight back a wince.

“I really am quite merciful, do you not agree, Brimsley?”

“The most merciful and gracious, Your Majesty,” Brimsley said heartily. “Giving these two such an opportunity.”

“What creatures are you to force us to be?” Benedict ground out, visibly shaking in barely controlled rage. His face was flushed, his face crusted with dried blood, and Penelope could feel the quickening of his pulse through his wrist under her thumb. She stroked it once, trying to calm him with just a hint of her own magic, a fluttering of wind through the nerves.

“That shall be decided by your souls,” Brimsley said, and with a mighty crack of his knuckles, copper tendrils flooded his eyes again and he began to move. White hot pain enveloped Penelope’s body and she could hear herself screaming, yet she felt so separated from her own body. It felt like knives were shoving themselves up and outward from her skin, and she felt her bones break and disintegrate before they reformed into smaller forms. Her mouth elongated and sharpened, and soon she was cawing.

Cawing–

She turned her new eyes this way and that, her vision strangely sharp as she extended black wings with a strange, fiery red sheen. She could see Benedict shaking, collapsed on the ground from the aftermath of the curse. Light shown through the windows of the parlor and the cruel giggling of the Queen echoed around the room. Benedict extended trembling fingers towards her and she hopped on her small talons to be embraced by his large palms. He held her to her to his nose and it was there in the reflection of his glassy eyes that she saw herself.

Staring back at her was a large, raven, with unnaturally light blue eyes.

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #magic Regency au #yes this would probs be Penedict sorry #that’s how I roll #lady Hawke inspired #penedict #Benelope

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madaboutmunson · 8 months

Text

Look through these blackened eyes You'll see ten thousand lies

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 9

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Pumping with the adrenaline from their fight and with his permission, Eddie attempts to exact his revenge on Steve between the sheets. But is retribution all that is at play here?

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only.

This is my first ever published smut chapter. I am sweating with nerves as I type this lol.

I have a few bang event projects to finish up, so this story will have to take a short break. Though the next few 5 chapters are already written then need to be edited, which takes me a lot of time. Sorry :(

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight; smut

Word Count: 10.5K

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I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Part 9 - Eddie POV

Even in his wildest dreams, Eddie couldn’t have possibly imagined this because nothing about this moment in time makes any sense to him at all.

Hasn’t he loathed this man for years now? Didn’t this guy ruin his life? Hadn’t this guy just seconds ago tried to beat him down verbally and physically? Eddie realises it’s a resounding yes to everything, yet he feels a pulsing energy around them—something teetering on a cliff edge.

He didn’t know why he’d answered that way. It just fell out of his mouth, Only everything.

And he did want that. He wanted to steal everything from Harrington, just like he’d stolen everything from him, but he knew that wasn’t just revenge talking. Although that feeling is still very present, another looming entity is in the room. Lust. He could feel its selfish, irresponsible form like some gelatinous ooze was creeping all over him. Seeping into every recess of his brain, turning off logic centres as it passes, only leaving primal things in its wake. The only reason he lets it continue its pilgrimage into his very being is because it’s evident he isn’t alone in this.

Harrington’s lips are still at the shell of his ear. The last thing he’d heard from them was a whimper at his reply as his entire body weight rested on top of him. Eddie is in semi-thoughtful, mostly impulsive deliberations with the ornate ceiling above them. Then there is the delicate brush of stubble as Harrington pushes his head further over his shoulder until his lips press against his ear, “Then take it.” He whispers like silk, and Eddie is not god’s strongest soldier, or anyone's for that matter. His eyes roll back as the words and all their potential implications ignite every neuron in his body. Surging to the tip of his tongue for the next thing to say. Rocketing to his fingertips for the next thing to touch. His heart thumps powerfully in its skeletal hideaway, but not for love, for an imminent frenzy. For the thrill of finally getting something over the man who’s haunted his every waking day, every nightmare-filled night, and the poor wretch is offering it up to him on a silver platter. Take it.

Eddie never considered himself an angel, but he had principles and morals that kept him on the right side of judgement from himself and maybe others, but this might be a temptation too far. Harrington was correct. He had been a fan in the early days, at least. Perhaps even up until everything fell apart. Recalling his world imploding, he feels his grip on Harrington tighten again like he wants to squeeze the breath right out of him, but he resists when he hears that gentle groan in his ear.

He feels like he could both give in to something basal and still satisfy the need to get one over on Harrington if he follows the path his hormones are gouging out for him. He feels his accomplice's hands shakily run up his sides. The breath at his ear is now against his cheek as Harrington turns to face him, head still heavy on his shoulder. Maybe he was exhausted? Perhaps he’d already given up?

Eddie has to decide. Morally, this was bad. Professionally potentially the worst decision ever, but personally, maybe the sweetest fucking revenge. The holy grail of blackmail, or perhaps no one would even believe him if he told them. No one would think that Harrington, who walks the red carpet with his doting wife, or Harrington, who gets papped with his tongue hanging out for some harem of female groupies to hang off by sucking on it, would forgo them all to fool around with an average joe, like him. A nobody. A nobody who was, at one time, on the cusp of being a somebody.

And maybe that’s what seals the deal for him. He violently pushes Harrington off him, hoping to press against one of the many bruises currently developing, and he must because he hisses as he meets the carpet with a thud.

Eddie gets to his knees, and before Harrington can let any more spiteful words leave his wretched mouth, he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks him up until they are face to face. But Harrington isn’t struggling; he lets himself hang limp in Eddie’s grip. The previous violence has begun plumping parts of his face, the red marks deepening as burst blood vessels spill under his skin. His mouth hangs open slightly, “Take it,” he mumbles a reminder through swollen split lips.

Eddie’s other hand rapidly finds its way into Harrington’s obnoxious, luxurious hair and closes the gap between them with a clash of teeth. Their lips meet brutally. He can feel the hair strands fall between his fingers as his grip tightens, pulling it out from the roots. There is no polite request for entry when Eddie’s tongue forces its way into his mouth, but he’s not met with any resistance, only moans of pleasure.

Initially, Harrington is a malleable thing in his hands, bending to his will, letting Eddie cruelly bite and drag his teeth over the wounds on his lips before kissing his hisses and whimpering back into his mouth, like he doesn’t want to hear them. And he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hear or see anything that might induce him to be merciful. Soon enough, Harrington springs to life, grabbing fistfuls of a T-shirt at Eddie's waist, twisting it around his fingers until Eddie feels it pull tight across his back. With a grunt pushed into his mouth, he finds himself yanked flush with Harrington. The heat and pressure from another makes the skin in all the places their bodies meet feel like embers of something long forgotten, but as they move together, the sparks find their fuel and ignite a searing wildfire across the surface of his skin. He can feel his heart pounding. He can hear it in his ears like a bass line to the wanton melody of noises between them.

