#hurt/eventual comfort

[troblsomtwins829]

Started the outline for the StrayCat!AU. Contrary to the name, this is not the Catboy!AU (aka, the funny one) Have a little piece while I work out the first few chapters:

“Good morning, freak.” He hates that voice. Hates the sing-song smoothness, and everything it promises. Hates the way those solid steps make him curl ever tighter. He especially hates seeing those piercing yellow eyes light up with glee the closer they get. His fingers twitch at the vain hope to tear that grinning monster to shreds. The shackles keep them in place behind him, and the steady throb of his raw fingertips the only reminder that he can’t.

[cronchy-baguette]

When all this is over, will you stay with me? For good?

[sp0o0kylights]

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

[solarmorrigan]

For the angst prompt thing: Steddie and "Don't fucking touch me."

Hello! Thank you very much for sending a prompt, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, but I do think this one is my favorite out of all the fills I've done for this prompt list <3

[No warnings; Unnamed Freak (who apparently got a name in the most recent novel, but I didn't know that at the time) is named Oliver]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

-

“I’m gonna step outside for a minute,” Steve leans in to murmur in Eddie’s ear, even though the music isn’t that loud.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Eddie nods, and only just keeps himself from turning to catch Steve’s mouth in a kiss when he feels the brush of his lips against his ear; it’s not his fault he’s developed some kind of Pavlovian association between having Steve’s mouth anywhere near his skin and receiving kisses – but they do have company.

Said company is just Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver, but still. Eddie has some decorum.

Steve stands from the couch and the arm he’d had slung around Eddie’s shoulders slides away slowly, his hand brushing warm and heavy over the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb stroking once, familiarly, along the side of his throat before disappearing entirely as Steve moves towards the front door. He doesn’t do so great with groups of people in small spaces anymore; the noise gets to him, and the heat generated by so many bodies in close proximity tends to give him a headache, so he takes breaks now and then, just to give his brain a few minutes to unbend.

The door swings open on silent hinges (Steve had attacked it with a can of WD-40 and a look of determination earlier today, insisting he couldn’t stand the squeaking anymore; he’s always doing things like that around the house – little repairs, organizing, picking things up, even though Eddie insists he doesn’t have to. He says he wants to, the endearing little weirdo) and Steve steps out into the cool evening, leaving Eddie and the boys behind in the warm light of the trailer’s main room.

“So,” Jeff says, looking up from his spot on the floor and gesturing vaguely at Eddie with his beer can, “how’s that going for you guys?”

Eddie blinks at him. “How’s what going?”

“The whole thing between you two,” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie raises a skeptical brow at him.

“You wanna talk about me and Steve having sex?” Eddie asks.

Jeff’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What? No.”

“Not ever,” Gareth jumps in.

“I mean…” Oliver says with a shrug, flinching when Gareth pelts him with a balled-up napkin.

“No,” Gareth reiterates.

“I refuse to apologize for simple curiosity,” Oliver sniffs, and Eddie, seated next to him on the couch, gives him a shove.

He’s glad his friends are accepting – supportive, even (he’d like to say he wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t, but let’s be real: nerds could be hard to come by in their neck of the woods, and as long as they were the quiet type of homophobic, Eddie would probably still play D&D with them. But he’s glad they’re not), but he does have some boundaries.

Like, one or two, maybe.

“I just meant the whole… dating thing,” Jeff says, taking a sip from his beer. “Because I’ll be honest, I really didn’t see it at first, but it actually seems to be working out.”

“Dating?” Eddie parrots blankly.

“Yeah. You guys are in, like, some kind of never-ending honeymoon phase or some shit,” Gareth says. “Hasn’t it been over two months?”

“Uhhh, no, I think you gentlemen are confused,” Eddie drawls. “Steve and I are not dating.”

This declaration is met with a moment of silence.

“Seriously?” Oliver finally says.

“Yep,” Eddie replies easily. “No relationship shit here. Strictly a friends-with-benefits-type deal.”

“Seriously,” Olver says again, flatly this time.

“Yes, Oliver, seriously,” Eddie huffs, reaching over to give him another shove, only to have his hand pushed away.

“Eddie, he was practically sitting in your lap just now,” Jeff says. “You two are all over each other.”

“Constantly,” Gareth adds.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not like this is a big couch; we gotta squish. Anyway, Steve’s just a touchy kind of guy.”

“He doesn’t sit like that with any of us,” Gareth points out.

“Yeah, well, you guys aren’t the ones receiving benefits,” Eddie says. “You want him to sit on your lap? You could ask.”

Gareth lets his head hang back with a noise of frustration. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Don’t you two go on dates?” Jeff asks. “I’ve seen you at the movies. You talk about going out to eat, doing other shit…”

“Yeah, see, that’s the friends part of friends with benefits,” Eddie snarks. “Friends hang out sometimes, I’ve been told. We are all, in fact, hanging out right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m dating any of you.”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you?” Oliver asks, and Eddie can’t help but scoff.

He appreciates the fact that Oliver is passionate about pretty much anything he does, but it also means he’s given to romanticizing. He doesn’t usually manage to drag Jeff or Gareth in with him, though.

“Pretty sure he looks at me like a friend, because that’s what we are.” Eddie rolls his eyes before offering a smarmy little grin. “I mean, I’m sure he looks at me as an exceptionally attractive friend, but that’s it.”

“Genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with us, man,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes.

“Genuinely, I am not,” Eddie promises, taking the last viable swallow from his beer before getting up and heading for the kitchen, wiggling his empty can at the others with a raised eyebrow in question. Gareth raises his own near-empty can with a shrug and Eddie nods. “Look,” he says as he ducks towards the fridge, “Steve isn’t the kinda guy you have a relationship with, anyway, you know?”

Eddie doesn’t mean this in a negative way, just as a matter of fact. Steve just doesn’t seem to be a relationship kind of guy. Nancy had been something of an outlier, in how long she and Steve had lasted, and it had become clear after the dust from the Upside Down had settled that he really doesn’t have any interest in pursuing her further. Just the other day, he’d mentioned to Eddie how difficult relationships can be, and about how glad he is they have their thing together instead.

“Being with you is just… easy,” Steve had said; he hadn’t been looking at Eddie at the time, his face instead pillowed on Eddie’s chest, hair sticking to his naked skin where the sweat was still cooling from their last round, but Eddie could see the edge of a smile on his lips.

And Eddie doesn’t have much experience with relationships himself, but he knows that being friends with Steve is easy and that the sex feels equally easy and that the way he’d agreed with Steve and carded his fingers through his hair had sent Steve right to sleep with that same smile still in place.

Easy.

Now, Eddie shoves his head into the fridge and reaches for the beers that have somehow gotten pushed to the back. “It’s nothing major, okay?” he calls back towards the living room.

“Eddie…” Gareth calls back, an edge to his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Eddie waves vaguely, making sure to grab a second beer. “Anyway, Steve’s a good friend, and he’s really hot, and we’re just having fun.”

The bang of the front door against the frame startles Eddie so badly he nearly smacks his head on the underside of the freezer as he stands, a beer clutched in each hand like he might be able to use them as projectiles.

There is no threat, though – just Steve, who had apparently failed to catch the screen door before it had shut too quickly behind him. He doesn’t seem to have noticed; he’s just standing there, staring at Eddie, color rising high in his cheeks, eyes wide and shocked, like he’s just been slapped.

Concern wells up from Eddie’s gut, and he opens to his mouth to ask what’s wrong when Steve finally speaks.

“Yeah,” he croaks, “I’m not having fun.”

Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, the beginnings of cold dread trickling into his veins well ahead of any conscious thought.

“I think I– I think I should go,” Steve says.

He grabs his keys from the side table by the door, where they’ve lived next to Eddie’s and Wayne’s for the last few months whenever he’s been at the house, and then he’s gone again, the screen door banging shut once more behind him.

And Eddie has no idea what just happened, but he knows it wasn’t good. He drops the beers on the counter and bolts out the door after Steve.

Steve is nearly to his car by the time Eddie scrambles down the front steps, and he’s paying absolutely no attention when Eddie calls after him.

“Steve,” Eddie tries again, stumbling to a stop right behind him as he jams his keys into the driver’s side lock. “Steve, for fuck’s sake, what–” he reaches out, wrapping one hand around Steve’s bicep, and Steve jerks out of his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve snaps.

Eddie pulls his hand back, but doesn’t step away, entirely baffled by the sudden turn the evening has taken. “What the hell happened back there?”

Steve goes still, grip going lax on his keys. “I heard what you said, Eddie.”

“About – about what? Are you mad I was talking to them about us sleeping together? Because, Steve, they already knew,” Eddie insists, a little incredulous. “You said you were fine with them knowing! You were practically feeling me up in front of them!”

“I don’t give a shit if they know we’re having sex!” Steve hisses, finally whirling around to look at Eddie. “I meant the rest. About how I’m not the kind of guy you have a relationship with.”

Eddie’s stomach sinks. He hadn’t realized that was such a sensitive subject. “I – shit, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, I just didn’t think you wanted–”

“About how we’re just having fun,” Steve cuts in, and if he’d sounded raw before, his voice is practically ground down to nothing now.

That brings Eddie up short. “…aren’t we?” he asks after a moment.

Steve says nothing.

“I mean, shit, Steve, it’s not like we’re in a relationship,” Eddie says, offering a little laugh, because even Steve would have to admit that the idea is a little silly.

Except.

Except Steve just glances away, staring at the ground beside Eddie’s feet, and – oh, shit.

“Oh, shit.”

Steve is still unnervingly silent, one arm curled around his middle while the other hand comes up to pinch briefly at the bridge of his nose. He still won’t look at Eddie.

“You… you thought we were,” Eddie says dumbly, and Steve shrugs.

“Can you blame me? We spend all our time together, Eddie. I’m here more than I’m at my own house, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept in my own bed in the last month. We go out and do things together, I try to keep things nice around the house because I want Wayne to like me, we have, like, a lot of sex, and– we… I mean, we kiss and touch and just – do shit like that even when it doesn’t lead anywhere.” Steve shrugs helplessly, finally looking up. “I mean, Christ, Eddie, what did you think we were doing?”

