#i desperately need new colored pencils

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Daddy’s Girl

Dean Winchester & daughter!reader

Synopsis: your life growing up as Dean’s daughter (ignores cannon)

You were born of Dean’s short-lived relationship with Lisa. When he was forced to leave his family behind to keep them safe, he was also forced to take you with him. He’d wanted to leave you, to keep you safe, but with Lisa and Ben’s memories wiped of him, you got wiped with him.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said as Dean held you in his arms. “There’s no way to erase you without erasing her, too.”

Despite how much Dean wanted to keep you safe, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret how things turned out.

…

Sam pursed his lips, and Dean couldn’t hold back his laugh when he spotted his brother covered in broccoli.

You started giggling when you noticed your father’s smile, but Dean clamped his mouth shut when he saw you laughing.

“Hey now,” he scolded, trying desperately to look stern despite still being able to see the broccoli in Sam’s hair. “Don’t throw food.”

“Is yucky!” You whined, kicking your feet.

Dean gave you his signature ‘dad glare’ and you gave him the puppy eyes that he was convinced Sammy taught you just to drive him nuts.

Neither of you were willing to give in, far too stubborn for anyone’s good. Finally, Sam broke the awkward silence.

“How about we try a new veggie?”

…

“What are you watching?”

Dean tore his eyes away from the screen to see Sam standing in the doorway.

“Saw, why?”

Sam scoffed, “Do you think she’s old enough for that?” He gestured to five-year-old you, curled up in your dad’s arms.

“She’s out like a light, she has no clue what’s going on,” Dean assured him.

“So what, she’s your new stuffed animal?” Sam chuckled.

“It’s called parenting, Sammy. Now shut up, you’re gonna wake her up.”

…

“Daddy, look!”

Dean rubbed his hands over his face, closing the lore book in front of him when you came bounding into the war room.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” He asked, his voice thick with exhaustion as he lifted you into his lap.

“I maked the Impala,” you grinned, showing off a pencil sketch of Baby colored in with a black crayon. “Uncle Sammy only helped a little.”

Dean could tell from the detail of the drawing that Sam helped more than a little, but he didn’t care.

“This is great!” He praised. “Baby would be so proud, looks almost as good as her.”

You giggled. “Can I hang it on the fridge?”

“I think it’d be a crime if we didn’t,” Dean insisted, standing up with you in his arms so he could carry you to the kitchen.

…

“Dad!”

Dean staggered back in surprise when ten-year-old you launched yourself into his arms the moment he stepped into the bunker.

“Hey kid,” he chuckled, but his smile dropped when he noticed your strangled breaths, and how tightly you were clinging to him. “You ok? We weren’t gone that lon-“

“Someone’s in the bunker,” you whispered, and Dean now also noticed that you were shaking.

“What?” He demanded, lowering you to the ground and grabbing his gun with one hand, keeping his other hand on your shoulder protectively.

“I-I heard footsteps,” you stammered, still trying to catch your breath. “So I ran, and-and I was looking for a place to hide when you opened the door.”

“You’re sure it was footsteps?”

“I know what I heard!” Your stammer left you when your fear turned to annoyance.

“Ok, ok,” Dean soothed. “I believe you. Now, I want you to go and hide in my room, ok? Stay there, and don’t open the door unless it’s me, understand?”

“B-but…” you glanced around nervously, unwilling to let go of your father.

“I need you to do this,” Dean said. “I need you safe, ok? You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded, but Dean’s jacket was still clenched between your fingers.

“C’mon now, go!” Dean gave your arm a gentle push, and as soon as the two of you were no longer touching you seemed spurned into action. You ran in the other direction, headed straight for your dad’s room.

Once the door was closed and locked behind you, you immediately went to sit on Dean’s bed, your arms wrapped around your knees as you tried hard to stop your trembling.

You assured yourself over and over again that your dad would take care of it; he’d get the intruder out, and it would all be ok. When you heard footsteps echoing through the hall, your heart lifted, sure that your dad was coming to get you.

But then the doorknob jiggled as someone tried to open it. It stopped, but still no knock came, no “hey, it’s me,” from Dean; nothing.

Until with a loud bang! the door flew free of its hinges.

You scrambled back with a cry of surprise, and your hand found something hard under Dean’s pillow. You snatched it up as the intruder—a tall man with blond hair and a dark suit—stalked towards you.

You lifted the object, surprised when you saw that it was Dean’s gun.

“St-stay back!” You warned. The man hesitated for only a second before continuing his advance towards you.

“You don’t have the guts,” he scoffed. He took one more step—he was only a couple of feet away—and reached out to grab you.

The gun kicked back in your hands as you fired, and you nearly dropped it. A look of morbid shock crossed the man’s face, but it only lasted for a brief second as he slumped to the ground at the side of Dean’s bed.

Your whole body was shaking. Your hands didn’t seem able to let go of the gun. You could feel blood on your face where it had splattered.

“Sweetheart?”

Your whole body flinched at the sound of your father’s voice. He was in the center of the room—you hadn’t even noticed him come in—and his hands were held out towards you.

“Sweetheart, give me the gun.”

Your hands went limp when Dean grabbed the gun. He tossed it onto his bed, his attention never leaving your face, which was turned towards the dead man on the floor.

“Hey, Y/N, look at me,” Dean demanded. Your eyes slowly found your father’s, afraid of what you might find there. But there was no anger, or judgment, not even surprise. There was only comfort, maybe a little worry.

“Let’s go,” Dean said, lifting you into his arms. When he saw you staring at the dead man, he cradled the back of your head in his hand and pushed your face against his shoulder as he carried you out of the room.

“I killed him.”

Your voice came out muffled against Dean’s shirt, and Dean’s heart constricted at the quaver in your voice.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he soothed, subconsciously rocking you in his arms like he used to do when you could barely crawl. “He was gonna hurt you, you defended yourself. You did nothing wrong.” Dean sighed. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I didn’t want you to have to do that.”

“I killed somebody,” you said again, and Dean’s arms tightened around you. He knew he couldn’t talk you out of this; not yet, you were still in shock. So he’d do the only thing he could.

“It’s gonna be ok, baby,” he soothed. “I promise.”

…

“Where is that girl?”

“You lookin for Y/N?” Sam asked as Dean wandered around the bunker.

“Unless we’ve got another girl living here I don’t know about,” Dean shot back.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

“She’s in the library doing homework.”

“Again?” Dean shook his head. “I think I’ve let her spend too much time with you, she’s becoming quite the nerd.”

“Don’t look at me,” Sam chuckled. “I told her to take a break like an hour ago. That nerdy behavior is all her.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean closed the book in front of Sam. “You both need a break.”

“Ok,” Sam shrugged. “Good luck, she’s just as stubborn as you.”

“We’ll see.”

…

“Hey!” You yelped in surprise when your dad lifted you up and out of your chair, Sam watching from the doorway with a grin on his face.

“No more books, you two have spent too much time being nerds this week.”