He feels a shift again. Harrington’s knees bracket one of his own, forcing them closer together. Another sigh spills from out Harrington, and Eddie consumes it hungrily. Like he’s trying to capture everything. He would let the night have nothing. This was all his. Every sigh, moan, whimper and groan. He would gorge himself on everything he was pulling out of Harrington until he was sick from overindulgence or until Harrington had no more to give.

Then, just like he’s acclimatising, nothing further happens between them below the belt line, but Harrington’s hands find their way up and under Eddie's shirt. Calloused fingertips but soft palms glide over his back, urging him closer, even though it is physically impossible, but the gentleness is distracting and has no place here. Eddie drags his teeth over Steve’s tongue as he pulls away, only to have his mouth adorably chased by the man opposite him, who looked starved for it, even though they’ve been clamped together for who knows how long. Eddie ignores it, licks along Harrington’s jawline, and bites down on the hinge of it with his teeth, a helpful reminder of what is happening here.

He gets the message.

Harrington’s hands raise to his shoulder blades, rough fingertips press into his skin there, and then excruciatingly slowly, he drags his blunt fingernails down Eddie’s back. A gasp fights out and into his ear, causing a reactionary hip buck into his thigh from Harrington, whose fingers soothe their way back up the fresh scratches.

Harrington, for the first time, leans back, his spit-wet mouth slightly parted as he observes Eddie through barely open hooded eyes before raking his nails down him again, faster this time, making Eddie’s back arch towards him with a yelp from the stinging pain melting into a sigh caused by a wave of endorphins rearing up and crashing down on him. Involuntarily, he closes his eyes, maybe to savour the sensation of the burning strands of heat trailing over his back, perhaps to not look at Harrington. He isn’t sure, but he soon finds himself pulled into a more comfortable measured distance of zero. But no lips meet his. A hand grasps his jaw tightly and tips his head backwards. He feels a breath at the base of his throat, the moisture evaporating so quickly from him there is a coolness for a second before Harrington’s tongue drags up the column of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Wait here,” he’s instructed as Harrington leaves, and he finally dares open his eyes, tries to catch his breath, palms at the bulge in his jeans for a second of relief, and relaxes back on his heels.

He watches Harrington busy himself with a door handle sign, and he opens the door a crack. Immediately, Buckley’s face appears in it.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” She exclaims quietly, but he’s already trying to close the door again after hanging a do not disturb sign.

“Relax. We’re not fighting anymore.” He says and slams the door.

“Then what are you doing in there?” She yells angrily through the door.

Steve yanks the door open again, “I dunno, fucking hopefully,” she’s about to say something else when he slams the door shut and locks it again.

That makes Eddie spring to his feet, and his brain feeds him a million reasons why he really should leave, but the problem being he still has a reason to stay, and he’s still horny as hell.

Harrington slinks his way back and leisurely looks Eddie over, “What happened?” He smirks, “Didn’t wanna be on your knees when I got back?” Harrington reaches over and takes his arm, runs his hands over it, inspects it, leads him to the couch, and sits them both down. He waits for a second before crawling towards Eddie. He looked more creature than man. Almost under a spell, Eddie feels himself doing one thing but saying another. He reclines back on the seat, coaxing Harrington into his lap, saying, “This is a terrible idea, Harrington.”

“Oh, the absolute worst, for sure,” Harrington smiles slyly as he straddles Eddie’s thighs, “And I think it would be even worse for me to hear you call me by my name and not my brand.”

Eddie’s chest heaves as he is manhandled to make him a more comfortable seat, “Yeah, that would be a really dumb thing to do, wouldn’t it, Steve?” And he watches as Steve’s eyes shoot to his and shift from something amused to something all the more sultry. He tilts his head a little like he didn’t hear correctly, eyes firmly fixed on Eddie, who thinks he knows what he’s being asked to do, “Did you hear what I said,” Eddie lets his eyes fall to his lap and drags them unhurriedly back to meet the blooming dilated pupils of the man seated on him, “Steve?”

Like his own name is the shot of a starting pistol, Steve launches himself at Eddie again, with force enough to rock the furniture.

Within seconds, things start to feel almost competitive. Every kiss was returned with a more forceful one, every grip on the other's body was returned with a harder, more cruel squeeze, and every needy grind down was met with a hard thrust upwards.

The one-upmanship leaves Eddie intoxicated. He’s trying to think but can’t. He’s overwhelmed by sensation. His primitive brain just hungers for more. To take everything until all that is left is a carcass of the man huffing and panting in his lap. For a second, he doesn’t think he has ever seen anything more gloriously desperate as Steve. He wants Eddie with abandon of everything else. His persona seemed shed. He seemed real. Human. Not a nemesis. Not a celebrity. Not an object to covet. Just a guy. A hot as sin, ravenous, wild, hazardously beautiful man.

Something threatens to bloom inside Eddie’s chest, and a fresh urgency springs to life, like a survival instinct almost. He reaches for Steve’s shirt and begins unfastening it. His fingers feel their way clumsily over the buttons as the rest of his body is otherwise occupied. He finds his hands grasped and pushed down to rest on Steve’s thighs as he leans back for a moment to pull the shirt over his head, and he finds his hands placed back on his torso, and that feeling of much softer than expected skin under his fingertips is tantalising but as he caresses over his body, it’s when his fingers meet the stubble at his chest or the trail down his abdomen that really sends Eddie into a spin. It overheats him. He feels like his own clothes are suffocating him. That they are needlessly in the way. He craves to feel this against his own skin and reaches behind his head, leaning forward to shed himself of some of it, but a hand on his chest pauses him.

Eddie looks up to find Steve toying with one of the many long chains draped around his neck, but instead of asking any questions, his eyes force him on a mini visual expedition of what his hands had been trailing over. A short, stunted breath leaves his mouth. This was crazy. He’s seen this body a million times in magazines, adverts, album covers, billboards, through his own camera lens and eyes, yet it feels like he’s never seen anything like it before. Littered with tattoos, a visibly heaving chest, ribs that appear and disappear as he breathes, muscles that flex and pulse as he writhes his body, but eventually, he hears him.

“Does it hold any sentimental value?” Steve rasps, his eyes trailing over and grasping onto his T-shirt.

“No,” he replies with a pointless, unseen shake of his head. Steve immediately yanks a necklace from his neck with a grunt of effort, and he slides that under Eddie’s shirt. The chain still attached slides along his skin. Some links are still heated from Steve in parts. Others were cool enough to almost make him want to jerk away from them.