“I thought we were friends!” Eddie insists. Steve throws him an incredulous look and Eddie amends, “With benefits!”

“Right.” Steve’s expression flattens back out, going cold and hard and unlike anything Eddie’s become used to from him. “Because I’m not the kind of guy you’d want to have a relationship with.”

“I said that because I thought you didn’t want to be in a relationship!” Eddie snaps. “It’s not like you stay with anyone for very long, so I just assumed you didn’t want to be with anyone.”

Some of the ice retreats from Steve’s face, leaving a watering kind of hurt in its stead. “Do you listen to me at all when I talk?”

“What? Of course I do!” Eddie might have gotten turned around in certain respects, but he will not have his merits as a friend called into question; of course he listens to Steve.

“Are you sure? Because I talk about you an awful lot. I talk about doing things with you, about doing things in the future with you,” Steve says pointedly, “about how I want to stay with you.”

And Eddie had wanted Steve to stay with him, too. He’s just been thinking – well, he’d thought it was because they get along so well, that Steve had wanted to stick around. That it had only made sense.

“We never talked about… being anything else,” Eddie says, the protest a little weak even to his own ears. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

Steve pulls a sharp breath in, pinching at the bridge of his nose again; he leaves his hand there this time, eyes scrunched shut. “Just a few days ago, I told you how much I liked being with you. How good and how easy it felt compared to anyone else I’ve ever been with,” he says, barely more than a rough whisper. “And you said…”

I like being with you, too.

Eddie had said that.

He’d meant that he likes being around Steve, likes being his friend, definitely likes having sex with him, but he’d said it while combing his fingers through Steve’s hair, while cuddled up with him in bed, and – okay, yes, he can see the mixed signals there. He can see where Steve might have gotten the idea that they didn’t have an arrangement, that they were just together.

“I– I didn’t mean–”

“Obviously,” Steve snaps, dropping his hand from his face and turning back towards his car.

Eddie tsks, frustrated, and reaches out to grab Steve’s wrist – not pulling, just trying to keep his attention.

“Don’t,” Steve warns him, pulling back from his grasp for a second time.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” Eddie tries desperately. “I really… I really didn’t.”

“Yeah. I can see that. But Eddie…” Steve is quiet for a moment, posture so tense and still that Eddie suspects he’s not even breathing. “I’m probably the best-qualified asshole around to tell you that you really have to fucking think about how what you’re doing affects the people around you.”

Somehow, that stings more than any screamed insult Steve could have thrown at him.

“Steve…”

“I’ll come get my shit out of your place tomorrow,” Steve says, low and sharp, before getting into his car and slamming the door behind him.

After that, Eddie has no choice but to step back or get run over, and he watches until Steve’s taillights are no longer visible.

He can hear the hissing of some whispered conversation just beyond the door as he trudges back up the front steps, but his friends fall conspicuously quiet the moment he steps inside.

“…hey,” Gareth finally ventures after several seconds of awkward, sticky silence.

“Hey,” Eddie says flatly.

“Do you… want us to stay?” Jeff asks.

Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “I think I should… I need to– think about shit.”

The boys all nod, throwing him variously sympathetic glances and clapping him on the shoulder on their way out. Oliver pauses, as if he’s going to say something, but Gareth gives him a shove and gets him out the door before he has the chance. Probably for the best.

Eddie feels numb as he trudges back towards his room, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He flops down on his bed, face landing in a pillow that smells entirely too much like Steve’s shampoo. Probably because it’s on the side of the bed that Steve always takes. Next to the nightstand with the small stack of sports magazines that definitely aren’t Eddie’s. And the spare pair of glasses that also isn’t Eddie’s.

With a low tug in his gut, Eddie realizes how much of Steve’s stuff has crept into his room, into the trailer, into his life – how much Steve has become a part of his life, how much of Eddie’s day has been built around him, how much he’s come to lean on his presence, has come to want him there.

And Steve is going to take it all back sometime soon. Take all of his things away before he removes himself from Eddie’s life, too, because Eddie hadn’t been thinking and he hadn’t been careful and he hadn’t realized–

Eddie’s pretty sure he just broke up with Steve.

He’s also pretty sure he hadn’t wanted to.

His main consolation, as he curls up on his side, nose still buried in Steve’s pillow, is that as soon as Robin hears what happened (and she will hear, he has no doubt), she’ll probably come murder him.

At least he won’t have to wallow for long.

Part 2

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Good Luck, Babe! (4)- Good Luck

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan

Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 4- 4k Words

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

The deafening silence of your apartment suffocated you as soon as you shut the door, your fingers twitching subconsciously by your side as you felt anxiety and panic clawing its way up your throat, your gaze hurriedly looking around the apartment to find something focus on besides the feelings you’d be bottling up on the way home. It tore you in half to act as though nothing was wrong for the rest of the night, to smile at her in that loving and adoring way knowing it would be the last time as you waved her goodnight, to kiss her a final time, to kiss her goodbye. It broke you, but you refused to acknowledge it, too scared of drowning in your sorrows. You didn’t want to feel this way, you didn’t want to feel the overwhelming sense of pain and loneliness, to listen to your screaming thoughts in the silent room, the claustrophobic doubts clouding your mind at the decision you made. You couldn’t handle having to face everything, to face the fact it was over, the fact that the one person who made you feel free was never yours. She was never yours.

You could feel your chest tightening at the relentless thoughts, your mind begging you to do as you always did and push everything away, to just pretend you were fine and put a smile on your face as if nothing was wrong. You tried to get the corner of your lips to tug up, to put a brave face on as your empty stare took in your apartment, but your lower lip inevitably trembled, struggling to fight the anguish coursing through you. You couldn’t do this.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as your crushed form made its way through the hallway to your room, looking longingly at May’s room as you passed it, desperately needing her comfort right now. You needed her to tell you everything was going to be ok, to hug you and soothe your worries but she wasn’t there. You were alone once again. You always ended up alone, it wasn’t fair.

You shut your door a little harder than you intended as you reached your room, your legs giving way as everything crashed down on you at once, a broken sob painfully being torn out of you. Why? Why did it have to end like this? Why did you have to love her? Your hands clutched at your head as you curled up into a small ball, knees pressed against your chest as your back rested against your door, body shaking with cries as the damn that was keeping your emotions in check burst. Your chest felt hollow, an agonising emptiness settling there as your palms pressed against your eyes, trying to stop the floods of tears escaping them whilst the joy and love that was once consumed your heart was replaced by a gnawing ache. Why couldn’t she just love you?

The question tormented your thoughts, your cruel brain dragging you down a despondent and painful trail of thoughts as you tried to control your ragged breathing, the panic and anxiety of feeling so out of control still burdening you.

Why was she so scared? Did she not think you were worth loving? Were you worth loving at all? Was it just casual? Were you an experiment? Why her? Why did you have to love her? Why does it hurt so much? You didn’t even do anything wrong. All you did was fall in love.

You drifted down the spiral of these thoughts, unable to stop yourself as they plagued your mind for what felt like hours, your body exhausted with the overwhelming feeling of heartbreak whilst you wiped your eyes once more carelessly, trying to get a grip of yourself.

The weight in your chest remained constant as you stared off at your bed feeling numb, your body drained as you slumped against the frame of the door, fingers brushing back your locks in a stressed manner as your thoughts continued to race, only pausing when your eyes caught a glimpse of something peeking under your bed, a ripple of unease stirring within you.

Gradually, you pushed yourself off the floor, making your way to your feet as you stood unsteady, limbs feeling numb and heavy as you took a reluctant step closer to the box, another stab of agony directed at your heart as you realised what it was.

Polaroids and various mementos of your secret times together with Wanda filled the small wooden box, leaving you powerless to another onslaught of tears brimming at your eyes as you stared at the item, conflicted on what to do with it. Part of you was tempted to open it, to recall the memories of every single photo you took, to remember the way you felt when she kissed your cheek before snapping a picture, the way your heart fluttered when she would look at you with mirth in her eyes when you would point the camera at her, offering you a loving smile as she waited for the click every single time. The other part of you wanted to throw the items away in anger, to hate her for tainting the memories but you couldn’t. They meant too much to you, she still meant too much to you.

A deep sigh left you as you used your foot to push it out of sight, hiding it further under your bed like a dirty secret because that’s what it was, that’s what you were. You could feel the irritation bubbling inside you at the thought, your jaw clenching in annoyance as you stared at where the box was, another wave of hurt washing through you as more memories and thoughts tormented you, reminding you of the gaping wound in your chest.

Why weren’t you enough?

***

The corridors of the college campus were filled with students smiling and grinning at one another, cheers erupting from the back of people's throats as everyone exited their last exam, finally free for the summer. Your expression contrasted the elated people pushing past you in a rush to leave, your defeated gaze searching for a certain locker as you planned to talk to Wanda today, to confess everything before telling her you were leaving, having accepted MI 13’s offer in England, needing a change of scenery. It was all too suffocating here, the reminder of her, what happened to your parents, you needed a change, no matter how hard it would be to leave everyone behind.

You eventually made your way to her locker, looking around to see if people would notice as you slipped the post it note through the small slits, asking her to meet you at the carpark behind your work. You lingered at the metal cupboards, a sense of dread filling you at what would inevitably happen later, the idea of heartbreak and tears causing a wave of nausea to take over you, your gaze lifting from the structure to stop your thoughts drifting down that path but accidentally making contact with her enchanting green as they gazed at you from across the hall, time seeming to slow down around you.

The people around you faded away as you felt that familiar tug on your heart, your smile not reaching your ears as you offered her one last fake one, desperately trying your best to keep it together whilst the corner of her lips tugged up at your actions, excitement evident on her face as she was eager to see you tonight.

Wanda had known you had been busy recently wanting to study for your exams, the two of you not meeting up for a while, but she couldn't wait to spend the summer with you, to laugh all night long and be herself with you. Her heart longed to be with you again like that one, tender night, the memory of that kiss haunting her mind in all the right ways, her body aching for you in such an affectionate way again. She wanted to feel loved by you, to be seen and truly appreciated in private before letting reality and the expectations of her drown her again. She needed the escape you offered her.