“But I have a paper to write!”

“You mean that paper you told me is due in three weeks?”

“Well…”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. “You’ve got time, so take a break.”

“On one condition; we watch Lord of the Rings.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam cut in.

“Oh come on,” Dean groaned. “Could you two be bigger nerds?”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t want to watch it,” you giggled, trying to squirm out of Dean’s hold since he still hadn’t put you down.

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” Dean huffed, setting you down on your bed and digging his fingers into your stomach. You squealed in surprise as your dad tickled you. “And I certainly didn’t ask for your sass!”

“Who-who do you thin-think taught it to me!” You giggled, squirming as Dean didn’t let up.

“Hey now!” Dean scoffed. “Now you’re just asking for it.”

Dean continued to scratch and poke at your sides, your stomach, and your neck until your face was bright red and your laughter was silent.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean said as he let up, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way towards the Dean cave, Sam following behind.

“Yo-hou’re mean,” you giggled.

Dean just chuckled.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[monstas1ut]

Reprisal

ARMIN ARLERT x black!reader

Summary

__ armin seemed to always get the shorter end of the stick when it came to.. well.. everything. however, a new opportunity showed up right in front of his eyes when his black!crush had a falling out with her bf. maybe armin wouldn’t have recorded himself fucking her dumb if her bf didn’t bully him through kindergarten to college…

Content

__ black!reader, female reader, dom!armin, risk, dirty talk, crying out of pleasure, big dick armin, size diff(you’re bigger, not taller), pussy fingering, recording/videotape, squirting,

__ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

Was it wrong for the blonde to admire how pretty those tears were? They fell over the russet color cheeks you possessed, showing no signs of stopping. The way your throat was closing up, your short breaths of helplessness never sounded so sweet. It was indeed wrong to think of your sadness as his victory, but Armin couldn’t help it.

That day, there was a twitch at the side of his lips that ached to smeer across his face, but Armin fought it. He wanted to smile so badly only because he knew he had gotten what he deserved. Armin could remember just how much his heart twanged and twisted when you started dating his own bully. There was no way he could catch up with you, not with his timid aura, his bulky glasses, and his attire.

Not to mention how geeky he was.

The posters in Armin’s room happened to be ‘women repellent’ as your boyfriend would call it. And Armin lacked any real style because his parent’s preferred him to wear button ups and slacks everyday. With his face stuck in books and his hand always holding some wooden pencil, he’d never have a girlfriend. Or, maybe those are just things your boyfriend packed in his head. Armin could’ve sworn he’d never have a girl to kiss, hug, or marry. That was another thing his bully preached to him.

But yet, his girlfriend was here in his geeky, woman repellent room filled with posters, books, and tiny machines. And your eyes were overflowing with desperate pleasuring tears.

And this time, Armin didn’t resist his tempting smirk.

The grey sheets of his bed had a formed wet spot that only largely grew over the orgasms. His lanky fingers were covered in that same wetness as his other hand held the device that witnessed the entire scene. As bad as it sounded, the both of you concluded that this was definitely something to be recorded. The way Armin understood your body so quickly and effortlessly, the way you’d already came over and over again. It’s been thirty minutes and the way Armin’s fingers wrinkled up from your wet hole made it even better. It felt so damn good.

“Armin~… I-… No more… Fuck~” your lustful voice made Armin’s cock hard. You in general made his cock hard. Your pretty face, your long eyelashes, glossy lips, your cute little two piece outfit. He would watch from afar how those skimpy cotton shorts matched the cropped top. It was white, and it made your skin flourish. Armin hated that your boyfriend had you all to himself.. but apparently that just wasn’t the case anymore.

“You said that a few minutes ago y/n but you’re still here with the wettest pussy ever…” you couldn’t see him because you had your e/c eyes closed from the slight embarrassment, but you could almost hear the cheeky smirk on his tongue. Armin was taller than you, but he was so puny at the same time. He was undoubtedly the nerdiest male in the school. He sucked at sports, wore glasses, kept his face in a book, and hated crowds. In his eyes, there was no way you’d fall in his arms, however that’s exactly what happened.

You and your boyfriend had a bit of a falling out, and Armin was in the hallway at the time. All you needed was some gentle care and you got exactly that… what he didn’t expect was for you to take it so much to heart. You didn’t let it go, and you even began staying around him more than you should.

Now you were spread on his bed and reaching another orgasm from just his fingers. How was he this experienced? You failed to understand, nor did you care right now. Your pussy was so achy that nothing made sense, only the sweet sensation of your insides being rubbed against.

“Right…Right there Armin.. ah-..shit.” Your moans were so pretty on camera, and Armin’s small chuckle added to the extreme hotness that displayed. “ I figured, I do understand your body more than you know..” Armin teased in a matter-of -fact type of manner. He wasn’t even surprised of the much louder moan that was released from you. He wasn’t even surprised by the way your pussy released the clear liquid on his fingers. It was fascinating how you squirted on his fingers, and the pure sound of it made him excited. That mixed with your whiny pleas were heaven sent, and it was obvious how much he loved it.

He moved his hand up to his mouth and eagerly licked up the juices that were dripping down from his fingers.

“Did that feel good? Cumming over and over again? Would you like me to bring you more pleasure?” Armin sounded like more of a cocky bastard than before, his head tilt only making you stare into his eyes with a type of hatred that meant nothing. You couldn’t hate him, right now you felt in love with him. Your pussy was in love with him, and his cock didn’t even make an appearance yet..

“Yes… Armin, please?” You whispered, almost begging with your eyes. The camera caught every emotion, every deep feeling from you which was going to anger your ex from head to toe. This video was going to break him, if not completely destroy him. It was the mere fact that you’ve done this with the boy he bullies, and the fact that he was much better at making you cum.

And the fact that his fucking dick was bigger.

The camera caught the undeniable lust from the both of you. Armin’s body only lacked his shirt while you were all spread out for everyone to see. Beautiful and brown with eyes begging for this nerd to absolutely slut you out.

“I’d like this position, just to show the camera how needy you are.” Armin muttered this to himself as he lifted you and moved you in the position of a reverse cowgirl. He was happily laid out with his blonde hair against his somewhat flat pillow. His hand kept a grip on the phone, pointing at your large, juicy brown ass that seemed to be overtaking his lower half. Armin was quite skinny, and your ass was far from that, as well as your thighs. So the picture was hot, just seeing how your thickness overlapped his body.

“Lean forward for me, pretty..” with another command, you leaned forward against his lower legs and your pussy opened up nicely for him and the camera. It was already nicely stretched from the constant use of his fingers. So, when Armin’s thick cock sprung out, it didn’t seem all that bad to imagine pushing inside of an insanely tight cunt.