The safety-conscious part of Eddie is urging him to look at what might be happening under his shirt, but the hedonist who has clawed his way from the depths to the surface only wants to feast on what it wants to store for future reference.

It’s innocent enough to start with, taking in how engaged he is with his task at hand, how his eyes that, naturally slope into a sadness, are wide and alive with anticipation. The way his bruised lips are pressed together in concentration and occasionally bite back into his mouth. Then his eyes trail further down to the sizeable bulge in his jeans, how it’s pressed against his own. He can’t stop his hands from sliding up to his hips, running his fingertips over the bone he hopes to be more intimately acquainted with as soon as possible. He settles on gripping them tightly, rocking his hips upward impatiently. A series of tuts raises his eyes to Steve’s face again, noticing a small smile growing, “Patience, baby. Patience.” He barely mutters out, his eyes still focused on the job at hand until his hand stills high up on his chest, the pendant still gripped in his fingers, “Hold still.” He says with an audible metallic click. Eddie dares to look down but can’t quite see what’s happening until Steve raises his other hand, splays his fingers in a V-shape, pushes down on the material, and the small blade pushes through.

Panic sets in, and a new adrenaline wave surges through him. He should leave immediately. This was fucked up. The fact he had a knife on him this whole time was terrifying, regardless of how little damage it looked like it could do. As he takes a panicked gasp of breath, he looks up at Steve, who is almost chewing on his bottom lip, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on the metal, and he makes a sound of appreciation before rearranging his hands so that he can hold the material taught and pull the blade down. It slices through easily, the fabric falling open, exposing him as it glides down. Eddie’s still breathing hard, but his heart isn’t thumping so much with fear anymore as the knife cuts through the hem, and Steve retracts the blade and tosses it somewhere into the room. His fingers grip the top of the slit, roughly yanking it apart to rip open the collar with a grunt.

Eddie stays entirely still and simply observes Steve. He wishes he had his camera to hand, as it’s quite a sight to behold. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this, not just lustfully, but like he was the most spectacular thing they’d ever seen. Steve’s large hands smooth over his skin and delicately push back the material. A yearnful noise emits from Steve like he can’t have what’s laid out in front of him as he presses into his skin, exploring it with his fingertips, his eyes trailing after them.

So Eddie reminds him that he can. He surges forward, capturing Steve in his arms, pulling him in tightly, pressing them together, and capturing his mouth with his own. It’s a mess of lips, groans and saliva topped with wandering mouths, causing careless, hurried nips of cuts and bruises. But the apologies are wordless. A hiss of too much from one is answered with a pleasurable pinch or caress elsewhere by the other.

Suddenly, Steve’s thighs clench hard around Eddie, and it doesn’t need explaining, but an excited smile sweeps across his face mid-kiss. He grips the back of his thighs and moves them up to wrap around his waist. Denim drags against denim, and he finds his arousal pressed up against something a lot plusher, and at the same time, Steve’s is now pressed into his abdomen, and he resolves these clothes have got to go now. He shuffles to the edge of the sofa, one arm holding their bodies together, the other draped under Steve’s legs, holding him up, simultaneously copping a feel of his ass.

And this must be where their experiences differ because Steve pulls back and looks unsure. Eddie smiles, “Better hold on to something, sweetheart.” He realises his mistake as soon as the pet name leaves his mouth, but he’s not gonna apologise awkwardly over words right now. He pushes himself up to standing, and Steve’s arms urgently wrap around his neck. Eddie checks in on him. Just a glance, he tells himself. Expects to see an almost comical face of panic, and he does for a second until he hears the thick swallow from Steve’s throat and watches his eyelashes bat slowly in a dazed blink at him.

Typically, Eddie knows he would have settled for the couch, but like he said, he wanted everything, and one of the things he wanted most right now was to see Steve an absolute mess under him.

He pushes adjoining doors open until he finds a bed. He stops at the edge of it, peels Steve’s arms from around his neck and unceremoniously lets him go so he lands on it with an oof and a bounce. Then Eddie’s hands quickly find his own belt buckle to finally get out of the remainder of his clothes. Steve doesn’t interrupt him. He just looks him up and down as he rests back on his elbows, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, wetting his lips in anticipation.

He lets his jeans drop to the floor and kicks off his sneakers. As he bends down to remove his socks, he looks up and finds himself level with Steve’s knee, and his eyes trail up to his crotch, but from this angle, it’s easy enough for Steve’s eyes to capture him again and as he does Steve spreads his knees apart a little more and bites his lip temptingly.

That’s when Eddie acts out of sorts. Usually, he’d just let the other guy give him a show, but he reaches for Steve’s boot, unzips it and removes it for him, and the sock and the other set in turn. Like he’s saving him then trouble. Then clasps onto Steve’s calves, kneading into them through the denim as he works his way up over his knees until his hands glide over his upper leg. Steve’s mouth drops open a little with hope as he glances between Eddie and himself, but Eddie's nimble hands skirt around the place Steve wants him most to undo the fly of his jeans, but once he removes the belt and buckle from the equation he doesn’t find one. He sees where a zipper should be, something akin to the back of a laced corset. Metal eyelets with a black cord running crisscross through them. He tugs at one end, and the ties fall apart easily. His fingertips wander into the waistband of them. He anticipates feeling the fabric of some designer brand briefs, but he finds none. Only the softness of skin. Of course, he’s not wearing any underwear. Eddie almost laughs as he stands to get a better grip on removing his pants, but he’s interrupted.

Steve, obviously not happy about anything slowing down, has sat up, pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way and is currently mouthing at him through his underwear, and Eddie wants it not to feel this good, but it absolutely fucking does. He looks down to meet the hungry, longing eyes already looking up at him, planting eager kisses and licks over the material that is gradually getting soaked through. Steve’s chipped, black, polished fingertips crawl into the band of the Kirkland signature briefs. Eddie wonders for a second how much more expensive the nail polish is compared to them before nodding and Steve pulling down his underwear so he can finally spring free of its oppression.

Steve stops. He stares and goes a little cross-eyed before looking back up at Eddie and running his tongue over his bottom lip. This is different from how he wanted this to go exactly, but who is he to say no. Nobody says no to Steve Harrington, right?

He watches himself taken in ringed hand, fingertips running down his length are soon accompanied by the flat wet expanse of Steve’s tongue dragging up it until it’s rolling around the throbbing head of his cock, and as his lips finally wrap around him, he looks right back up at him again, Eddie has to look away. He puts his hands in his hair, lolling his head back and groans with delight. Not solely because of the fact he’s getting his dick sucked, not just because it’s someone famous, but because it felt like, finally, the tables had turned. Finally, he’s in charge.