The brunette took a step forwards, hoping to talk to you but the sight of a familiar blonde stopped her, Vision’s smile soft as he distracted her, the sight of the two of them cracking your heart once more. You kept your face stoic as he brushed back a strand of her hair, her lips stretching into a loving smile as she peered up at him, kissing his lips briefly in an attempt to keep up the appearance with him, to you, the sight an interaction between a couple of lovers. A wave of bitterness washed through you at the fact he could be with her, he could show his love for her in public, your mind swiftly pushing the thoughts away as you knew there was no use in going down that spiral again, simply trying to stop the pain radiating in your chest by turning around, refusing to look anymore. You couldn’t watch her live her life a lie.

Unbeknown to you, when she could, her eyes flickered away from his piercing blue and the blush painting his cheeks, her smile soft as she forced herself to enjoy his company as he wrapped an arm around her waist, talking nonsense to her as her green frantically searched for you. She had to try and hide the way her brows furrowed at your tense posture as you pushed past people to leave, a glimmer of disappointment appearing in her eyes as she had hoped to talk to you and congratulate you on finishing your exams. The expression swiftly faded when he asked her something, her answer pleasing to him as she tried to keep the appearance up, ignoring the ache in her chest at the way you walked away, leaving her feeling alone.

***

Exhaling a final puff of smoke, you savoured the last of your cigarette before dropping it to the floor, using the heel of your boot to crush it into the ground when the sound of those familiar footsteps grew closer, your heart pounding anxiously in your chest, dreading what was about to happen. Your mind was tormented by the anticipation of what was about to occur, images in your head flashing by at the different ways this could end, unsure of what the best scenario would be. Would you want her to shout at you, to scream at you for breaking it off? To have her tell you she hated you so it would make things feel a little easier? Or would you rather her stay quiet and suffer in silence? Letting you watch helplessly as you carved a hole in her heart, unable to comfort her as you were the reason she was hurting. God, you didn’t want to hurt her.

A deflated sigh escaped as you couldn’t decide what reaction would be the best, but you knew deep down a part of you hoped she would do neither and ask you to stay, that she’d confess her feelings to you and learn that she didn’t have to be ashamed of you, that being with you wasn’t abnormal or something that made her a ‘freak’. You only ever wished she could accept herself.

Before your mind could repeat any more thoughts like a broken record, you watched in the corner of your eyes as she approached you, her smile practically reaching her ears making the chain on your heart tug forcefully. She looked so happy, you didn’t want to take that away from her.

“Hey,” she murmured out softly, her tone conveying her excitement as she leaned against your truck, biting her lower lip in that adorable manner as she tried to contain her enthusiasm, the expression dropping at the conflicted expression engraved on your face. “What’s wrong?” Her tone was tender as her mesmerising green peered up at you, every swirl of green containing care as she gauged your reaction to her words, the way pain flashed in your eyes before your mouth opened and closed, hesitating on your words.

At the glimmer of distress in your eyes, Wanda couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease crawl down her spine, a lump forming in her throat at the way you avoided her gaze, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to compose yourself, trying to stop the doubts in your mind as you had to do this. You couldn’t let this drag on anymore, you couldn’t.

“Wanda, I…” you trail off, building the courage to say what you felt but struggling to put it into words, a gnawing thought at the back of your mind begging you to tell her nothing was wrong, to carry on pretending.

Her intense green observed you with concern and apprehension at your vulnerable state, her heart rate increasing with every passing second as you tried to find the right words, the excitement and joy swiftly draining from her face as you finally continued, the words slicing straight through her chest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you manage out, not hiding the pain in your voice as you spoke in such a raw tone, the worry that was brewing within her now flooding through her veins, her body almost flinching away from you at your words, moving to stand opposite you with anguish clear in her expressive gaze.

“What?” She whispered out, refusing to truly comprehend your words as you looked at her, your usually bright and playful eyes staring back at her despondently, acting as though the world around you had lost all its colour.

“I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be a dirty secret, I want to call it off,” your words cut deep and you know they do, your face showing your sorrow for hurting her as she lets out a breathless laugh, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, her lower lip trembling at the pain radiating in her chest, her heart bleeding anguish into her veins.

Her head turns away from you, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check, the sight of you only further cracking her heart as her eyes glossed over completely, the tears flowing down her cheeks as she couldn’t stop herself, it hurt too much.

“Why?” she croaks out, hesitantly letting her gaze meet yours, an overwhelming feeling of despair drowning her as she looks into your equally broken eyes.

“You know why,” you murmur out, trying to keep your voice soft as you still wanted to comfort her, to soothe her pain. You were desperate to pull her into your arms, to hold her close and let her face seek safety at the crook of your neck, to press your lips to the top of her head and whisper tender words to her but you couldn’t. You were the reason she was crying and it tore you apart. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair.

“I…” Wanda couldn’t find the words to argue back, to say she didn’t know because she did. She knew that you had changed after you lied to her, she knew that you loved her but she refused to accept it. You couldn’t truly love her, it was wrong. She couldn’t let herself be loved by you, by a woman. She refused to make this real, she was unable to let the bubble the two of you created burst and let reality crash down on her. Why couldn’t you just continue to pretend? She wanted everything to go back to the way it was, she didn’t want this. She didn’t want to lose you, but she couldn’t admit the truth.

“I love you Wanda, I always have,” you whisper, your words laced with honesty and all the emotions you felt towards her, your tone so soft and tender that it causes a stray tear to slip from her eyes at how she wished she could let herself be loved by you, that she wasn’t taught this was shameful all her life. The hope and desire was brutally clawed away as soon as it came, the brunette powerless to the merciless grip her traditional mindset had on her, teachings from her childhood ringing around in her head as she forced herself to stop the feeling.

“No, you can’t, you can’t love me,” she chokes out, struggling to stop the lump in her throat from affecting her voice, desperate to sound composed and not as though anxiety and insecurities gnawed away at her sanity. “It’s wrong,” she sighs out, nausea bubbling inside her at the way your face drops at her words, the way you can tell she’s trying her best to use her denial to shield her pain.

“It’s not wrong,” you sigh out, taking a step closer to her, hands naturally reaching out to hold hers, letting your thumb brush over the back of hers tenderly before she pulls away from you, using her hands to wipe away the tears lingering on her cheeks. “It’s not, I promise you it’s not,” your words only further torment her, the ache in her chest constant as she wants to believe you, she really does but she can't. She won’t. “I know it’s hard to accept that you’re-” You try, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she grits out, tone raising, a sudden harshness lacing her words as you furrow your brows at her, shocked at the disgust corrupting her green. “Don’t say it, don't make me say it, I’m not like that,” she mutters, pain underlying her words as your face grows sympathetic, unsure of how to help her. You just wanted her to stop running away from the feeling, to keep making excuses or giving stupid reasons as to why she couldn’t accept herself. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Why couldn’t she see that?

“Wanda-”

“No,” she doesn’t even let you disagree, leaving no room for argument as you sigh, lowering your gaze to the floor, trying to collect your thoughts. You knew she wasn’t going to admit to herself she was into women, and you weren’t going to force her to accept herself, but you needed to know if she ever loved you back or if this was really just casual. It couldn’t have been, couldit?

“I won’t make you say it,” you murmur out, keeping your gaze locked on hers, losing yourself in her green whilst you build the courage to ask her. You were scared of the answer, none of the possibilities your mind could come up with were good, but you had to know. Your mind would drive you insane if you didn’t. “But Wanda, I need to know, did you ever feel the same?” Your voice wavers as you ask her, a cold fear underlying your words as it spreads throughout your body, anxious thoughts trapping your mind as you were terrified to know how she felt.

Hesitation is evident on her face as she looks at you, clearly conflicted on what to say as you longingly look at her, heart pounding wildly against your chest as you wait for her to speak, the silence deafening as her mouth opens and closes, lost for words.

“Please be honest,” you murmur out in a pleading tone, not hiding the fear that consumed your body, “Did you love me?”

“No,” she croaks out, meeting your gaze before looking away, nausea making her head spin as she utters the word, her trembling hands moving up to her face to stop the sob that wanted to force its way out of her.

The pain that you had felt previously felt like a mere prick to your heart compared to the sheer agony that ripped its way through your body, her words leaving a scar on your heart that you’d forever carry with you. It hurt, fuck, it hurt so much, but not because she said she didn’t love you, no, her words destroyed you because she looked you right in the eyes and lied to your face. You could see it in the green you loved so much, you’d spent enough time with her to know how to read her, to tell when she was telling you the truth and she wasn’t.

A scoff left you at what she managed out, the sound turning into a breathless laugh to stop yourself from breaking down, your hands roughly wiping your cheeks as you avoided her gaze, an onslaught of anger gripping your heart. You wanted to scream at her with everything you could, to confront her and call her out but you didn’t have it in you. You wanted to hate her, to resent her and tell her here how you never wanted to see her again, but the words refused to leave your mouth. Despite everything, you didn’t want her to hate you. You didn’t want to lash out at her and make her think of you like that. You weren’t like that.

Pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing deeply, you tried your best to compose yourself before saying anything, your gaze catching a glimpse of her distraught green and only reminding you of the pain that slashed through you moments ago, your eyes squeezing shut in hopes that the pain would simply vanish and let you collect your thoughts.

“Good luck, Wanda,” you manage out of a few more deep breaths, your tone attempting to be soft but still containing a hint of sarcasm and irritation as you look at her, gaze softening as you take in her watery green.

Wanda’s brows furrowed at your words, at the tenderness she could sense in your voice, her mind lost to a sea of confusion. Why weren’t you shouting at her? Why didn’t you hate her? You should hate her. Her mind begged you to stop being kind to her now, your always caring self emerging when it shouldn’t. She didn’t want you to be loving and caring now, she needed you to hate her to make things easier, she needed you to stop.

“I hope he makes you happy, I really do,” you continue, each word pushing the knife further and further into her heart as well as yours, the fact that there was a hint of truth in your words twisting the blade as you partly meant them. You only ever wanted her to be happy, even if it meant she was with someone else.

“Y/n…” She tries but nothing follows the whisper of your name, your trembling lips pulling up into a soft smile as best you could.

“Don’t,” you murmur softly, stopping her from trying to prevent you from saying what you needed to. “I just hope you know you can’t run away from…this forever,” you whisper, stepping closer to her as you build up the courage to say goodbye to her, your hand hesitantly moving to cup her cheek, the brunette naturally leaning into your touch, trying to savour the little comfort it offered.