“You are ethereal… an angel almost. That’s if you weren’t begging to be filled up.” With a tease, Armin let the camera capture his cock being slapped against your trembling lips. The scene captured his pc in the background, the screen projecting a computer game while a poster of Star Wars was up in front of you. Armin could already hear the wall punches coming from your ex’s room.. he couldn’t wait to send the video to him.. it excited the nerd so much that he had to be cocky about it…

Just once…

“Slip it inside yourself… see just how far a real cock can go.” Armin grumbled, knowing he was bigger than your ex. You indeed knew this too and his cock size kind of frightened you, but it made you wetter to think about. And without being a brat or being disobedient, you slowly grabbed Armin’s cock with a gentle hand before slowly aiming it towards your winking hole that was eager to be filled.

Your soft pants and moans didn’t go unrecognized as you slowly let his pink tip slip inside of you. The feeling was so overwhelming and it made your knees and arms all weak. Considering that, you were completely laying on Armin’s legs. His cock accidentally buried inside of you. It was so quick, but the feeling was undeniably strong.

“Fuckkk~… Y-You so fuckin big Armin~…”

It boosted his ego that he thought he never had, and he got it all on tape. The way you were starting to grind against him, the way you’d slightly lift your head to look back at him and the camera. All of it made him harder if that was even possible. “You love how it feels… You've never felt something as big as this in your pretty guts, now have you?” Armin asked teasingly as his hand moved to grip a handful of your ass cheek. He couldn’t help but make it jiggle and slap it with genuine love for it.

“No… no!… This the biggest dick I eva’ had…” you slurred, slowly beginning to rise your hips and drop them right back down. “Tell him that…” with a husky twang to his voice, Armin demanded you said this.. specifically towards your ex. His dominance really peeked through when saying those words, and you complied while slowly moving your lower body faster. Those musical juicy sounds started to get louder, and for some reason, Armin loved that even more than the skin slapping.

“Tell the camera.. how much better I am.. how much bigger I am than him… tell them, pretty..” Armin almost begged this, however it was overshadowed with his hostile dominance that made you tense up on his cock.. but those pretty cheeks didn’t stop jiggling on his pelvis.

“Armin~… y-your dick is-..fuck. Your dick is so much better than his… I love it so fucking much… I never felt Dick so far inside of me..” with a whiny tone, you moaned this out with struggle. The camera couldn’t help but catch the white precum on his cock, or that jiggling ass of yours that looked exactly like water. Your ass looked like you were suffocating Armin, but fuck could he tame it.

Smacking sounds came from exactly that, as well as your wet pussy being slammed against him. The rhythmic movements made it obvious it was good sex, and who knew Armin could take it? Who knew he was strong enough? This man could even keep the phone steady while being sucked in by your golden pussy. He was absolutely nerdy yet behind those glasses were dominant, lustful eyes that gained a hint of possession…

“That’s right, pretty… now surprise him by squirting on my cock.. he doesn’t even know you can do that..”

ⓒ Monstas1ut , Do not copy

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now. 

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[darkbluekies]

A oneshot let's see if I do this right, can you do a oneshot of Hedwig meeting the reader? As in the start of it all I wanna see a little mini story of all that

I've got my eye on you

female!yandere OC x reader

Summary: A new students catches the eye of the popular, rich girl and she finds herself falling for you harder than she's ever done before. Hedwig comes up with a plan to lull you in and make sure you'll be hers only.

Warnings: none really, I think, maybe manipulation? Hedwig changes in front of reader (back towards them) but still-

Word count: 2.1k

Senior year. Only one more year until she’s free and gets out of here. She’ll go to Paris. Or Milan. Maybe travel around the world?

Hedwig steps into the classroom and greets her friends. Her father has forced her to go to a normal school to understand the normal people. They’re nice, but she feels like they’re not understanding her in the way her rich friends understand her. Hedwig can’t talk about her life in the same way without getting jealous looks. But she’s come to terms with it now. Her wealth isn’t only negative, she's gotten quite popular by it. If you don’t want her, you want to be her. 

Everything is normal … until she steps her foot into the art classroom for the first time this semester. Someone is sitting in the very spot she normally sits. Someone she’s never seen before. 

“Excuse me”, she says. 

The person — who happens to be you — looks up. 

“Yeah?” you ask quietly. 

“This is my desk”, she says. 

“Oh, I’m sorry … I didn’t know …”

You’re about to take your stuff and leave, but she stops you. 

“No, no, no”, she says. “It’s okay. You can stay. There are two chairs, aren’t there? I’ll sit beside you.”

“I’ll remember it for the next time.”

“Thank you.”

Hedwig's friend has to sit somewhere else. The friend gives you a nasty look before sitting down in the front of the class. 

You start working on your new projects. Hedwig glances over at your self portrait and finds herself smiling. 

“Pretty”, she says. 

“Oh, thank you”, you say quietly without looking at her.

“I don’t know what I should do. I can’t come up with something.” She drops her pencil down on the table. “My brain isn’t working.”

You look up from your portrait and meet her hazel eyes. 

“Why don’t you paint a scenery?” you ask. “That always works.”

Hedwig smiles. “What kind of scenery should I paint? 

You think. “Maybe … a winter landscape? You won’t have to use too many colors and details.”

“Thank you.” She blushes. “What’s your name, by the way? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Y/N, I’m new.”

“Really? No wonder I didn’t know who you were. I’m so sorry for not noticing you earlier.”

She can’t understand how she hasn’t. You’re gorgeous! How has she not noticed you until today? Now that she has, she can’t tear her eyes off of you.

“It’s okay”, you whisper, suddenly embarrassed. “I was actually trying my best not to be noticed.”

“Why?”

You shrug and look away. Hedwig can feel her entire body heat up. She looks down at your hand holding the pen and wants nothing more than to take it in hers. 

“You’re good at drawing”, she says when she realizes that she’s been staring at your hand for a few minutes. Playing it off as staring at your drawing. “It really looks like you.”

“Thank you.”

“Could you help me with mine?”

You nod and turn to her. Hedwig’s holding her pen and you take it out of her hands in a gentle manner that makes her heart flip. Your fingers brush against her hand and it sends electric shocks all throughout her body. She gulps and watches how you help her sketch out an outline of a few mountains before turning back to your own drawing. All nerves in her body are screaming at her to make you touch her again. She can’t understand why she’s suddenly feeling like this, but she knows that she needs more. 

“I-I’m Hedwig by the way”, she says quickly, desperate to pick up the conversation again. 

“I know”, you answer quietly. “Everyone talks about you.”

“Oh.” Hedwig’s suddenly terrified of what you’ve heard about her, maybe people’s gossip has made you dislike her already? She feels a weird longing for you to like her, to give her approval. “What are they saying?”

“They talk about you like you’re a celebrity. They’re talking about your parents and how they think your life is. I’m not really sure, I haven’t heard much.”

“Don’t listen. People are always talking.”

You nod and the situation grows silent again. Hedwig bites her lip. 

“Could you help me again?” she asks. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You give out a small sigh and turn to her again. Unlike last time, you place your hand over hers, guiding her hand and the pen. Hedwig can swear that her heart stops at the feeling of your soft hand against hers. She feels dizzy. 