Steve’s hands urge him closer, but Eddie plants his feet and steps back even. He looks back down to watch himself pump in and out of that pretty pink pout. and it’s so good, but he needs more. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, which gets his attention. Their eyes meet again, and this time, Eddie makes himself gaze back. His hand falls to the side of his face as his head bobs rhythmically. His thumb brushes over his cheek, his fingers cradle his wide-open jaw, and it feels like Steve leans into his palm. Eddie shakes his head quickly, moves his hand back into Steve’s hair, and holds onto it. And it brings the current events to a slower pace.

Steve opens his mouth wide, extends his tongue out, and laps at the underside of the head of his shaft in a sort of come hither motion with the tip of his tongue, but Eddie does something else. He grips more tightly onto his hair and drags Steve towards him and off the bed until he’s on his knees. Steve doesn’t complain. Smiles even, with his tongue still hanging out, desperate for its next taste.

With a firm grip, he tilts Steve’s head back a little so he can see his face as he tugs hard on his hair, pulling him towards him forcefully until he gags and pulls him back off again. Looks down at him and raises an eyebrow in question as Steve catches his breath. He smiles up at him and drops his mouth open again, letting his tongue hang to his chin. Eddie slowly drags him by his hair up and down, repeatedly, occasionally forcing Steve’s nose to be pressed hard into his thatch of curls and held there, choking, his throat squeezing around Eddie as he does before he’s forced off of it again. He lets Eddie wield him like a plaything. And soon, that’s not enough either. Eddie finds himself gripping the sides of Steve’s hair, observes the grey tear stains rolling down his face, the drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, and by the gods, Eddie wishes he had his camera right now. And he thinks about it, about pounding himself into Steve’s face until oblivion, until he’s spent, leaving Steve hard and unsatisfied, but he finds his hand trailing over his face again. Whatever he was trying to prove, he felt like he’d just done that. Now, he wants something else. He wants to hear Steve fall apart.

He cups Steve’s jaw gently, encourages him to stand, and once up, he wipes at his face a little. He wants to ask him if he’s ok, but he knows he shouldn’t. He smooths his hands down his back until Steve takes matters into his own hands. He swiftly turns them around, deeply kissing Eddie as he does so, walking him back towards the bed. He feels the back of it hit his knees and sits down as Steve finally frees himself of his pants but doesn’t give Eddie much of a show about it all. Before Eddie has even had a chance to perceive how perfect his dick might be, Steve has clambered onto the bed too. He crawls up Eddie until their mouths slot together again, as one of Steve’s hands presses against his chest, encouraging him further back until he hits the headboard.

He finds himself caged between Steve’s arms, pressed against one another without a safety barrier of fabric. Desperate kisses move south to become more languid and wet at his throat, which chills him when Steve intermittently huffs out a breath over the sites of desire as his hips roll down into his own, causing delicious friction between them.

Steve moves lower but scoops his arm behind Eddie’s back, arching his chest upwards to dip his head and trail his tongue, which he wields like a demon, over it. He mouths over his stiffened nipples as he finds them, kitten licks them, chances a drag of teeth over them, as his lower position has him slowly thrusting against Eddie’s thigh. With each roll of hips, Eddie watches him slowly coming undone. Controlled deliberate kisses turn into him sucking down on Eddie’s skin, placing fresh areas of burst blood vessels next to the less recent ones. Ones from pleasure next to ones from pain. Calculated nips at his torso become full bites that linger to quieten his moans as they seep under Eddie’s skin.

Whilst it’s thrilling to watch Steve fall from grace as he uses Eddie as a means to get there, and it feels fucking fantastic, he wants it to be him that does it. He wants it to be him that pushes Steve over the edge. Up until the fight earlier, he’d been entirely sure that this guy was as straight as they come, but from what Eddie had witnessed so far, that was absolutely not a possibility. He’s done this before. Maybe countless times. Maybe with other guys like Eddie? Maybe with guys more like himself who both have to keep it quiet? Something hideous squirms inside him unpleasantly at the thought.

He captures Steve’s chin on the knuckle of his index finger, lifts his head, and receives a dopey smile. Eddie hasn’t seen him take anything, yet he looks pretty out of it, “You ok?” He asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to be doing any of this with someone out of their gourd.

“Mmmhmmm,” he nods on the crook of Eddie’s finger and smiles lazily.

“Did you take something?” he asks plainly, scanning him for clues.

Steve shakes his head and crawls forward so their noses brush against one another, “The only thing I want right now is you,” his voice trembles as he leans in for another kiss. Eddie's stomach flips, which he can’t help feeling is very inappropriate.

That isn’t what this is, he reminds himself.

He pushes him back to break the kiss and runs his fingers over Steve’s lips, cuts and bruising included, before hooking two of his fingertips inside his bottom lip and gently pushing them further into Steve’s mouth. Eddie almost shudders at how obediently he opens his mouth wider with a nudge of his hand. He doesn’t even have to ask. He adds fingers, letting Steve suck down on them until he feels it’s enough.

He lowers his saliva-soaked hand between them and reaches for Steve first. Rolls his palm over the head before sliding his fingers easily down the shaft until he has him in his grip. At first, his strokes are slow and soft, not for Steve but for himself. He watches Steve’s eyes close, his breathing deepens and shudders, still on all fours hovering over Eddie, his fists clenched against the bedding, as his head drops forward against Eddie’s shoulder. He quickens his pace and tightens his grip until Steve is just a series of cut-off guttural noises in his ear. Then he lets go, takes himself in hand, and lazily moves his hand up and down. Their proximity means that the back of his fingers occasionally bump against Steve’s shaft. Maybe sometimes he stretches his fingers out so the contact is for longer, just so he can hear those whimpers in his ear again that are swirling around his head, disorienting him from his goal. He hadn’t realised how much faster he’d gotten, like Steve’s delicate whispered exhales reverberating through him were speeding him up. Soon enough, he finds his own moans intertwining with Steve’s.

“Fuck, you sound good.” Steve manages, and his first instinct is to quicken his pace further, let Steve’s voice ring in his ears as he succumbs to pleasure himself, but somehow he resists. Turning his attention and hand back to Steve, and the gasp in his ear, he’s sure he’ll be able to recall until the day he dies because his name is whispered out immediately after.