When your eyes met, a whirlwind of emotions crashed through you both as you got lost in each other's eyes, trying to prolong the impending farewell as you didn’t want to lose one another. You tried to memorise each swirl of green that you fell for, her eyes searching yours to let the comfort you provided engrave itself in her mind, knowing she’d need an escape from reality.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead, a kiss goodbye as you lingered there, a shaky breath falling from your lips before you whisper one last thing to her.

“I’m sorry for loving you,” you apologise softly, never having wanted to hurt her with your feelings, your words the tipping point for her as the sob finally leaves her lips, her hands reaching out for your body subconsciously, needing your comfort but stopping as you pull away from her, her body paralyzed by the heartbreak consuming her. “Goodbye Wanda,” your voice is barely above a whisper as the words escape you, your eyes refusing to look at her, not needing a painful memory to haunt your mind as you step away from her body.

Wanda could only watch through her blurred vision as you walked away from her, the ache in her chest increasing with every step you took, amplifying the loneliness she felt as you left her alone to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. 

[steviewashere]

I love you guys, so for WIP Wednesday, you get the first two and a half pages of my unnamed, but currently named "Steve Makes Eddie Apologize to Lucas for Not Postponing Hellfire for the Championship Game" fic. Uh, I don't think there's any warnings, but here we go.

You can read it here on Tumblr

Or you can read it here on AO3

——— “So, you and Eddie, huh?”

Steve startles at the sound of a voice, deep and hushed, from where he's been waiting in Hawkins High’s parking lot. Hellfire was supposed to be out by now—6:50pm if his watch is correct—it’s their first time back since March and it would be cordial. But it seems that only Lucas got that memo.

“Jesus Christ, Sinclair!” He yelps. Holds his right palm flat against his chest, trying his best to rescind the spike of panic that is crawling through him. “I thought I told you to quit doing that,” he harshly whispers, rubbing his palm against his shirt. The scratchy material of his polo a balm against his nerves.

“Sorry,” Lucas sheepishly murmurs. Speaking at a normal volume, he asks again, “So, you and Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “What about me and Eddie? Can’t I just hang out with the guy without being pestered?”

Lucas shrugs. “You can do whatever you want,” he states, but Steve can already tell there’s somehow more. “But I didn’t think you two would be…buddies. Considering how he feels about, y’know, sports and whatever.”

For a moment, Steve considers Lucas’s approach. His fidgeting hands and his slightly closed off eyes. The hunch to his shoulders and the general unease that accompanies talking about Eddie. Which, that’s particularly odd. Aren’t they buddies, Steve questions himself. Wrapped up in the Hellfire club, their mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons, the ragtag group of nerds that they are—all of that is perfect for their oddball friendship, at least Steve thought so.

“What’s wrong with you and Eddie?” Steve asks, beating around the bush. He doesn’t do cryptic. And he especially doesn’t do it with somebody like Lucas, a kid already smarter than him by several margins.

There isn’t an answer right away. But Lucas’s shoulders drop. His eyes go from frustrated to…sad. “Remember my championship game?” He asks, though it seems a bit much of a topic change. What does this have to do with Eddie, Steve has to wonder.

“Well, yeah,” he answers instead, “I was there. Had a pathetic date with a girl I hardly enjoyed being around. Mocked Tammy Thompson with Robin. Watched you get that winning shot. It was a, genuinely, awesome championship game.” And that’s the truth. It’s the best one he’s ever witnessed. Which is saying something, considering he’d played several championship games. All of them, though, were major losses. He’ll take those to the grave with him, with how often his previous basketball teams teased him.

Lucas gives a harsh single nod, a small smile that whisks away as soon as it appears. “Right,” he mutters, “I remember.” He leans against the Beemer’s bumper, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. Looks forlorn towards the high school’s doors, where Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire bunch should be spilling out any moment now. Steve looks on with him. Listens as Lucas’s voice drops low, nearly angry, fully spiteful, “I begged Dustin and Mike to talk to Eddie about my game. To see if the Hellfire campaign—which would be happening the same night—could be moved. And I, look, I understand that D&D means a lot to all of them, it means something to me, too. But I was really hoping to see my friends there. If not my friends, then at least Erica.

“They didn’t move the campaign,” he states so bitter, Steve tastes the words on his own tongue, “apparently a game where you’re shooting ‘balls into laundry baskets’ is too…mainstream and norm-ie for Eddie. He refused to move his precious game. Then, get this, instead of getting some random kid to play, they egged Erica in.” Lucas drags his eyes away from the school, head turning slow to look at Steve. He follows suit, eyeing Lucas back. His stomach churns with the vitriol painting itself unsubtly across Lucas’s face. “Color me surprised, I guess, that he’s going out with a jock,” he states, voice carefully blank of anything.

Steve stares on at him. He didn’t know this was the case at all. Remembers getting the phone call about Dustin wanting him to play, but he figured that had something to do with him bugging Steve for the millionth time. Because that was something Dustin wanted. For Steve to play. And, granted, Steve refused because it was too nerdy—unimportant and embarrassing. Yet, now he’s looking into Lucas’s face. Where hurt etches itself like solid lines of chiseled marble. Being told, instead, that Eddie’s holding his own bias.

Maybe he hasn’t removed his biases towards high school nerds, not completely. But he’s coming undone from that mentality. Considering Nancy and Robin and Eddie—Dustin and Mike and Lucas—even Max, they’re all big nerds. They all have some sort of interest with Dungeons & Dragons or theater or video games and math. And he loves them all. Though, Steve’s never stopped to think about the opposite side of the coin. Tail-side, where balls in laundry baskets is considered taboo.

After a deep silence when Steve finally digests this information, his eyebrows furrow on their own accord. Mouth downturning into a harsh frown, one that he feels to the bottoms of his feet. He stops himself in time from balling his hands into fists, but the urge to do so snarls in him like a newly unmuzzled, wild dog. A dog, he thought, that he trained obedient away from his anger. But it seems like once the teeth are bared, they never truly hide away.

“That ass,” Steve snarks. “What—so I have to reconsider all my biases surrounding nerds, reconstruct how I view everybody around me, and realize how awesome it is. And—what—Eddie can just get away with that…bullshit? That’s…What the hell?” There’s a little bit more of a bite to his words than he had anticipated. But it really isn’t fair. The table turns and he’s better for it, sure, but Eddie just…That’s not fair. The dog growls louder, drool burbling in its chops, a bark forming in the back of its throat.

———

[almostfoxglove]

LOCK THE GATE

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: BostonQZ!Joel x you (Bill's niece)

Status: In progress - 23k+

SUMMARY: You're less than enthusiastic when your uncle's partner Frank invites two strangers from the Boston QZ to your compound to trade. Joel Miller proves just as callous as you and brutishly stubborn—but after a cutting first impression, a bloody inconvenience, and a long walk through infested woods, you're not sure if the fire you carry for him is actually hate.

CW: Canon typical violence, injury, gore, and body horror. (Eventual) smut. Reference of the death of a child, the death of a spouse, and brief mention of past suicide (an OC). Bitter allies to lovers.

ONE - A CHAINLINK CAGE TWO - THE RIVER STYX (new aug 23rd!) THREE

almostfoxglove masterlist

tag list & some mutuals below the cut!

if you'd like to be taken off this list or added to it, pls don't be shy, just lmk <3

@thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @baronessvonglitter

@studioghibelli @jrnreads @rav3n-pascal22 @burntheedges @janaispunk

@ozarkthedog @ak-vintage @kungfucapslock @twelves-thick-thighs @evolnoomym

@thundermartini @coffee-and-uhg @goodgirlwannabe @sixhours @sweetpascal

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hi! I hope this is okay but I would love to hear more of ur thoughts about the Yunmeng siblings because they are important to me and your tummy hurt comic hasn't left my brain as just,,, such good immediate characterization! ^^ Thanks!

I have too many thoughts on the Yunmeng siblings to fit into a succinct post, but I can offer you a Jiang Yanli addendum to the tummy hurt alignment.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort (emotional & physical), tending wounds, drinking, apologies, protective!Toji // wc: 2717 // [ao3]

You’re jolted awake, nearly falling off the couch where you had passed out a few glasses of wine ago. Bleary eyes squint at the oven clock. 2am. There’s another knock on the door, hard and fast. Desperate. You think tiredly to yourself that nothing good ever happens after 2am, and prepare to be proven right as you slouch to the door and press agains the peephole.

The sight you’re met with sobers you like a slap to the face. You haven’t seen the man on your doorstep in six months, and tonight he looks like the most pathetic kind of stray cat, spiky black hair plastered to his forehead with lashes of rain. His strong form is bundled into a jacket, and his hands are pressed to his abdomen like he’s holding himself together. Toji Fushiguro.

You crack open the door and he straightens up quickly, teeth catching on his bottom lip as he bites back a groan. “Hey, doll. Sorry to bother ya so late.”

“Toji, what the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Mind if we talk inside? I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you since…” since he disappeared. You had had an argument one night, the same one you always had about his line of work, but when you woke up the next morning he was gone. Toji doesn’t finish your thought, just smiles weakly.

“That’s fair. Thing is, I got into a lil’ trouble and this was the only place I could think of to go. Just need a minute to clean myself up, and then-“ he sways on his feet, suddenly unstable.

“Toji?”

His next words are slurred and lost. He takes an unsteady step forward and his leg gives out, left knee hitting the concrete floor with a nasty crunch.

You leap forward on instinct, catching his broad shoulders with an impact that knocks the breath out of you. His head lolls onto your shoulder, and you see the whites of his eyes.

“Fucking hell.” You drag him inside with a litany of curses, just managing to prop him up on the floor against your couch. He’s out cold, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and you slump against the wall opposite him. Nothing to do but wait for him to wake up.

A few too many minutes have passed with just your thoughts for company, and you risk leaving him long enough to pour yourself a drink in the kitchen. The liquor burns your throat but steadies your hands, and it dulls the adrenaline in your veins.