WHen it’s lunch time, Hedwig asks if you want to eat with her. You nod shyly. You’ve never sat with the popular kids before and you don’t know any of these kids. Only Hedwig and you only met her an hour ago. To your surprise, she barely acknowledges her friends. Her full attention is on you, asking you where you’re from, what made you move here, how your family life looks like, what your interests are, what makes you scared and happy and what kind of person you are. Not a single time during lunch does she look away from your face. She has a sparkling hint in her eyes and a smile on her perfect face. 

The very next day, Hedwig looks up from her desk when you enter the classroom. She’s sitting alone today.

“Y/N, do you want to sit with me?” she asks and removes her bag from the chair beside her. “I saved a seat for you.”

Without answering, you sit down beside her. She’s quick to turn to you and ask you about your morning. 

“Y/N, would you like to come over to my house after school and study?” she asks. “We have a test coming up in two weeks and … I need a study buddy.”

You nod carefully. A bit of help on geometry wouldn’t hurt. And that’s how you come home to Hedwig’s gigantic villa for the first time. It looks more like a smaller mansion than a regular house. A white — almost yellow — Georgian house with lots of details. The entrance to the driveway is a pair of giant black gates to keep unwanted people from coming in. She has a chauffeur who drives her to and from school each day and he greets you nicely, adding honorifics. 

“My parents aren’t home”, Hedwig says over her shoulder as you enter the big hall.

A maid welcomes Hedwig home and offers to take your bag, but you shake your head, too intimidated by the sheer size of Hedwig’s house to be able to think clearly. 

You follow Hedwig upstairs, bag clutched in your hands. 

“This is scaring me a bit …”, you whisper. 

“What?” she asks in worry. 

“All of this … it’s a bit intimidating.”

Hedwig smiles reassuringly. “Don’t be scared. It’s not a museum, it’s a home.”

Hopefully it’s your home too, but Hedwig doesn’t say that.

“Are you hungry?” she asks and opens the door to her room. 

Even her room looks like money. 

“A bit” you admit.”

“Yeah, I noticed that you didn’t eat the school lunch”, Hedwig smiles and. “I don’t blame you. I’ll go tell the chef to prepare something for you, okay? He makes fantastic food.”

“You have a chef?”

“Yeah! You’ll love his food, I promise. He makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches you’ll ever have. I’ll go tell him to make some for you.”

Before you can stop her, she’s already darted out the door. You decide to pass the time by looking around her white room. You find pictures of her and alleged friends on cruises and yachts, her in pools and in the mountains plastered on the wall. This girl seems to have been everywhere. 

“I’m back!” Hedwig smiles and creeps up beside you. “What are you looking at?”

“Just your pictures”, you answer. “Are these your friends?”

“Yeah … they are. I don’t meet them as much because my father wants me to be in a public school with all the other children of our city. They go to a private school together. But I spend a lot of my vacations with them. We’ve been all around the world.”

“I can tell.”

“Do you like to travel?”

“Who doesn’t? I like to explore new places, but it costs a lot to go somewhere.”

“What’s your favorite place to visit?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been to so many places. What’s yours?”

“I really like Paris. It’s a beautiful city and they have such tasty food.” She turns around. “Should we study a little?”

You nod. You sit down at her desk and bring out your calculators.

A knock on the door interrupts you. It's the chef with the grilled cheese sandwiches. Hedwig thanks him and brings the plate over to you. Two perfectly grilled sandwiches are placed on the porcelain. Your mouth waters. 

“Bon appetit”, Hedwig smiles. “They’re all yours.”

“Thank you”, you say shyly but you don’t dare to touch them. Somehow you feel guilty.

“Y/N, are you okay?” 

“Yes … I just feel weird for making your chef make this for me.”

“It’s his job, don’t worry about it. Eat up now!”

This time, you dare to pick it up and take a bite. Heaven has granted access to your mouth.

“I told you it was good”, Hedwig smiles. 

You eat while you study and when you’re finally done, you notice how much time has passed. 

“It seems like you’ll have to stay here overnight …”, Hedwig says and the next sentence she says is nothing but a great lie. “The last bus has gone and my driver has finished for the day. Can your parents pick you up?”

You shake your head. They wouldn’t be pleased to drive you at this hour. It only makes Hedwig smile. Perfect. 

“You can stay here, my bed is big enough for two”, she says. “Just send a quick message to your parents and tell them that you’ll stay here.”

You sigh and do as she says. Your parents send you a heart back. They’re only happy that you’ve made a friend. 

You eat a delicious dinner in the kitchen made by her chef. It hits you that you haven’t seen her parents at all, but you don’t question it. From what you know about her, they’re busy.

When you’re going to bed, Hedwig walks over to her walk-in closet to grab herself a new pair of pajamas for both you and her. One of them being in your size. To your great surprise, she turns her back to you and removes her clothes. You gulp and try to look away in embarrassment. 

“S-Shouldn’t you go into the bathroom to change?” you stutter. 

“Why?” she asks and turns around. “It’s my room. Besides, if models can change in front of twenty people they don’t know … I can change in front of one person I hold dearly. But if you want to change in the bathroom, it’s down the hall. If you want to take a shower, there’s a white towel for you hanging on the hook.”

It sounds like she has planned this. Because she has. 

You do take a shower before you change into her pajamas and return to her room. She’s lying in her bed, scrolling on her phone. 

“We have to be up by seven tomorrow”, she says. “Otherwise we’ll be late to school.”

You nod and walk around the queen sized bed. This feels so wrong somehow. You’ve never shared a bed with someone before and especially not a beautiful girl who changed in front of you fifteen minutes ago. Hedwig turns off her phone and lies down with her front facing you. You try to mirror her motions and soon you're both lying down, facing one another.

“Goodnight, sleep well”, she smiles and turns off the light. 

Her fluffy sheets and soft mattress lull you into a deep slumber. Hedwig, however, can’t seem to be able to close her eyes. She’s staring at your features, wondering how she got so lucky to get you here. Her plan worked! She’s a genius! Soon, you’ll agree to be hers and these kinds of nights will be a recurring thing. Soon, she’ll dare to wrap her arms around you as you go to sleep. She’ll be able to kiss you and give you everything you want. 

Oh, Hedwig can’t wait until you’re fully hers. Then, no one will be able to take you from her, because what Hedwig wants, Hedwig gets … and so has it always been. The ones that cross her always get shoved aside one way or another. 

“You’re mine, my wonderful little Y/N”, she whispers and lets her fingertips brush over your cheek. “I’ll treat you so well, I promise. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy. My beautiful Y/N.”