He must have heard Steve’s voice in his ear hundreds of times before, listening to his music and interviews before everything went wrong. He remembers how thrilling it had been to hear his whispers on record or the bits a live recording would catch before and after a song, and now Eddie was collecting his own, all just for himself, never to be released or shared with anyone else.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Steve’s arm shaking, the one Eddie had to beat his way free from. He sits up a little, taking the weight from his arm upon himself, and maybe it’s an act of compassion too far. Perhaps he should have waited until he’d collapsed because he feels his eyes on him again. He can’t help but glance, and he’s greeted with a snapshot of brutalised perfection. His lips, cheek, and one eye are swollen and reddening, but his jawline is still perfectly angular, the beauty marks still decorate his skin, his long lashes flatten out against his cheek when he blinks dumbfounded, maybe even a little surprised, mouth dropped open letting stuttering breaths pass freely. Eddie takes a mental snapshot. A pang of fleeting guilt runs through him, but entirely by chance, it’s interrupted.

Steve’s hands quickly reach out to clumsily hold Eddie’s face. His palms on his cheeks almost squeeze a little too hard, pulling him towards him, but the fingertips in his hair, caressing his scalp and the lips that ravenously meet his, make him forget to breathe.

The sea of sin Eddie had been cannonballing into and happily disrupting the surface of suddenly didn’t feel like his safe space anymore. Occasionally a shadowy something below the surface reaches out. Threatens to drag Eddie down with it. He wonders how long he’ll have the strength to escape its grasp.

Eddie adjusts his position a little, doesn’t pull away from Steve, gets closer so he can take them both in hand, slides his hand over them both, takes his time, and thumbs over the top of them for any droplets of added lubrication he can find. The moans passing into his mouth grow louder. He opens his eyes to see Steve’s brow knitted together, his eyes no longer softly closed but screwed shut. Eddie moves faster, and Steve pulls back. A string of curses leave his mouth, “Shitshitshitshit.” He quickly moves out of Eddie’s grip with a hiss, “Fuck!”

“Something…wrong?” Eddie teases a little. Steve shakes his head, looks down at himself, wipes his hand over his face, and laughs a little. “If you wanna stop, put your big boy pants on and say so, Harrington.”

Steve’s smile fades, and his mood switches. “I never fucking said that. If you…” he starts, and whatever was about to leave his mouth makes him cower back down, “I-I didn’t say that, that’s all.”

Eddie can’t guess what he wants to say but wants to know, “My mistake.” He offers, and Steve looks up at him again, hopefully. Eddie hops off the bed and retrieves the wallet from his jeans. On return, he props himself up with pillows, tips out a bunch of lube sachets and condoms from his wallet and then tosses it onto the floor somewhere.

Eddie tears open a lube sachet with his teeth and squeezes it over his cock and hand. The cold sting of it makes him bite down on his lip to hold in a reactionary noise. He hitches up his knees and makes eye contact with Steve as he pleasures himself. The slick glide soon has him breathing more heavily, and like a moth to a flame, Steve is soon stalking his way back up the bed, looking between Eddie’s face and his display. Eddie stills his hand, sighs, and looks expectantly at Steve, “If I what?”

“If you…” Steve starts, and Eddie starts pumping his fist again. “If you hadn’t got laid in this long” He catches on pretty quickly as Eddie quickens his pace, lets his growling moans out freely, and watches how it makes Steve’s dick twitch when he does. Maybe he over-performs a few to wind Steve up further. He then exhales slowly as he squeezes the base of his shaft and stops again.

“What are you just playing Yahtzee with your friends in your playroom, Harrington? Is that it?” Eddie chuckles, and Steve looks a little conflicted.

Steve takes a hard swallow of what must be his pride and talks directly to Eddie’s glistening dick, “I might as well have been,” he starts, and so does Eddie, “I haven’t been able to, um, you know” Eddie pumps himself faster, trying to make the most lurid noises with the lube and an occasional exhale of a moan from his mouth. Steve is silent, quietly inching his hand towards himself. Eddie slows again, raises an eyebrow at Steve when he looks at his face, “Fuck, I mean, I thought it was gone for a year or something. Until…well, tonight.”

And now many pieces are slotting into place for Eddie, why he’s so desperate and needy. Letting Eddie use him, why he pulled away, he doesn’t know if this is a one-off or not, and not just with him but his own body too. He wants the works, and though Eddie really shouldn’t have any pity for him, he feels a spark of it.

“Lie back,” Eddie says, and Steve double-takes.

“What?” He frowns.

“Don’t what me, asshole. Come up here, and lie fucking back, Steve!” Eddie performatively snarls, and he sees the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch up as he ungracefully hurries to obey.

He straddles Steve’s thighs, pinching them closed between his own and transfers most of the lube still on his hand onto Steve’s thigh ungraciously. Nothing too exciting for him right now, not yet.

He leans over him, careful not to create too much friction between them. Brackets Steve's broader shoulders with his arms and returns to how they started. Urgent kisses, wandering hands, teasing tongues. Walks a series of gentle bites along his jaw, licks at his throat, and sucks down onto his skin, leaving his mark as he travels down, making a kiss or lurid lick pitstop at every beauty mark and tattoo he finds. Pulls gently at the nipple piercings with his teeth and soothes over them after with the wetness of his tongue. Traces over every muscle dip until he gets to those hip bones he’d promised himself earlier. Steve writhes like the reptile he is under him as he mouths over them. Eddie might be getting a little too into it and reaches down to give himself some much-needed touch before moving down further, resting his chin on Steve’s thigh and looking up at the dewy-eyed, breathless creature above him.

Eddie observes him and waits for his attention before blowing gently on the moistened tip of Steve’s dick. He watches Steve’s craned neck release and throws his head back into the pillows, “Jesus!” he breathes into the air above him.

Eddie waits a little while until his breathing slows before hitching up Steve’s knees and separating them so he can lie between them. He trails a mixture of wet kisses and teeth drags along the inside of his thighs, watching his body constantly, ensuring it’s enough to keep him in that sweet spot but never too much.

He tests a slow trail of kisses along his solid shaft, which, on closer inspection, as Eddie had predicted, was indeed as perfect as the rest of him. It would almost be annoying if Eddie wasn’t having such a good time.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve moans as his hands grip onto the bedding. Eddie smiles. This is what he’s after, keeping him right here until Eddie decides to push him across the line. He wets his lips and pushes himself onto his elbows, admiring the gift before him as Steve settles down again. Then, he licks a fat stripe with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, and Steve jolts. He flicks the tip of his tongue along the slit to collect what is pooling in it and watches Steve’s back arch off the bed. Gods, Eddie wishes he hadn’t done that. He tastes delicious. So fucking good, Eddie is trying to spread the tiny droplet around his tongue so he can savour every aspect of it, and that makes Eddie lose sight of what he’s supposed to be doing. His hand rushes down to fuck into his own fist as he takes Steve wholly into his mouth until the tip of it threatens his throat. He just about hears Steve’s broken-off ahs and chanting of his name over his own guttural moans caused by hollowing out his cheeks and letting his tongue massage the underside of the throbbing cock in his mouth. Strong hands grip his shoulders, pull him out of his trance, and he releases him with an audible pop.