You walk back to the living room and wave the bottle under Toji’s nose, figuring the piercing fumes might snap him out of it. Nothing. You stare into the neck of the bottle, wondering dimly if this could be the mother of all nightmares. Your deadbeat ex-boyfriend passing out on your doorstep in the middle of the night. It would certainly fit the bill.

The part of you that isn’t wallowing in liquor-soaked bitterness thinks that he must have come here, of all places, for a reason. Something out there scared him more than the thought of facing you. With a heavy sigh, you scoot closer to him and push open his jacket, examining his body for wounds. Even in unconsciousness, his scarred hands were wrapped protectively around his stomach. You gingerly pull them away, and fall back on your ass with a gasp.

Fushiguro is bleeding badly. The palms of his hands are stained with what’s already dried, fresh blood slicking your fingers where you’d touched his. His t-shirt is transparent where it’s stuck to his skin, the ragged edges of a puncture wound framing a raw, red hole.

Your body reacts faster than your mind, and before you process what you’re seeing you’ve pressed your hands back over the wound with as much pressure as you can muster. You need a dressing, need to make sure there’s nothing else in there, need to disinfect…

“Why the fuck would you pull it out, dumbass?” You’re mumbling, to yourself. It’s one of the first rules you learn if you’re going to run the risk of getting stabbed with something, come on…

“Wasn’t me, doll. Bastard took his knife back when he ran.” The gravelly voice startles you, and you shove down harder on the wound in surprise.

Toji moans in pain, sucking air in through gritted teeth that somehow still form a cocky smile. “Easy, doc. Don’t need you squeezin’ out the blood I got left.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” You switch your hands with his, waiting to let go until you feel him put the same amount of pressure on. “Now can you tell me why you’re bleeding out in my living room?” You try to sound detached, even angry, but your voice wobbles and you know he catches it.

“Thanks for bringing me inside.” His voice is softer, almost embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to faint on ya.” You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He twists his neck until it cracks, and stares at the floor.

“Wasn’t really thinkin’ straight after I killed the guy that put the knife in me. Realized you were the closest place I knew, wasn’t sure I could go any further. I didn’t wanna bother you, doll. Honest.”

You don’t react to the confession of murder. The more shocking thing was that someone got close enough to Toji to stab him in the gut. It’s a plausible enough excuse, you suppose. And it’s hard to hold a grudge for a man who is currently dying on your carpet.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it,” you say gruffly, standing to retrieve a first aid kit. “Let me find something to patch that hole.”

When you return with an armful of gauze you find Toji finishing off the rest of your liquor. He flashes a stupid grin at you, and you start to remember why you hate him.

“That was my last bottle, asshole.”

“Aw c’mon mama, it’s my last meal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the old pet name. “In my dreams, Fushiguro. You’re gonna be fine.” You’re still not confident in that, but don’t bother letting him know. It’s not like it’ll matter if you’re wrong. Your assurance seems to loosen something in him though, and the show of bravado cracks with his voice.

“Yeah?” His broad shoulders slump. “That’s good.” He smiles up at you, eyes bright with the drink, his scar bunching at the corner of his lips. “Knew you’d fix me up.”

You hum as you start to cut away his bloody shirt. “Where the fuck is Shiu, huh? Isn’t your handler supposed to do the handling?”

Toji scoffs. “Don’t need him. He’s not happy with my attempt at an early retirement.”

“Not that early, is it old man?” You tease him mostly to distract him from what you’re doing, half-listening to his words, and thankfully he takes the bait.

“Hmm, you didn’t seem to think I was too old, babydoll. I thought you appreciated my experience.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you gotta tell yourself, pops.” You finish cutting the shirt open and slide it down his arms along with the jacket. “Can you get this off?”

He grunts and slips it off slowly, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. It must hurt like hell, but he doesn’t complain. He sees you watching him and smirks. “Like what ya see?”

“Yeah, Fushiguro. I love a man with a good stab wound.” You won’t give him the satisfaction, but he does look good. His muscles are as defined as you remember them, unexpected hardness on the soft expanse of his body when he moves. He’s tense now, as one is after a near-death experience, and your mouth waters despite yourself at the familiar sight of him. Even injured like this, rain- and liquor-soaked, he’s beautiful.

He’s laughing softly, a pink smudge across his cheeks that isn’t just from drinking. “Did I leave ya speechless?” He relaxes a bit against the back of the couch now that he doesn’t have to move anymore, just the muscles of his forearms standing out as he holds his stomach together.

“Something like that. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?” You take the inch of alcohol left in the bottle and pour it over his wound, biting your lip at his surprised cry.

“What the hell!” He pants, wide-eyed.

“Need to disinfect the wound,” you offer, without apology.

“Know damn well you could’ve been nicer about it,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t have to disappear on me.” The words are out of your mouth before you know it, before you can think of anything else to say, something that doesn’t make you sound like a vindictive, pathetic ex.

He blows out a breath. “Jeez, doll. I guess I deserved that.”

“I did need to disinfect it…”

He holds up one bloody hand to placate you, quickly returning it to his abdomen. “I know. You could have left me outside in the rain. Wouldn’t have been surprised, even.”

“I wouldn’t kill you over it Toji, damn.” You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting the conversation get here. “But why me? Seriously, you’re that mad at Shiu that you couldn’t have him take you to a fuckin’ hospital?”

Toji is quiet for a while before he responds, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “Shiu didn’t know about this job. I’ve been…freelancing. Something like that.”

You frown at him, trying to put the pieces together. “Freelancing how, exactly? You put an ad in the paper? Sexy hitman for hire?”

His mouth twists. “You think I’m sexy, mama?”

Fuck. Did you say that out loud? “Not the point, Fushiguro. What do you mean freelancing?”

He smirks, but lets it go. “I’m tryin’ to get out of the game. Turn over a new leaf. Go straight.”

He’s got to be joking. What he’s saying is unbelievable, but. When you look into his eyes, they’re serious. And you know he wouldn’t give enough of a shit to let himself get hurt this bad on a regular job.

“Why?” You’ve kept working on him as he talks, and finish applying the pressure dressing to his stomach. You wipe a wet cloth over his hands, smearing away the worst of the blood.

He’s quiet again, his pulse ticking in his clenched jaw as he watches you treat him. When you move your hands away from his, his fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back.

“Someone…informed me of the error of my ways.” His sharp canines flash as he smiles at you in the dim light. “Introduced me to an, alternative lifestyle. But I wasn’t too good at following the rules.”

“Toji…”

“Hush, doll. This confession’s been a long time coming. Don’t think I can keep goin’ if ya stop me now.” He looks longingly at the empty liquor bottle. “I understand why you were afraid for me, why my line of work was hurting you. It was selfish of me to want you, selfish to stay, when it was putting you in danger…” his breath hitches and he presses a hand to his stomach again with a pained smile. “Don’t think the blood loss makes this any easier.”

You move closer to him and cup his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over his rough skin. “I’m listening.” Your anger is ebbing away, replaced with something tender and fragile. You’ve never heard Fushiguro be this vulnerable, and you don’t want him to stop.

Toji’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into your touch. “Are ya gonna make me say it, doll?”

“Yeah, I am,” you murmur.

“I know I’m not what you deserve. But I’d give it all up to get just a little bit closer. Be a little bit better for you. I left because…” Toji trails off, and you feel the man tremble under your hand. “You were sleepin’ next to me, all innocent and beautiful, and I couldn’t…” he tries again. “I couldn’t let you tie yourself to a broken down old man like me.”

Toji opens his eyes and looks into yours. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But since then, I’ve done everything I could to be better, be someone worthy of you.” He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But it seems my colleagues don’t take kindly to someone gettin’ out of our line of work.”

Something like pity shows on your face, and Toji talks faster. “I wasn’t planning to come back so soon, I swear. I was gonna take you out someplace nice when I was clean, show you that I could live this life, that I’d changed and that I’d done it for you.”

He reaches up to hold your face, and his calloused palm is softer than you’ve ever felt it. You’re looking at his lips, remembering the heat of them on yours. “Toji, I…”

He pulls his hand away as you lean toward him, the narrowing space between you electrified. The shadows shift across your face as you come closer. Toji suddenly jerks away from you, a look of horror in his eyes as they fix on your cheek.

“Toji? Toji, what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out too high, frantic and defensive. The wine and liquor roil in your gut as nausea climbs up your throat.

He presses himself against the couch, and his voice sounds very far away. “Your face, doll.” He’s shrinking, making himself as small as possible, as if his touch would contaminate you.

You press shaking fingers to your cheek, staring dumbly at the blood that smears them when you pull away. “Toji?” You’ve said nothing but his name for the last minute, each iteration smaller and more confused.

His smile is icy, the soft warmth he had shown you doused completely. “You’ve got my blood on your face. S’like I said. I’ll ruin you.”

You wipe hard at your cheek, leaving it red and stinging. “It’s nothing, Toji. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be! Fuck!” He tries to stand and you cry out, rushing to steady him, but he pushes you away. “This is what I mean!” You can’t tell if the shine in his eyes is from blood loss, liquor, or tears. Toji’s throat burns as he tries to keep you from guessing the latter.

“It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re holding my guts in while I bleed on your carpet. You let me in, hell you carried me in here after I collapsed on your doorstep like a pathetic little stray.”

He’s wobbling on his feet, but manages to keep you at arm’s length. “Someone could’ve followed me here. I could get you killed.” A strained laugh. “I’m a fucking curse, doll. I need to stay the hell away from you.”

A red stain is blossoming on his clean bandages, but he hasn’t noticed yet. “You don’t get to decide for me!” You cry, furious at his arrogance, desperate to keep him here until you know he’ll survive the night.

“What would you decide then, hm?” He points at himself. “This the prize you want? A beat-up old man who kills people for a living? Who comes home with blood on his hands? It’s not always mine, sweetheart.” He’s being mean and you both know it, the venom in his words meant only for himself.

“Maybe it is. So what if it is?” He lets you come closer, leans into your space, drinking in your look of defiance.

“That’s why I get to decide.” He’s pushing past you, heading for the front door, limping with every step. You don’t move to follow him. You press your lips together and curl your hands into fists, fighting to stay still as you watch him stumble, clutching at the wall. He staggers two more steps before he falls hard onto his knees.

You step up beside him, looking down with a sad smile. “I don’t think you’re leaving tonight, Fushiguro.”