[panda-writes-kpop]

What does a demon and a function have in common? (You can test both of their limits!) - l. yb.

a/n: happy dami day! i know the timeline of this fic is messy, but just pretend that it's all okay and I will too :) also I wrote this because I was trying to understand my feelings as an aroace person towards love and I'm still really confused... but at least we got a good fic out of it! ❤️

tw: demons, undefined magic, lots of mentions of death, implied aroace! reader, a bit of religious trauma

word count: 2.6k

summary: you're in distress over your math homework and the pretty demon that helps you with it, and you're reluctant to let your heart do the talking since it ended pretty badly for your friend and her demon companion.

related fics: Demon! SuA - Tainted Love

♡ Masterlist ♡

You shouldn't do this.

You glare at the leather-bound book in front of you as you furiously erase another answer from your sheet of scratch paper. The book was a gift from a friend, one that had struggled with a demonic relationship before.

You hadn't heard from them in a year and a half, and from what you heard from mutual friends, they weren't doing too well. Although you weren't positive that the book was bad news, you had never seen your friend so desperate to remove an object from their grasp.

After doing a bit of research, you realized that it was a cursed tome. There were seven different markings on the cover, which meant that seven different demons were tied to the book. Luckily, only one had been released when your friend had opened the book.

Now, you had to be the one to safeguard it. To make sure that no one would ever be hurt by the book again.

But, as you stare at your Calculus homework, you realize that you have no idea what you're fucking doing. And at 10 p.m. the night before an exam, the tutoring center is closed and the professor is probably counting sheep while their students are stressing out.

You're well aware that it's a stupid, very dumb, unintelligent idea to open a cursed book in order to understand Calculus, but what other choice do you have? Do you fail this exam then fail the class, which would put you a year behind?

What would your peers say?

What would your family say?

A shiver down your back, from the looming threat of parental disappointment, causes you to drop your pencil and reach for the book. Your hand gently traces the seven etchings on the cover, and you notice that one isn't filled in with color. 

The demon that took my friend away.

You really shouldn't be doing this.

You think about the laundry list of concepts that you have to master by 10 a.m. tomorrow, and your decision has never been easier.

I'd rather stick my hand in an open flame than do another problem with no help.

When you open the book, you realize that you're blissfully unaware of how to summon a demon. Do you say a bunch of random words in Latin? Do you do a little hand motion? Do you need an offering?

You decide that your best option at summoning a demon that won't smite you immediately is to plead with the book.

Because desperate never goes out of style.

“Listen, I don't know who I'm talking to, if I'm even talking to anyone in the first place. I'm having a problem. …Well, it's not a ‘the fate of the world rests in your hands’ type of problem, but I still could use some help.”

An orange trail of smoke leaves the book in your hands and swirls like a tornado in an empty spot in your living room. Objects start flying around because of the tailwind, and you have to duck before you take a pencil to the eyeball. 

“Who knew Calculus homework could be deadly?” You joke as you try to not think about the magnitude of the situation that you're in. You haven't even met the demon yet, and the smoke that it creates(?) it is trying to kill you.

Not a good sign.

Once your apartment is messy enough for your demon of choice, the book in your hands shuts itself as the orange smoke starts to dissipate. 

You set the book aside as you gawk at the woman- no, demon that stands in your living room. 

She's dressed in all black, ready to go to a funeral.

You just have to hope that it's not yours.

“How can I assist you?” She softly asks in a semi-uninterested voice.

“I need help with Calculus.” You blurt out as she clocks her head at you.

“I beg your pardon?”

~

This demon was exceptionally smart, which was good for your tired, mortal mind. She also didn't kill you on the spot - a good thing, you assume, unless the murder is waiting for you on the other side of the Calculus homework.

She was taken aback by your request, staring at you in utter surprise until she joined your side and helped you with your homework.

Her voice was gentle and smooth, and you would've fallen asleep if you weren't thinking about being killed in your sleep.

“Thanks.” You rub your eyes as you set the pencil down as you check your phone for the time.

You're proud of yourself for putting your phone on dark mode (you've flash-banged yourself in the past, it's a one time mistake) as you realize that it's only one in the morning. With a few hours of sleep and a large container of your favorite caffeinated drink, you'd be fine for your exam.

“Is that all you needed? …A bit of guidance with math?” The woman sitting beside you is in disbelief as you nod your head.

“Is there something wrong with that?” You joke, momentarily forgetting that she's a demon.

“Forgive me, but the people who usually hold the tome are more demanding… and a lot less cute.”

“Okay, back into the book you go.” You toss the book her way before trying to hide her embarrassment. 

She chuckles softly before running her fingers over the spine.

“You have no idea how any of this works, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod your head before starting to put your school stuff away.

“Right, right.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. “Dami.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head at her, but she snaps her fingers and disappears with the book in an instance.

Well, that damn book is out of my sight and I now have a chance to pass my Calc exam. I'll take that as a win-win.

~

You don't remember climbing into bed last night (this morning? The days are blending together at this point).

Before leaving your apartment, you say a small prayer before grabbing your pick-me-up of choice from the fridge. You might have this exam on lock.

As you walk to class, you recite Calculus formulas in your head. Partial derivatives swirl around your mind along with the thought of the mysterious woman.

Dami?

She's not a directional derivative, so you should focus on something else. 

You, at least, had the demon situation under control.

 ~

This semester, you officially renounced your academic weapon status; instead, you were an academic victim. Although you most definitely messed up the first problem (why do all of the problems have the same wording yet completely different solutions?), you had the rest of it down.

Your confidence evaporated when the two classmates behind you started discussing their answers and got completely different answers to you. 

Maybe another semester here wouldn't be so bad?

“You did fine.” 

You jump as your eyes lock with the demon from the night before.

“Sorry, sorry.” You apologize to the two people behind you as you step to the side to speak with Dami. “I like your confidence in me, and I wish I had a fraction of it for myself.”

“There's nothing wrong with having a little pride.” She shrugs as the doors to the lecture hall open.

“Well, at least there's another exam a few weeks after spring break.” Ryujin shrugs before closing the door and walking towards you. “How'd the exam go for you?”

“It was okay.” You softly shrug as you glance between Dami and Ryujin.

“You're too humble for how smart you are.” Ryujin scoffs before turning to Dami. “You new here?”

“I'm just visiting someone.” Dami winks at you, and your eyes avert her gaze afterwards.

Ryujin sighs before adjusting her backpack and clearing her throat.

“They're not interested in guys or girls…. or anyone, for that matter.”

You playfully smack Ryujjn's shoulder before she pretends to be in extreme pain from the hit.

“It's not an absolute thing. I'll know if there's someone I'm interested in.” You nonchalantly say as Ryujin checks her smart watch.

“Oh shit, I've got class in fifteen minutes halfway across campus. See ya!” Ryujin waves to you both before offering a nod to Dami. “Nice to meet you.”

She runs off in another direction as your attention turns to Dami.

“Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I haven't been out of that book for centuries. I just wanted to see how humans lived.” Dami folds her arms before walking to you. “The world is so much different… better, if you ask me.”

“You're not like any demon I've heard of.” You blurt out before biting your tongue. “Sorry, that's probably really mean to say-”

“It's okay, and to be honest, I'd be surprised if I was like any other demon that you met. Not all demons fall from the sky, you know.”