Steve’s chest and face are sweetly flushed as he’s gasping for air, and then the knitted brow falls into a content expression once he’s calmed again.

Eddie reaches over him to grab a few more lube sachets and a condom, but as he does, Steve desperately grabs at him again, pulling him in for another kiss, and Eddie isn’t sure it’s because he’s so damn close himself, but it makes his head spin, almost drops what’s in his hands. It’s not a hard, rough kiss like before, but it has passion and want all the same.

“Turn over,” Eddie says gently as he encourages him back down to the bed. Steve stalls for a second. Eddie figures he’s misheard, “Turn. Over.” he repeats softly, and this time he meets the request, “Just so I’m clear, this past year, you haven’t fucked anyone but has anyone fucked you?”

“No,” he answers quickly, though the pillows slightly muffle it, and Eddie has to bite his lips together to not whimper with anticipation as he sits behind Steve, rips open another packet of lube, and observes this new angle. The huge wolf tattoo he’s seen plenty of times, and the text stamped at the base of his spine he’d seen twice before partially, but now Wild Thing had an entirely different meaning.

Sachet, still hanging out his mouth, Eddie has an idea. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him onto his knees so his peach of an ass is raised in the air. He runs his hands up Steve’s back and out to the sides so he can hold his arms. Trails his fingers down them until he has hold of Steve’s hands and brings them around so he can spread himself for him, and he wordlessly obeys as Eddie takes off his rings.

He generously applies the lubricant to Steve and himself, secretly relishing in every exclamation or body spasm from the man before him.

He touches the pink puckered flesh, circles it gently, listens for the melody of moans he’s conducting and feels infinitely harder with each one. Waits for that magic moment when Steve backs up towards him, eager for it. Eddie pushes his finger inside and holds it still for a while as Steve’s body tenses, accompanied by a hiss until he finally relaxes. Relaxes might be a strong word because the way he’s clamped around Eddie’s finger makes him wonder if this would be possible at all.

Steve pushes back again, taking him deeper, and honestly, Eddie is impressed with how keen he is but does a quick glance of a check anyway. Steve’s face is side on, pushed into the pillows, panting heavily. He thinks maybe it’s enough. He’s had his fun, he’s already a mess, but Steve catches him looking, “What’s the holdup, stud?” he mumbles out, pushes back again, and that pisses Eddie off. Fine. He was just trying to be courteous, being fond of switching it up himself. He knows how it feels on the other side of things, but fuck it, right? Steve doesn’t give a shit.

Eddie does, however, and he’s not letting this debauched freak drag him down to something he’d regret. So he continues loosening Steve up, sometimes, to be spiteful, excruciatingly slowly, delighting between the switching Steve’s whines of frustration and groans of ecstasy as his fingertips meet the spot he knows is making him see stars.

When he’s primed to Eddie’s satisfaction and squirming in the hotel’s bright white sheets, a pathetic begging mess of a man, Eddie reaches around and quickly gives him a few firm strokes, making him huff out into the pillows. Eddie returns his fingers to his mouth for another taste, like an amuse-bouche before the main event.

He taps the sheathed head of himself at the tight entrance, pushing Steve’s hands away, and amuses himself by sliding over it a few times because it feels exquisite and drives Steve insane. He waits like a predator stalking his prey, waiting for Steve’s frustration to reach its peak. He waits for Steve to turn around with a frown, pushes the tip of himself inside as they lock eyes, wipes the scowl right off of it, and takes his breath away.

Eddie would love to smugly smile back, but he’s gripping Steve’s sides for dear life. Jesus Christ, he was tight. He stays perfectly still. Which alone is making him start to sweat. He pushes himself deeper. Another x-rated groan from Steve and clenching around him almost has him retreating entirely. A strange jealousy sweeps over Eddie. All those noises from Steve were supposed to be his. He wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, coaxing his back to press to Eddie’s chest. Steve almost panics when he realises his weight might slide him down quicker than he wants, but Eddie holds him tightly until he’s found a comfortable squat, “There you go, sweetheart, take your time,” he croons slyly in his ear.

And Eddie expects this evident pain slut to impale himself on his dick, but that isn’t what happens. His arms that are wrapped around his torso are mapped over by Steve’s, their fingers become intertwined, and as he turns so, they are face to face again. The grey streaks of eyeliner-saturated tears and tenderness take Eddie entirely off guard and snap him out of his attempted cruelty. He couldn’t figure this guy out at all.

This close, he can see that no photograph would do his eye colour justice, not without editing, and where is the reality in that. Eddie gets lost in the pigments, getting bullied to the edges of his iris by his dilated pupil or looking at the beauty marks on his face that aren’t hidden by the blemishes he caused.

Before he can say something clever or push him away, he finds his bottom lip trapped between Steve’s teeth. He pulls and drags his teeth over it as he sinks down a little more. It’s released when a groan threatens to escape Steve, which Eddie swallows down in a kiss and feels the fingers intertwined with his squeeze tightly.

Eddie senses the danger now, but it happens in fits and starts because, in between the warning signs, his pleasure centres are blocking out any logical functions. Eddie knows he’s treading water, the shadowy thing licking at his heels, making its presence known but never quite revealing until it disappears again. He wonders if Steve feels it, too. If he feels like there isn’t just hate and lust here. He hopes to any deity listening that it is simply his hormones talking nonsense. That he’s merely just in the heat of the moment.

Steve pushes down again, and Eddie is in to the hilt. He’s clenched around him tightly and overwhelmed by sensation, and Eddie gives in. He softly sighs into another kiss and almost forgets why he’s doing any of this in the first place. Almost. It’s the roll of Steve’s hips and the whimper of “Fuck Eddie. You feel so fuckin’ good.” That pulls Eddie entirely out of his trance, reminding him of the aim here,

“Good.” he purrs in his ear before untangling their hands and pushing him back down to the bed.

Initially, the pace is slow, deep and deliberate as his fingers grip tightly onto Steve’s hips, and Eddie is just enjoying watching himself disappear inside him when Steve decides to say something stupid.

“Is this how you fucked that guy at the hotel?”