He swears at you with his last breath before he loses consciousness.

[skyzerkarma]

Selfish [ɴᴇᴢʜᴀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

Requested by: @bellatrix2901

Word count: 3.8k

After a major argument with your lover threatens the stability of your relationship, you seek solace in your gardens while he searches for you to make things right.

✧✧✧

It was a foolish thing, really, how quickly the small dispute between you and your lover had escalated. Something so small, a few simple words, had torn your heart into pieces. Something so small had destroyed the entire sanctity of your relationship. The angry, unapologetic expression that had been plastered onto his face burned into your mind as you sat, legs tucked underneath you, in the field of flowers you had seeked for a moment of solace.

You stared at your reflection in the pool of water that faced you- and a pitiful reflection looked back. The tear stains that had dried upon your face were an unwanted reminder of what had occurred, and the nasty words that had been thrown around by the both of you. His ended the argument, as they’d sent you storming off in a childish fit of hurt and anger, but you were well aware that yours enabled it. If only you’d just kept quiet, just waited for a better moment to bring up your concerns and frustrations.

You’d felt neglected for a while now. It was true that you were both immortal, and therefore time wasn’t really a concern for either of you, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t feel lonely when you were unable to see your dearest lover for long periods of time. And that had been a common occurrence recently. And this past time he’d been gone an entire year to fulfill his duties. You understood that he couldn’t spend every waking moment with you, but all you asked was for a visit on the off chance he had a spare moment. Just a check in for both of your sakes.

Your letters went unreturned too- though you’d ignored that for the longest time and continued writing, just less. He may never have mentioned them but it comforted you to send them every once in a while, to let him know how you were doing. So he doesn’t have to worry. And he had the audacity to call you selfish. You scoff just thinking back on it, the flower you’d been fiddling with between your thumb and pointer finger drooped at your mood swing, a tell tale sign that you were letting your emotions go unchecked once again. And that threatened the serenity that surrounded you.

How cruel the world could be giving you powers, as mighty and powerful as they may be, that forced you to be chipper and calm. No anger, no sadness, no jealousy. If you experienced those you caused the world problems. If you felt bad, the mortals were forced to live through the consequences. And then you had to fix it, force yourself to be happy.

And that hadn’t been a problem recently. Aside from a few minor bouts of hurt and frustration, you’d done exceedingly well at keeping your domain in check. Pretty impressive, if you said so yourself. Though most of that could be attributed to you finally falling in love, into a love that was only sung about in fables. A love that was like a fairytale, one that pulled you in and strung you along. And you were thrilled, and the obvious change in your demeanor was encouraging to your handmaidens- who often had to coerce you out of solitude and find solutions to your unpredictable mood swings.

But it didn’t end like all those stories, with an immediate happily ever after, because the two of you were real, and like all real people- immortal or not- you have feelings and opinions. And those differ. Sometimes to the extreme. Just like what had happened this morning, the day after his return, when you finally decided to bring up the subject of how you were feeling and he’d shot it down.

”Hey,” You knocked lightly on the wooden door, that had been propped open ever so slightly, pushing it back gently as to not disturb whatever your lover was currently busing himself with, “Nezha, could we talk for a moment?”

”Hm,” His eyes trail upwards to meet yours, while you inhale sharply to try and forget about the nerves slowly beginning to build, and scratch absentmindedly at your chin, “Sure. What’s troubling you, love?”

You heart flutters at the name, and the sweet, concerned tone of voice that he seems to save just for you. But you refuse to let it distract from what you came here to do. You shuffle to the side so you can lean back onto the wall, sure the support will do you some good as you begin, “It’s just..” he raises an eyebrow, “..Are you sure you can’t spare some more time to visit more often?”

That was just barely addressing the issue that plagued your mind. But you figured easing in would be better, and much simpler. Perhaps the rest wouldn’t even need to be addressed, how you felt. Maybe you could just play it off as simple desire to see him more often, nothing more nothing less. But the sigh Nezha lets out at your words already makes it clear that won’t be the case, “I’ve told you before, I already use up any free moment I have to be with you. There’s no more time to spend here than what I already do. Just try to understand.”

”Okay, that’s fine,” It’s not, but who are you to dictate how and when he works? That’s not exactly something you can control, and you gave it a shot. But you’re not going to just give up. So you continue after a single moment of contemplation, “Could you at least respond to my letters? You should have a moment to spare inbetween whatever you’re doing, correct? That would give me some much appreciated peace of mind.”

Perhaps those were a bit more scathing than intended, even you could tell as they poured out of your mouth that they weren’t quite as tender as you’d planned. It was a bit shameful how quick you were prepared to apologize for it too, even after you’d worked yourself up to start advocating for these things. But Nezha spoke before you could even begin to form the words, eyes narrowing further with every word he speaks, the words digging into you like daggers, each word coming out more hostile than the last, “Do I have to keep repeating myself? I don’t have time. Especially not for something as foolish as writing you a letter, just so you can feel a bit better. I don’t even have time to read yours. There are more important things for me to be doing with my time.”

Well, you’d be lying if you said that didn’t hurt to hear. That every letter you sent to him went on collecting dust and was left completely untouched, every letter you’d put time and care into writing. Thinking of little things to send, small details to say. All just ignored. Not to mention how he just called them, and by extension you, a waste of his time in comparison to work. Maybe that was reading a little too far into it, but you weren’t fool enough to refuse to bat an eye at those words, because that slight slip up could mean something more, and you refused to ignore it.

You huff, the simple convictions you’d walked into the room with all but forgotten. No more desire to simply get a letter back. You were hollow with a deep feeling of hurt, one the wrenched into your stomach and twisted it, “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t realize you were too busy for my warm regards. Please tell me that next time so I don’t bother you with them. Perhaps it would’ve caused a lot less confusion about this.”

He frowns at both the name you choose to call him, and the way you gesture to both of you with those last words. You’re being a brat right now, looking back on it even you can acknowledge those words had no right to slip from your mouth, and that you’d caused the spiral, but no one’s good at keeping their emotions in check when they’re deeply hurt, when someone strikes them at their core. He had no right to call those letters a waste of time, no less call checking in on you one. To make you feel lesser than work.

He takes a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts to figure out what exactly he’s supposed to say next. But after a moment, tapping a finger to his temple, he speaks again, “I don’t really know what you’re implying about us with that gesture, but just go out and say it if there’s really a problem.”

You groan, a clear cut feeling of annoyance spreading through you because you had just explained the issue to him. How could he just ignore that? Was he really just going to look the other way when that was the issue, then pretend to care a second later. You really hit the jackpot when it came to lovers, huh, “I already told you. You’re just refusing to listen. I just want to know you’re alive more than once a year! It’s like you don’t even care about our relationship, it’s basically an afterthought to you. Most people actually spend time with their lover at least a few times in a single calendar year. Or they at least write if they’re long distance, or even send a gift every now and then. Or say a passing ‘hello’ when they’re in the area. And you do none of that! At least I’m trying to hold up this relationship.”

You can tell he’s angry now too, upset even, but you never would’ve guessed hurt. His expression morphing into an unpleasant one, the frown on his face twisting into a scowl that marches the sharp glare he’s sending you. It tempts you into backing down, as he’s never looked at you with such contempt before. A bit of apprehension and certainly a fair bit of annoyance, especially when you’d first gotten to know each other, but otherwise he always regarded you with warmth and love. Something that had never seemed to go unnoticed when others were around, but he didn’t have it in him to argue with whoever teased him when it caused you to laugh so warmly. Your laugh which he enjoyed hearing so much.

His next words are like a knife being slide into your chest, with his fingers wrapping around it, stabbing you right through the heart, “If it’s that much of a problem, perhaps we shouldn’t even have been together in the first place. I sacrificed so much to just be with you, since you were so persistent in the first place. I can’t help being busy,” and then he twists, “Why must you be so selfish?”

Perhaps it is your fault, perhaps you were inconsiderate, perhaps you were being a bit selfish to want to take up more of his precious time. But what has he really sacrificed to have this relationship? He was more than okay with visiting you frequently before it blossomed. Maybe something’s changed, something with his work, but even then you’re sure you would have known, been informed, or even just realized. Or maybe you’re the unaware one here, not noticing how their partner is feeling. But either way, the words he says sting. They hurt to hear. Because selfish is the last word you’d let anyone use to describe you after you sacrifice so much for the mortals living beneath you. When you refuse to be weak so they can prosper. It’s certainly made you a bit unstable, but how is that your fault?

You can’t help the tears the well in your eyes, less from sorrow and more from frustration, clenching your fists as you tears yourself off the wall and yell, “Fine! If that’s what you want, we’re over. No more. Why have this relationship if you won’t listen? Or if I’m just something you have to sacrifice more important things for,” You laugh bitterly as you turn around, pushing the door open even if it means you’ve lost the argument. You lost your lover as well, so it doesn’t really matter who wins.

Your eyes briefly meet his, for nothing but a final fleeting moment, and your hand wraps around your index finger before you can even process what you’re doing- and the next second the promise ring, the glistening promise ring that reflect the morning rays of the early sun, he’d gotten for you is sitting in Nezha’s palm. It’s a stunning piece of jewelry, handcrafted just for you as a gift. It matches your eyes, and its color is deep and entrancing. He’d never been one for romantics, but gifts such as this one had once been proof of his devotion to you. But there’s no point in keeping it if you’re not his, it’d be nothing but a sentimental piece leaving you to wallow in your sorrows.

You turn around again, stepping out of the room with a final word, the name he hates when you use slipping off your tongue. It’d once been to tease him, but now it was a formality, “I’ll see you around, Your Highness.”

That had been it, the end of it. A nice, blissful break from reality while it had lasted. And a truly joyous part of your eternal life. Yet it had come to end, like it would have eventually, no matter what. Even if you’d continued to be devoted to each other, you’re sure something would happen far off in the future.

Your finger feels foreign without the comforting weight of the ring upon it. Funny how you’d gotten rid of it so you wouldn’t reminiscence, and yet its absence hurt you even more. You’d really adored that ring, even though it was only one among the countless pieces of jewels you’d been gifted over the years. Even mortals offered them to you during a mood swing, which they’d learned was the fastest way to make the flowers bloom again and the birds chirp, since it guilted you out of your mood. Seeing the mortals spend their earnings on you, a simple deity who did not need such trivial things. Nonetheless, they were appreciated and well kept.