~

It's been three hours, and you're still trying to come to terms with the fact that Dami’s a fallen angel. Who says that to someone after only two interactions with them?

Dami, apparently, because she's been watching you like a hawk as you sit across from her in the campus library.

“You think of me differently, don't you?” 

You don't look up from your computer as you tap your pencil against the desk three times.

Click. Click. Click.

“I don't.” You calmly say before writing an equation in your notebook. “I should be honest with you, though, since you were honest with me. It's only fair.”

You pause for a moment as Dami folds her arms and leans against the chair. She's trying to remain cool, but a small twitch in her left eye tells you that she's more interested than she appears to be.

It's cute.

“I had a friend who summoned a demon from that book… I don't know her name, and I don't want to. She ruined my friend’s life, Dami.” You explain your friend’s story, going through agonizing detail as told through their family and other friends.

You have to pause once to wipe your tears, and Dami offers a comforting hand as the other drops to her side. You, albeit hesitantly, take it. 

She should be cold like ice- undead, unfeeling. But there's some sort of warmth in her touch that can't be explained by the hellfire that she resides in.

Perhaps she's already gotten attached to you. You feel it too, you want to trust her. Can you, though?

She hasn't torn your arm off yet, so you're starting off on the right foot.

Trauma dumping counts as bonding, right?

You bite your lip before shaking your head, feeling the uncertainty of everything crash against you. What are you doing, trusting a demon that hurt someone that you care deeply about?

I can't do this.

“I should go.” You pull your hand out of her grasp as you quickly try to pack your things up. “I'm sorry, I'm probably shit-talking one of your friends that you've known for centuries.”

As you reach for your pencil, Dami grabs your wrist.

“I can't promise that I'm a ‘good’ demon or person,” She softly exhales before looking in your eyes, “but I won't betray you. Not now. Not ever.”

Something pounds, but it's not your head, swimming from the thoughts of your friends and the demon in front of you.

It comes from deep inside you, a feeling that you thought would be forever foreign to you. A magical feeling that “normal” people got to feel. The thing that makes them human, after all.

Your heart pounds.

This isn't you. You need to leave. Now.

Without exchanging another word, you run off into the afternoon light. You know she might follow you, but you hope she'll give you some space. 

I hope she doesn't hate me.

You need to get a grip, and fast, before you rock the boat that's been steadily keeping you afloat for years.

~

Five hours. That's the longest you can last in a little internet cafe before you put your tail between your legs and head home. You know Dami will be there, and you don't want to sleep on a park bench, so home it is.

Will she be mad at me?

Who cares? You're not in love with her, you just like her. 

As a friend. 

As someone you can hang out with. 

Someone to share secrets with.

Friends can kiss, right?

You've known her for less than twenty-four hours. You need to find where your sense of reality has gone and reclaim it before you head into your apartment.

But the key is already in your hand.

Your feet walk up the stairs without your brain telling them to.

You unlock your apartment door to see someone quietly sitting on your couch - the same spot where she helped you with your math homework.

Your stomach and heart fill with dread as you slowly take off your shoes.

She's been kind to you, and you ran off because you were upset about your own feelings.

You felt like a petulant child.

“I'm sorry for running off. I got upset thinking about my friend, and I should have talked through my feelings like a fucking adult. You're not like the other demon, just as I'm not like my friend. Feeling trapped by someone else’s opinions of you is rough,” You toss the keys on the counter before shedding your coat, “trust me, I know.”

Dami looks back to you, and the moonlight casts her in an angelic glow - she was ethereal and you didn't doubt that she was once an angel. You'd be more surprised if she wasn't one of God’s favorites.

Why was she here, instead of in the sky? 

You don't want to pry, but Dami’s the first one to walk towards you.

“I was worried about you,” She softly admits, “a demon, a former angel, a creature much older than you could comprehend, was worried about the safety of a mortal.”

When she is close enough for you to reach out for her, she reaches out her hand.

“I'm not an evil demon or a perfect angel. But I can promise you-”

“I think I like you.” The words spill out of your lips before you can truly think about what you're saying. “I mean, of course I like you, but it's not how I've liked anyone before. I like Ryujin as a friend, she's nice to me and we get lunch sometimes. But you… you're different. And being different scares me. It's not just because you're a demon, it's who you are. It wouldn't matter if you were a demon, angel, or human because I'd still feel the same way.”

You pause to take a breath.

“I'm not normal, and I'm probably not like any human you've met. I don't want a traditional romance with a wedding or kids. I don't want physical intimacy with someone who won't appreciate me. Hell, I don't even know if I want a partner half of the time. The only thing I know,” You take her hand before pulling Dami closer, “is that I want you to be by my side. As a friend or as something more. Whatever we will be, I know we'll figure it out together.”

“I want you by my side as well.” She softly mutters as you place your forehead against hers.

You're both quiet as you envelope yourselves in the serene environment that you've created.

“So, do I meet your devilish friends now, or do I have to take you to dinner first?”

Dami laughs warmly before pulling you close to her.

“Whatever you want.”

You're in deep. She has in her talons sunk deep under your skin, in less than a day. 

She could betray you.

You had to learn how to trust her.

And in time, you will.

[quixoticall]

The View Between Villages

Summary: Steve Harrington offers to be your ghostly tour guide after your mysterious, unexpected death.

AN: Hiiiii, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been then, first of all thank you for thinking of me, and secondly, I have been sick with bronchitis for weeks. Tbh I never understood in Regency novels where they would make such a huge deal about someone being sick until now. That shit took me out. Anyway, in my convalescence I watch the show, School Spirits and I couldn’t help but see the similarities between Wally and Steve—both men of the 80s, hot labrador retriever jocks with a compulsive need for parental approval? So, that’s how this lil piece was born. I would love to continue writing in this universe so please, if you have any requests, send them in! In the meantime, I am hard at work on This Could Get Ugly and a lovely lil Eddie number inspired by another Noah Kahan song.

Warnings: School Spirit!AU, Major Character Death, talks about own death, brief mention of violence and death, angst, this is sad! Ghost!Steve and Ghost?Reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

WC: 2K

It’s Steve Harrington who first declares you dead. Admittedly it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize, it wasn’t like they sent out notices for these types of things either, as convenient as a note would’ve been:

To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you that on February 12 of this year, you will unfortunately perish under unclear circumstances in the city of Chicago, Illinois at Northwestern University. Please make sure to get your affairs in order before the set date.

No, none of that, instead you had attended three whole lectures before noticing that no one was acknowledging you—not your professors when you raised your hand; not your classmates when you asked if they could loan you a pencil; not even your best friend when you ran into him in the hall. You thought it could’ve been a weird prank. Then the news began to spread, you were missing. Reported by your roommate after not having come home from a late-night study session at the library. And then they found traces of blood in the boiler room of the library’s basement.