And in that one question, everything comes flooding back to Eddie again. The reason he’d stayed at the hotel, the reason he had to come crawling back to work with Harrington, everything he’d lost.

With an absence of a reply, he tried to jog Eddie’s memory, “The one that looked like I used to?” As if implying that Eddie fucks so many people in hotels he’d not know which one he was talking about. It makes Eddie's lip twitch into a discrete sneer.

“No, but I probably should, shouldn’t I? Treat all you sluts the same, right?” Harrington’s body tenses under his touch as he pushes him around, making him arch more and his legs spread wider. He grabs his wrists and pulls them behind his back, landing him face-first into the bed again. Eddie tugs on his wrists, pulling him into a stretch almost. He starts thrusting again much faster this time, enough to make Harrington’s groans waver with each one, “He was beautiful, wasn’t he? Actually had some meat on his bones, something to really dig my teeth into. Something that I thought about for days later, and thank the gods for you bringing him up now, Harrington, because I get to think about him all over again whilst I fuck you wide open.” Eddie goes for broke and wants to make Harrington feel like dirt, like nothing, that he's lost it all in this moment.

Eddie sets a relentless pace. There is no talking now, just the sound of skin on skin, an occasional curse word from Eddie and Harrington’s muffled groans as he bites down on a pillow. With every noise, he fucks into him harder to shut him up until he’s just a set of stunted breaths, and Eddie becomes a sweaty grunting mess.

Harrington’s noises go up an octave as Eddie lets go of his arms and adjusts his position. And soon Eddie, hearing his name chanted again in a mixture of curse words and blasphemy, knows he’s got him where he wants him.

“My god, Eddie, fuck,” Harrington babbles. “I’m so close, Eddie, please” And fuck does he think about stopping right there, but he’s achingly close himself. Only a staring competition between this fucking giant wolf on Harrington’s back was helping.

Eddie spits in his hand, reaches around to spread it over Harrington’s length, and takes one of Steve’s hands and places it there, “Go ahead, Harrington, make a mess of yourself,” Eddie says with a slight mockery in his voice.

Harrington doesn’t need telling twice. Eddie watches his arm move in time with his thrusts and with a screwed-up face and a strained “Jesus. Fuck” Harrington spills with a loud exhale, and Eddie slows to a stop and pulls out as Harrington’s body stutters before it goes limp. He’s desperately near cumming himself, but he wants the full view. He rolls Harrington over so he’s lying in his own cum, picks up some on his fingertips and decorates Harrington’s lips with it whilst he’s trying to catch his breath. He then repositions himself between his legs and hooks them over his shoulders.

Harrington looks down but can’t form a response. He just slams his head back into the pillows behind him in blissed-out exhaustion. Eddie reinserts himself easily and leans right forward, bringing Harrington’s knees nearly up to his shoulders and leans down to messily lick over his lips as he rears his hips back only to slam them back down, a guttural winded noise leaves Harrington, and Eddie grins, looking down at this picture perfect fucked out freak underneath him.

Eddie wedges a hand between them and runs his fingers over his length to see if he’s got anything left or just to overstimulate him. He gets the latter, some amiable noises, turning into things on the edge of expressing pain, but he’s not doing a single thing about it. He slams into him again, and this time, the gasp comes with a sigh of enjoyment. Eddie continues to pick up the pace as he watches Harrington’s face contort underneath him.

And Eddie starts to lose himself. He closes his eyes as they roll backwards at the pleasure he’s feeling course through his body. He whimpers and moans, curses the gods, curses Harrington. The sweat is dripping from him as he closes in on the finish line. Steve’s hands on his face make him finally open his eyes. He’s brushing the curls and sweat from his face between huffed-out noises from Eddie’s jackhammering.

“You’re so fucking, hot, Eddie,” Steve sighs out as one of his hands reaches in between them. Finds Eddie’s hand to jerk off Steve together. “Are you gonna cum for me?” He manages before his brows push together, and he moans loud and long. In his pre-climax state, Eddie leans forward to capture his sounds for his own.

“Mine.” He growls through gritted teeth as his hips rut faster into Steve.

Steve’s unoccupied hand cradles his jaw, “Yours,” he whimpers out, and Eddie’s insides, already buzzing with adrenaline and imminent climax, completely somersault. “That’s it baby, cum for me.” he urges Eddie on, and stupefied by hormones and sensations, Eddie wholeheartedly agrees.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard for you, sweetheart,” Eddie pushes through his teeth.

And that has Steve in a real mess, his arm moving much faster. Eddie watches him babble incoherent things, his eyelids flutter, and tears spill out as he cums again between them.

This was everything Eddie wanted. He had finally broken Steve Harrington, maybe not in all the ways he wanted, but certainly in an unforgettable way.

As Eddie's most satisfying climax is seconds away, a broken Steve paints Eddie’s lips with his cum covered fingers, “Mine,” he hiccups as the tears spill out of his eyes, and he reaches up for a kiss as Eddie's hips stutter against him and he careers off the edge into complete euphoria.

As Eddie slowly comes down, he finds himself repositioned, held in Steve’s arms, fully collapsed against him, slow kisses being gently applied all over his lips and a hand in his hair.

Still catching his breath, Eddie raises his eyes to his. With their chests heaving, for some reason, they both laugh, and Eddie sees a side of Steve he’s not encountered before that maybe he’s seen glimmers of. When he laughs, he holds on to himself, and his eyes almost completely disappear from view because the apples of his cheeks are pushed up so high, even though there isn’t much to them these days. There is only silence or the sounds of their breathing for a while.

Eddie finds himself back where this started, staring at another ornate ceiling. His heart still thudding in his chest, he chances another glance over at Steve, only to look away quickly because he was already being observed. Steve’s hand gently plays with his hair, “We should probably clean up before they get here. Make it just look like a fight.” Steve’s voice is quiet and rough, but Eddie thinks he can hear a little sadness, too.

“Before who get here?” Eddie asks in confusion.

“Whoever the label sends when they get wind of this.” He sighs, “Damage control. To make sure you aren’t gonna leak anything. To remind me to behave myself, maybe teach me a lesson,” Steve pats him, sits up, takes the condom off Eddie, ties it up, and then starts gathering the wrappers before heading to the bathroom. Eddie hears a flush before he returns, “Come on, get up,” he says kindly with a smile, “gotta get this in the laundry shoot asap.”