But Nezha’s had been special, as it’d been a true gift from someone you knew, someone you’d loved. It was made specifically for you, from someone special to you. You could still remember the day he presented it to you, and the way it’d made your heart all but melt. You rarely took it off afterwards, opting to have it on you at all times so there was never a risk of you losing it. (And you did have an unfortunate track record of such a thing). You polished it often too, and when you’d shown it off to your handmaidens the way they ogled at it and indulged you while you giggled and told them about what happened like a little girl still made you happy thinking back on it.

But what use was thinking about it now? It’d be better to put your energy into maintaining a stable mood so the nature surrounding you doesn’t begin to wilt. And that would only serve as further fuel to the fire of emotions you’re currently juggling. You just have to shove them deep down for now, confronting them makes it worse for everyone. You’ll get numb to it eventually, and then it won’t bother you at all.

So for a few moments you just breathe, in and out. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, eyes shutting as the weight on your shoulders begins to lessen while you calm yourself. The flower in your hand beginning to find its life once again, peeking up again rather than shivering further from your touch. The water stirs slightly; there’s a slight disturbance. A gentle crunching of fallen leaves as the perpetrator of your silence makes their way over. And then there’s a figure sitting beside you, and a single eyelid of yours flutters open to see who it is.

And the face of your now ex-lover is what greets you. It spoils your mood within an instant, and the flower gets crushed by the grip in which you clench it with. A single petal falling into the water below, causing ripples that distort your reflection. Causing imperfections within the perfect picture, cracks among the seams. Nezha doesn’t meet your gaze as you blink at him.

”What are you doing here?” Your eyes narrow, and your mind races to find the answer before he can come up with an excuse. You just ended things between the two of you, and so you were sure you wouldn’t see his face for a long time now. At least until it was necessary. Unless, as unlikely as it is, he came to apologize. But you can’t imagine him sucking up his pride to do that, “I don’t really feel like talking with you right now.”

You start to stand up, trying to make it clear that whatever he wants you will be having none of- but his hand reaches for your wrist faster than you can jump back, and he’s significantly stronger than you physically, so you have to concede and stay after tugging against him a few times. You’re not stupid enough to try more, it’d just waste your energy. His head turns in your direction as he tugs you downwards, keeping your firmly in place as his eyes meet yours, “Whether you like it or not, we’re talking. About us.”

You bit down on your tongue to keep yourself from letting out a snide reply, your nail finding its way to your neck to pick at a patch of dry skin sitting there, “What is there to talk about? We’re done, over. We already had this talk.”

”No,” His refusal causes you to raise an eyebrow, partly because it’s just so blunt and straightforward that you’re not sure how to feel, and partly because the fact he’s stilling welling to talk about your relationship even after such an argument which warms your heart- despite what your brain keeps yelling at you, “We were both emotional, and not in our right minds. We’re going to talk about it now, while we’re calmer and less unstable.”

You finally sigh, the arm of yours not being held in his iron grip reaches upwards so you can lean your face into the palm of your hand. You didn’t expect him to come talk about, especially not so soon after the argument. The thought of talking with him about it after you’d called things off never once crossed your mind during those hours you had sulked, “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re here for.”

You refuse to give in, to once again be the person to concede after a fight, just like you always have to be. The flowers can wilt if they must. After all, you doubt this conversation will last long enough for the entirety of your domain to die. You’ll indulge your emotions this once, for these few moments. You’ll deal with the mess you’re going to inevitably create afterwards.

“I don’t expect you to,” Your eyes widen at those words, your gaze finally meeting his own, looking into his own eyes that swirl with a mix of determination and guilt. Something you thought him to be incapable of feeling, “Because it was my fault. And I can’t apologize enough for it. I really don’t want to lose you. You’re one of the best things that happened to me, even if I don’t act like it sometimes.”

You bite your lip as the words leave his mouth, feeling tears once again well up in your eyes as all the anger in your heart dissipates with a few simple phrases. He was one of the best things to happen to you too. You were so much happier with him in your life, and if you didn’t have to lose him, you couldn’t find it in you to argue anymore. No more energy left to be stubborn because of a simple apology. It didn’t matter if he had to be away for long periods of time, right? As long as he was still with you. You could deal with some heartache, a bit of a sacrifice.

You give in faster than even you could have anticipated, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder, while one of his own arms wraps around your torso to pull you closer, and the other whips away the tears beginning to stream down your face. Not solely out of sorrow, but not completely from joy. His smile is soft as he runs his thumb over your cheek, “I really am busier nowadays, but I promise I’ll start responding to your letters. And I do read them, even if I was embarrassed to admit it then. I’ll try to not worry you too much, love.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, hearing him laugh lightly at the action. Your face feels warm once again. And your heart begins to beat faster, beginning to find a rhythm as it settles at that quickened pace, “Does this mean we’re back together?”

”I’d like that, if you’ll have me,” You nod the moment the words tumble out of his lips, no longer having the heavy weight in your heart that held you down. There was nothing else that’d make you happier than being with him once again. A few hours was torture enough. And if he was going to respond to your letters, there was no point in continuing to be stubborn. It was better for you, and him, like this. When you were together.

His hand leaves your face, traveling down to remove one of your hands that’s wrapped tightly around his face. The action causes you to lift your head, eyebrows pinching as you try to figure out what he’s doing, until you feel a cool metal slide across your index finger. The promise ring once again back where it should be, the comforting weight of it back once again. A smile dances on your lips once you realize, only widening further as he intertwines his fingers with your own and leans down to press a gentle, tender kiss to your lips.

It lasts for a fleeting moment, yet you’re sure it felt like an eternity. Your faces hover closely together, a mere few centimeters in between you two. And as he leans in once again, the gap between the two of you beginning to close, he utters a few words that make your heart beat like it never has before. The flowers surrounding the two of you sprouting up once again, like the beginning of spring had happened all over again.

”I love you.”

[prince-liest]

daydreaming about a radiostatic safeword fail fic

[spooky-activity]

If I didn't make that Borisin run through a convenient stream to wash off most of the blood I would have actually gone insane it was eating up all my rendering energy

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[c4t1l1n4]

Hey, so you know that post I made earlier today?

Twins in Time AU but instead of 1982!Stanley getting sent back to the past he gets set to Post-Wierdmaggedon 2012 because I need him to get love and comfort from Ford.

Yeah, I wrote it. You can find the not beta'd version under the cut and I'll probably post the still-not-beta'd version on AO3 tomorrow.

You're A Hero, Stanley

A not really at all, but inspired by, Twins in Time AU ----- Stanford Pines is disassembling the portal when it happens.

The kids have gone home after their 13th birthday, and Stanley is out at the store getting groceries. They decided to take a few months to plan everything before setting out to sea. With Bill Cipher defeated and the portal dysfunctional, Ford had no reason to feel uncomfortable being in the basement alone. He's down there, disassembling it completely so it can't be remade when it turns on. He stares at it for a moment, something like fear coursing through his veins as his worst dreams come true.

There's no way that it should work. Parts are missing. The energy source is gone. In fact, Ford was almost done. He stares at the bunch of wires in his hands and the tools on the floor, then back at the blue glow of the portal. Suddenly, a figure falls out of it and crashes to the ground. Ford reaches for his gun, pointing it at the figure as they groan. The figure rights themselves, standing to their feet and looking around. Ford can't believe his eyes.

"Stanley?" He asks in confusion, lowering his gun.

The figure—assumedly Stanley—stares at him in a similar state of uncertainty. "Ford?" His voice rings out hesitantly.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" Ford asks, rushing over to examine him. "Did something happen at the grocery store?"

"What are you talking about?" Stan says, reeling at the attention. "We were fighting, and I went through your weird portal thing, and now I'm here."

Ford frowns, the portal hanging emptily up above them like a threat. He takes in his brother's brown hair and thick jacket, tucking his gun away. "When are you from?"

Stan looks at him oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, looking at Ford as if seeing him for the first time in the dim light. "What happened to you?"

"Stanley," Ford repeats emphatically. "What year is it?"

"1982."

Ford's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales abruptly. His hands start the shake, and he feels the need to take a deep breath. This Stan is from 1982. 1982. Arguably the worst year of Ford's life. This is when it happened. But it seems that instead, Stan was pushed through and ended up here. He suddenly feels like he doesn't know what to do. He looks at this version of Stan and sees one so similar to his own and knows that this is how he looked and this is how he felt when he was left alone. It scares him, and it's sad. It takes him a moment, and there's a short period where he's just staring at him. He can tell that it makes Stan uncomfortable by the way that he squirms in place.

He then pulls his brother into a tight hug because there's nothing else to do. It's obvious that Stan doesn't know what to do either from the way that he tenses in the hold. Maybe Ford should've been more careful with his abrupt movements and constricting motion, seeing as this Stan is fresh from a life on the run. He knows he's made the right choice when Stan eventually melts into the embrace.

“I'm so sorry,” Ford says, apologizing for things in the past. “And thank you,” he says, apologizing for things in the future.

Stan doesn't say anything back, but Ford suspects it's because there are tears in his eyes. "Are you okay? You never answered my question about whether or not you were hurt.” Ford says, pulling back and holding him at arm's length to investigate him closer.

“I’m fine,” Stan says, “just got some dust in my eye.”

Ford nods knowingly.

"What is this place anyway?" Stan demands. "And why are you so old?"

"This is Gravity Falls, Oregon, and it's the year 2012." Ford grins as Stan's eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean to say my nerdy twin brother invented time travel?" He asks in disbelief.

Ford chuckles. "Not quite. I believe you're from an alternate dimension. If my theory is correct: My Stanley is at the grocery store, and your Ford is working furiously to get you back."

Stan scoffs, eyes dropping to look at the ground. "I doubt that," he says somewhat miserably.

Something sharp and painful pierces Ford in the heart. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes in the past, but seeing it spelled out so clearly in front of him is a special type of torture. "I know you don't believe me, but if your Ford is anything like me, he does love you. He's just an arrogant, ignorant ass about it."