Still, you thought to yourself, maybe you were having a really long terrible dream. Or maybe you were in a coma. Or doing one of those VR headset things. Or maybe you were dead and cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the very campus where you died.

Your friends were never the gym type, which is why you end up at the school’s pool in an effort to avoid the pain and desperation you feel every time you see their tired but still-hopeful faces.

That’s where you see him. Or, more importantly, where he sees you. You first spot him sitting at the edge of the pool, observing the ongoing swim team practice and are immediately struck.

Sure, you may be stuck in some weird reality where you may or may not be dead but you can still appreciate a hot person. Especially one as handsome as Pool Guy who’s striped swim trunks sit low on his hips and he has a smattering of dark hair trailing from his belly button almost up to the base of his neck. Thick, chestnut-colored hair swoops in his handsome face in golden-touched waves and gracefully frame a pair of honey-hued eyes. Of course you were going to stare.

You’re sure you stare for an indecent amount of time, but it wasn’t like that mattered, you remind yourself, you’re invisible to him like you are to everyone else.

Except you’re not invisible to him because Pool Guy was making eye contact and worse, he was waving, solidifying the fact that he is very aware of your presence. He can see you.

“Hi, you must be new here. I’m Steve Harrington, class of ‘86,” he introduces himself, with way too much verve once he swims over to where you’re still frozen in place.

“You can see me?” You ask, once you find your voice, “How can you see me?”

You reach out to grasp his offered hand and to your shock, your fingers don’t go straight through his, like it would with anyone else’s. Instead you’re enveloped in the warm solid grasp of his hand.

He cracks a smile at this, “because I’m dead too. Which, I totally get you’re probably wondering how someone this good-looking could’ve died so young but i will—“

“Dead?” you squeak out.

“Sorry,” he says with an awkward grimace, “I know not everyone likes that term, um, how do you identify—?“

You cut him off once again, “I didn’t know I was dead.”

It’s his turn to be confused.

“Really? Most people are really quick about putting it together. When they see their body the memories all come back. I mean even I put it together and I was never the smartest even before the accident—oh, shit. You’re the missing girl. The one from all the flyers.”

Clearly he’s referencing the myriad HAVE YOU SEEN ME? flyers with your face on them that paint the campus. Up until now, you had been categorically missing not dead, and now that someone has spoken your fate out loud, you’re certain it is all but sealed.

“Listen, I am so sorry. Let me go get someone who’s way better at this than I—“ you cut off his apologetic rambling,

“I need to leave right now.”

Before he can say anything else you’re running in the opposite direction as quickly as you can.

You don’t go back to the pool after that.

Being dead wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had spent a solid five weeks distraught over the loss of the life you had once lived and mourning everything you will never get to do. And yeah, it was a uniquely painful type of loneliness getting to see all your friends and never getting to interact with them, especially during those first few weeks when your disappearance was hot on everyone’s lips and heavy in the hearts of your friends. But outside of all that, being dead was okay. At least, you didn’t have to submit any more papers or do laundry.

After your encounter with Steve Harrington, class of ‘86, you decide to hole up in the library. You desperately convince yourself that if you search the shelves enough you’ll be able to find something in one of the many books that talk about the afterlife that might provide you some clarity about your newfound ghostly status. Surely there’d have to be something helpful. Anything. A ghost manual, perhaps or some graduate research paper about being stuck in between realms. You’d easily settle for a Chicken Soup for the Ghostly Soul.

Or you think traitorously to yourself, a tour guide to the afterlife, someone who has experience with being dead and a great set of abs. Every time you’re close to convincing yourself to go back to the pool, the embarrassment of your mortifying first encounter pulls you back. No way you were going to see him again. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you’d lost all your dignity.

Your internal back-and-forth ends up not mattering because he ends up coming to you.

You spot his well-coifed head maneuvering through the tall shelves from where you’ve holed yourself up on the fourth floor mezzanine and watch as he weaves through the unassuming crowd, completely unnoticed, just like you.

He’s wearing clothes this time, which both disappointing and surprising since you haven’t quite figured out the mechanics or social expectations of how often ghosts should be changing clothes. In a pair of snug-fitted jeans with a Northwestern Athletics sweatshirt and a pair of high top Nikes, he takes the winding steps up to your unofficial perch two at a time . If this is what he looks like some 40 years dead, you can’t imagine what he looked like when he had a pulse, it must have been like staring into the sun.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively when he approaches, like he’s sure you’ll run off spooked.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just, well, my friend Robin told me she saw you here and I wanted to come by and apologize for what happened. At the pool. I truly had no idea, sometimes I just say things without thinking, which I am working on, trust me.”

You smile, appreciative but defeated, part of you was hoping he was coming up here to tell you that there had been some sort of mistake.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it was just a bit of shock, is all. I guess I’m still adjusting to this whole being dead thing,” you joke weakly.

“Yeah, about that, if you ever need help adjusting or learning the ropes or anything like that, I—we are always happy to help. There’s a few of us that band together and we’d love to have you. Truly,” he claws nervously at the back of his head as he makes his offer the tip of his sneaker digging into the worn library carpet.

“Thanks,” you say, genuinely, “I really appreciate that.”

He looks at you now, finally, and his gaze is golden, warm honey and it’s like a shot to the chest. Like you’ve promised him the moon. A hand is extended towards just slightly, a twitch, and you realize he’s expecting you to take it.

“I can’t right now, though,” you say, lamely and you watch his smile waver. Quickly you add, ”I need some time, I think, before it becomes permanent. If I go with you, I’m dead. Alone up here, I’m still just missing. Does that…make sense?”

He nods, furiously, “It makes total sense. You can come find me by the pool whenever you’re ready. I will be there.”

He makes a move to leave and you register the paper in his hand for the first time. It’s a flyer with your face on it, different than all the ones before.

“Wait, what is that?” You ask, fingers skimming the plush of his sweatshirt to get his attention.

“Oh, um,” he swallows thickly, “they’re having a vigil for you tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d seen or if you were going, but if you were going, I was going to see if you wanted some company. “

His voice is small now and the regret is etched thickly on his face.

Fingers shaking, you extend a hand out for the flyer. Steve sighs but gently places it in your trembling grasp nonetheless.

It’s true, what he said about the vigil, you had no clue. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at your own face, long enough for the words to stop making sense, but not long enough for them to stop meaning anything.

Steve stays the entire time and when you sink to the floor, tear tracks heavy on your cheeks, he sinks with you. You cry, and he stays.

“I can’t go,” you admit, and then, in the same breath, plea, “How can I go?”

Next to you, Steve lets out a shuttering sigh.

“When I died, they did something similar, my parents came down from Indy and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to go either. But shit, maybe if I did, I would’ve gotten what I needed to move on from here. Closure or whatever. Or maybe not, who knows? But I will never know and I would hate for you to never know.”