Eddie can see him favouring one arm over the other as he tries to gather up the bedding. He winces occasionally but makes no sound of pain. He just tries to bundle everything up as Eddie watches the melancholy work its way over him. The Harrington of it all makes Steve disappear again. “Here, let me do that,” Eddie pretends to be annoyed as he bumps Steve out of the way to take over, “Goddamn rockstars got no clue about chores, obviously” he bundles everything up in his arms, “Where is it going?” Eddie looks at him like it’s the biggest inconvenience in the world, but Steve just stares for a second before silently pointing him to the private shute. Eddie heads towards it, calling back, “Let me know when you're done in the shower.” as he shoves the material down.

But the reply is closer than he expects, “You can wait if you want, but there’s room for two,” Steve says, looking between Eddie and random objects around the room. Steve swallows, “Or you know more? I’m pretty sure I’ve had four or five in there at a squeeze before,” with that, he walks away, saying, “You know, saving the planet, Eddie, not wasting water or whatever.”

He’s frozen in deliberations with himself, can feel that shadowy thing lurking closer now, and senses the danger of where his endorphins are taking him, but he’s also curious about Steve’s behaviour now. Was he afraid of the label?

Eddie resolves to take a chance. If what he said was true, this could be their last few minutes or hours together, the final opportunity for information for his book. He quickly shoves the material down and ensures it has not got stuck on the way. And follows the sound of running water.

He eventually finds the lavish bathroom. For a moment, he is confused that he can’t see a shower but can hear one until he realises another part of the room is around the corner. He pokes his head around, and the sight that meets his eyes is not what he expects. Steve's forearms and fists against the wall, his forehead pressed against the tiles, and his body slightly hunched over as it shakes like he’s sobbing. Eddie retreats quickly and thinks about leaving entirely. Was it because of what he’d done? Fuck he’d wanted to get revenge so badly he’d forgotten there was a human inside. What had his anger led him to become? Another bully, another vile person in a despicable place.

Eddie swallows down his emotions and resolves this was enough, he’d gotten something, which wasn’t everything but better than nothing, and maybe if he could fix this with the label, he’d get his career on the up again. He nods at no one and steels himself, “Steve, are you in here?”

“Y-yeah,” Steve replies, and Eddie gives him a few seconds to compose himself before strolling in like he’d seen nothing, putting on a show, looking around the area and whistling.

“Wow, this is truly fancy, huh?” He smiles, and Steve mirrors it as best he can and pushes open the door for him.

“This is the presidential suite.” Steve jokes and that’s the last thing said between them. They shower in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Steve occasionally hands him a bottle of product. He doesn’t look at him when he does; he just holds it in his eyeline to take. Eddie notices the hair products are specifically for curls.

Steve gets out, towels himself, and sits in the chaise lounge. Eddie goes to grab a towel from the pile, but before he can, Steve hands him one from a rack, and it’s warm to the touch.

As Eddie dries off, he can see Steve examining the aftermath in the mirror. Poking at his face and body, wincing occasionally. Eddie joins him in the reflection.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I lost it,” Eddie tries.

“I deserved it,” he says back simply before checking over his teeth, which makes Eddie feel terrible. He looks at the floor and goes to leave, “I started it on purpose, Eddie. You tried to walk away.” Steve says as he continues to look in the mirror.

“Yeah, well, I should have just kept walking, shouldn’t I?” Eddie says solemnly.

“I wasn’t gonna let you walk out of there without hitting me.” He says, running a comb through his hair, which he hands to Eddie as he catches up to him.

Eddie plays with the comb between his fingers and leans against the hallway wall, “Do they do this often?” Eddie asks.

“Who? Do what?” Steve asks, a little confused.

“The label about people you spend time with,” Eddie says vaguely, not looking up from the comb teeth he’s running his thumb over.

He hears Steve sigh, “Look, as you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m not as straight as I’m portrayed, ok? They want me to stay that way. That’s what keeps me making money. If I were to come out, it would ruin the whole thing. So no, they don’t normally do this because I don’t normally do this. Buckley usually keeps me in line, not because she wants to, but because I ask her to,” he pauses, “and sometimes I ask her to turn a blind eye, when we’re away, when there are fewer company spies, but usually, that’s for five minutes or so, at some no coverage allowed party, you know?”

“Why don’t you just tell them to fuck off? You’ve got more money than you could possibly know what to do with.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me, Eddie. It’s Buckley, Denise in PR, Fred in merch, and Gina in finance. Harrington isn’t just me. It’s a machine, and I’m just one cog everyone can see,” Steve says, “also, money can’t buy everything, or so I’ve found. Sometimes you gotta be in with the right people too.”

“Steve, you paid nearly a million to work with me. You’re telling me there is something millions of dollars can’t buy?” Eddie folds his arms and almost laughs.

“Do you, maybe, wanna stay over?” Steve asks, ignoring the question.

Eddie is surprised. Isn’t that what people typically say before sex rather than after? Was this guy insatiable? Did he want another round? No, he’s just made sure the evidence was gone.

“You haven’t gotta, I just thought maybe….I dunno. I guess I just don’t know what’s gonna happen, is all, and punches and fucking aside. I kinda like your company and, uh, though this isn’t your responsibility, I don’t really like waking up on my own. I mean, I could get Buckley to call someone in, but, um, they might ask questions,” Steve gestures to himself.

Eddie looks up at him, but he’s looking down and toeing at the carpet. Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Guess it beats walking past Buckley on my own right now.”

Steve raises his head, and there is a twitch of a smile, “Thanks,” he says as he disappears for a minute or two, leaving Eddie with his thoughts, before returning fully dressed, holding Eddie’s clothes and wallet. He takes the cut-up T-shirt, returns to the lounge area, and starts planning his crime scene as Eddie puts his underwear back on. He starts placing glasses and leaving drops of alcohol in them, spilling a little on the carpet and doesn’t tidy up any items cast on the floor. Partially fills two glasses and carries them through to bedroom further down the hall. He places a drink on each bedside table and hands Eddie a fresh T-shirt from his own clothes.

“You're gonna have to put it all back on, so it doesn’t look…well…gay?” And Steve bursts out laughing at that, and Eddie joins him. The bed is enormous, so there is no need to be close. They take a side each.

The lights go out, and it’s still and quiet again.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve says.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Eddie says as he closes his eyes for sleep to take him.

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Songs that inspired this chapter: Touch Me I’m Sick - Mudhoney, Low - Foo Fighters, Closer - NIN, Last - NIN

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #rockstar!Steve Harrington #rockstar!SteveHarrington #photographer!Eddie Munson #photographer!EddieMunson #steddie au #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #fanfiction #steddie fanfiction #steddie fan fiction #madaboutmunsonITICHBS #madaboutmunson #enemies to lovers #alternate universe

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