“Hey,” Stan defends on reflex. “That's my brother you're talking about.”

It is equally heartwarming and pain-inducing to see Stan jump so readily to his defense when he knows that the Ford of that time would so easily push him to the side. “He's me,” Ford points out. "It’s just the truth.”

Stan frowns, like he's not happy about it.

"Just like I know it's the truth when I said he cares about you."

Stan eyes him skeptically. "He told me to take his journal as far away from him as possible," he deadpans.

Ford cringes. He doesn't really remember what he said to his brother in that paranoid, insomnia-induced haze, but that sounds pretty bad. "Fair," he conceded. Ford did think he hated his brother for the longest time, even if he really didn’t, so he supposes that Stanley isn't too far off. "Then I can't do much besides reassure you that I love you now."

Stan looks away again. "Not me though. I mean, some version of me, I guess. But yours is at the grocery store, or so you said."

Ford grins, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Stan, I love every version of you. Alternate dimension or not. If you can't find it in yourself to believe me, at least look at me. Am I lying?"

Stan studies him. “No,” He says, and something between disbelief and awe breaks out across his face. "You really love me?" He asks, a sound like hope ringing in his voice.

Ford continues to smile, wider this time, and pulls his brother into another hug. "Of course I do. You're my brother. Even more than that, you're a good person and a hero. Stanley.” he says as the young Stans in his arms tightens his hold around him. “You're my hero.”

The blue glow of the portal highlights Stan in his arms as it springs to life again. Ford rests his chin on top of his brother's head, allowing this younger version to take comfort in the moment. He stares up at the portal—the portal that in no way should work and yet does—and holds his brother tighter for a little longer. “I told you he was going to get you back,” Ford says, wishing he didn't have to let him leave. “Now, it's time for you to be his hero.”

Stan takes a step back and with a grin, turns to face the blue glow. He lets himself get sucked into the gravitational pull, floating up and disappearing. It doesn't get any easier or less terrifying to watch someone disappear into its gaping maw, but Ford is reassured that this Stan is going somewhere great.

The portal closes, dowsing the room in darkness once more, but as Ford pulls apart the last pieces, he is filled with hope.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Complete Tumblr Master List

Yearling: noun - A young horse, older than a foal but not yet two years old. - A still wild thing that is too new to tame

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

On A03 | Spotify Playlist | No Outbreak AU Masterlist

WARNING: this fic does have plot overlap with TLOU2. It’s not a retelling of the game but if you want to go into season 2 spoiler free, approach with caution.

Chapter 1 - Break

Chapter 2 - Escape

Chapter 3 - Noise

Chapter 4 - Contribution

Chapter 5 - Movement

Chapter 6 - Shoot

Chapter 7 - Revival

Chapter 8 - Tipsy

Chapter 9 - Hold

Chapter 10 - Feral

Chapter 11 - Touch

Chapter 12 - Animals

Chapter 13 - Falling

Chapter 14 - Time

Chapter 15 - Past

Chapter 16 - Firsts

Chapter 17 - Stay

Chapter 18 - Reverse

Chapter 19 - Purpose

Chapter 20 - Healing

Chapter 21 - Holiday

Chapter 22 - Storm

Chapter 23 - Search

Chapter 24 - Return

Chapter 25 - Balance

Chapter 26 - Carved

Chapter 27 - Found

Chapter 28 - Newcomer

Chapter 29 - Together

Chapter 30 - Blood

Chapter 31 - Warmth

Chapter 32 - Promises

Chapter 33 - Discovery

Chapter 34 - Anything

Chapter 35 - Answers

Chapter 36 - Severed

Chapter 37 - Pieces

Chapter 38 - Reckoning

Chapter 39 - Returning

Chapter 40 - Home

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass @planet-marz1 @kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

[alkalineapparition]

Jaws

Alone and half feral in a dirty cell, Ghost finds you during a raid beneath a foreign military research lab. It quickly becomes clear that something isn't right with you, your behavior more beast than human.

A result of horrific human experiments, you're a failed attempt at making genetically modified soldiers with killer instincts and keen senses. Instead they produced you - a mutt.

Ghost is assigned to be your handler, to help you heal and shape you in to the 141's very own attack dog. But the bond between a handler and their beast eventually turns into something more...

*Reader has human anatomy*

18+, MDNI

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

Part 2! [Part 1]

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort, emotional!Toji // wc: 1300 // [ao3]

The first thing Toji thought when he opened his eyes was that absolutely everything hurt. It felt like he’d been run over by a bus. The second thing Toji thought was that he had died and against all odds, ended up in heaven, with an angel sitting right in front of him. The third thing Toji thought was that he was a dumbass.

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” You, the angel in question, lean forward with wide eyes that tell him more about his condition than any aches and pains.

“Damn, I scared ya that bad, huh?” Toji tries to smile, but it slides off his face and lands somewhere next to the bed.

You attempt to soften your face into neutrality. “Scared me? Nah, of course not. But you weren’t looking too good for a while there.” Your eyebrows pinch and you trail off, lost in the memory of the last two days.

When he collapsed, you’d managed to drag a semi-conscious Toji to your bed and install him with every pillow and blanket you had. You had hardly slept, changing his bandages when he bled through and watching anxiously for signs of infection. You called in a favor owned by a friend from school and set your unwilling patient up with an IV drip and a heart monitor, making your bedroom into a makeshift hospital room. You knew it would be too risky to take the man to a real one.

He was lucid very rarely, croaking apologies and curses while trying to pull out the IV like he was some action movie hero. Thankfully he slept most of the time, and you found yourself staring at the way everything about him softened in sleep, the sardonic lines of his face smoothed into a gentleness that took years off him.

Playing nurse, even without his gratitude, threatened to pull you back into the complicated mess of feelings you’d had for your boyfriend, before he made himself an ex. It was easier when he was helpless, as fucked up as that was. Some tiny, guilty part of you was reassured by the fact that he couldn’t possibly get into worse trouble, that he was relatively safe while confined to your apartment and a saline drip.

The thoughts churned through your mind all at once, and Toji mustered up the strength to wave a hand in front of your unfocused eyes. “You okay there, doll?”

You jumped and looked back at him. “Of course. How are you feeling? Are you feverish, or in pain anywhere? New pain, I mean. Besides where you were stabbed.”

He’s still looking at you like you have a screw loose, but he gingerly shifts in the bed and takes inventory of himself. One bruised, battered body, one new hole in the gut, a monster of a headache, a dry throat, and a shame at being caught here that was crushing his chest. He decided quickly to offer you the easiest problem. “Just a little thirsty.”

”I can fix that, at least.” You grin a little manically, relieved to be given a task that got you out of the room, and leave to pour him a glass of water. By the time you return to the sickroom, he’s hoisted himself up against the pillows in a sitting position.

You move to hold the glass to his lips as you have for the last few days and nights, but he rolls his eyes and reaches for it himself. His strong hands tremble with the weight of the glass, and water sloshes onto his chin and chest. You quickly catch the bottom of the glass and tip it back up, helping him aim the water down his throat until the glass is emptied and set down.

Toji stares at his shaking hands like he can’t believe they’ve betrayed him. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he mumbles, “Thanks.” He closes his eyes and turns his face to the wall, poorly faking sleep.

“Toji, don’t feel bad, you’re still recovering-” he cuts you off with a loud snore and you stifle a laugh. “I don’t mind taking care of you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but you catch the slight loosening of his shoulders at the reassurance. “I’m glad you came back to me,” you continue hesitantly. “Really glad. I missed you, Toji.” The confession hangs heavy between your bodies.

He opens his eyes cautiously, like you’re a bright light. “I missed you too. But I’m not glad I’m back. Not like this.” His hands are still shaking as he drags them down his face, hiding a trembling lip. “I’m sorry.” You sense that he’s not done talking, and stay quiet.

“I’m sorry for everything. Sorry I’m here now, and that I wasn’t before. Sorry I couldn’t be someone else.” A bitter smirk twists his scarred lips. “I tried, and this is where it got me.”

As if on cue, his phone vibrates on the bedside table, Shiu Kong’s name blazing across the screen. You both watch it buzz until it goes dark again. Toji lifts his eyebrows at you. “See, doll? I’m sorry, but this is all I am.” His raised hands encompass his battered body and the plaintive beeps of the heart monitor.

You step closer and sit down on the edge of the bed, nervous hands smoothing the sheets over his torso. “I know. I’ve always known. You never hid that from me. I just…it’s hard to watch someone you love get hurt, over and over. Hard to wonder if they’ll make it home each night.”

”Someone you…love?” Toji struggles further upright so he can look you in the eyes, incredulous and shaky from the effort. You don’t answer, barreling on with your speech as his heart monitor ticks faster.

“But if that’s what it means to be with you, if I’m the one you’re coming home to…Toji, I’ll do it.”

His face twists silently, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that Toji Fushiguro is crying. The whole world seems to tilt, the ground slipping out from underneath you. Before you can speak, he reaches up and pulls you to his chest in a crushing embrace. You feel his broad shoulders shake as he holds you, tears falling into your hair. He’s as warm as you remember, a human space heater smelling like cheap, smoky cologne.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you murmur into his shirt, not sure if he can even hear you. You want to drown in him, to stretch this moment out forever so neither of you have to figure out what comes next.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he said raggedly. “Wanna be good for you, mama. You deserve so much better than me.”

You pull reluctantly out of his grasp and take his face in your hands, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks. “You’re what I want, Toji.”

He’s never been touched like this, never let anyone touch him like this. The Sorcerer Killer is breaking down in your hands, in your bed.

“I love you.” He says the words like they’re the only true thing in the universe.

“I love you.” You lean him back against the pillows, careful to keep his IV from catching on the tangled sheets. “I love you, Toji.”

He closes his eyes, his breath gradually steadying. You stroke his choppy hair as he falls asleep, hoping he’ll still feel comforted in unconsciousness.

When you’re sure that he’s sleeping soundly, you gently get up from the bed and make your way to the kitchen. You dial the number quickly, glancing over your shoulder as if there’s any chance Toji could get out of bed on his own in this state.

“Shiu? It’s me. He’s awake. Well, asleep again, but- yeah. Come now.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

requested tags: @haydensjw @planetxella