It’s still too hard to go you decide, but you can’t pretend it’s not happening. Instead, the two of you sit on the roof of the library, feet dangling over the ledge watch a river of candlelight flowing through the center of campus. You can hear, faintly, as your friends make speeches talking about how kind you were, how good, how funny and undeserving until their voices fail from holding back tears.

You cry the whole time, but you don’t regret it.

The two of you stay sitting there far past the end, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, holding the pieces of you together.

After, when you’ve had enough of it all and the last candle has gone out, you turn to Steve and say, “thank you, that did make me feel better. You were right.”

He chuckles wryly.

“I don’t hear that I’m right very often,” he admits before cracking another smile, “but I could get used to hearing it, especially from you. Now, what do you say about getting some ice cream? No offense, but that thing was a total downer.”

You laugh, genuinely, not only at his joke, but the absurdity of it all before playfully shoving his shoulder. In response, Steve pretends to lose his balance and almost fall of the ledge and you both know it’s silly but it makes you smile so it’s worth it.

Dying is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to you, but at least you are not alone.

[not-a-space-alien]

Desperate Daybreak Chapter 3

In this chapter: Valen talks to vampire cops and meets a new ally.

Warning for this chapter: use of a homophobic/transphobic slur, misgendering throughout, police intimidation

MMSS masterpost

DD masterpost

On AO3

***

Valen wasn’t sure how many different ways there were to say “I didn’t kill my husband.”  He’d said practically every variation of it so far.

After the initial rounds of Who the hell is this? and Does Mrs. Kithrara have a brother? and Valen having to literally pull out his ID to prove he was in fact the recently widowed Valen Kithrara, the two officers sat him down in the foyer and refused to stop grilling him and asking him the same questions over and over again.  He was sure if Lex and Ari weren’t there, he would have broken down and simply confessed to the murder just to make it end.  He really wished he could hold one of their hands, but making sure they had their silver armor so none of the vampires around could touch them was much more important than that.

The two cops had obviously watched too many movies glamorizing solving complicated murder cases.  They had even designated themselves as good cop and bad cop, which was as patronizing as it was stupid.

The one who’d designated himself good cop tapped his pencil on his notepad.  “Look, we know you killed him, so why don’t you make this easier on all of us and just tell us how you did it.  This doesn’t have to be hard.”

Valen squirmed in the uncomfortable elaborate embroidery on the upholstery of the fancy chairs of the Kithrara estate’s sitting room.  “For the last time.  I wasn’t even on this side of the border.  I was hundreds of miles away.”

“You hired somebody, then,” bad cop insisted.  “If we pulled up your phone records, we wouldn’t find any suspicious calls to this side of the border?”

The idea that Valen could have hired a human to kill him, from one of the many, many vampire hunters he surrounded himself with, was so far from their minds that they just assumed Valen would have had to contact a remote vampire assassin to pull it off.  Humans were just so non-existent as a threat in their minds.  He almost wanted to point it out, if it wouldn’t have just opened another can of problems for him.  “I only cross the border to come buy supplies, and I barely ever call anybody over here.”

“So if we pull up the phone records, we won’t find anything suspicious?”

“No, I’m positive.”

“So you wouldn’t have a problem with it if we pulled up the phone records?”

“For God’s sake, pull up the phone records then, if you must!”

“Maybe we will.  It’d be easier if you just told us, though, you know.”

Valen struggled to hold back tears.  Don’t let yourself be humiliated in front of these men.  Not more than you already have.  “If I had anything to tell you, I would have.”

“Hey,” Ari butted in with a growl.  “Can we get this over with?”

One of the cops looked disdainfully at Ari.  “Mrs. Kithrara, can you keep your thrall quiet?”

Ari scowled.  Valen went to put his hand on Ari’s arm, then withdrew before he could burn himself on the silver.  “It’s all right, dear, just let me handle this.”

Lex leaned over to whisper comfortingly in his ear.  “You can do this.”

Despite finding massive comfort in the words, Valen looked up and was horrified to discover the two men were giving him a bemused expression, like they were watching a fully grown man be comforted by his mother, or perhaps a pet.

They thought he was pathetic, it was obvious they did.  He was on the verge of a breakdown just talking to them, and he seemed to need the comfort of a human.  He might as well have just pulled out a coloring book and crayons for how it changed their view of him.

But as much as he hated it, he knew that sometimes that could be to his advantage.

“I don’t even know how I would kill someone,” Valen said, finally letting the tears leak out.  “How could anyone even do such a thing?  It’s unthinkable!  To kill my husband?  Such violence… It feels like just yesterday I was right here beside him…”

The two cops softened, now that he was behaving how they expected.  Submissive.  Womanly.  Cowed.  Weak.  He hated it.  Oh, he hated it.  But it was working.  He dabbed at his eyes.  “I’m sorry for losing my composure… I’m just not mentally well, you know.”

“We know,” one cop said sympathetically.  “You poor girl.”

“I can only imagine you need some comfort,” the other said.  “I’ll give you my phone number for if you find yourself lonely now that he's gone.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ari muttered.

“Mrs. Kithara, is it really necessary to have both your thralls here?” He said it like it was gaudy and in poor taste.

Valen went red.  “Surely they aren’t being that disruptive.”

“No, no, I get it,” Ari said.  She tapped her knees and stood.  “I can’t keep my mouth shut, so I’ll wait outside.”

The two cops looked at her funny, like she was a dog walking itself by holding its own leash in its mouth.  “Uh-huh.”

“Do be careful,” Valen muttered, having nightmare visions of someone accosting Ari outside the door.  “Don’t move too far away.”

Ari waved him off casually and opened the door.

There was another vampire outside–way across the grand entryway, frazzled as though looking for something.  His head snapped towards Ari as soon as the door opened, and with the preternaturally fast clackclackclackclack of dress shoes on tiled floor, he was in front of Ari blocking the doorway immediately.

“There you are,” he said, and Oh, that’s Tessie’s voice, and Valen should have guessed by the subtle gold nail polish and the just barely noticeable discomfort at being in men’s dress clothing.  Valen wouldn’t have recognized it if he hadn’t seen the exact same thing in the mirror every time he put on women’s dress clothes. This was undoubtedly the Tessie he'd spoken to on the phone. “My client has the right to legal counsel!”

The two cops rolled their eyes and snickered.  “Sure.  So where were you?”

“I told you to come get me when Valen arrived at the estate, but apparently you can’t even be trusted to do that!”  Tessie stormed over and plunked into the chair beside Valen.  She was taller than him, although that was hardly a feat.  She had ashy, dark skin and eyes that were leaning more towards golden than red.  “I was looking for you because I had to hear that Valen was on site from one of the maids.”

“Sorry.  We couldn’t find you.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you looked all over the grounds.  Convenient that it gave you a few minutes to terrorize my client without my being here.”  She dropped a manila folder of documents onto the table.  “Any questions for Valen will now be addressed to me, and Valen will consult with me about the answers before you get them.”

Relief swept through Valen.  Oh, Tessie was a superhero.  Finally, someone who could and would just stand between him and this whole situation.  “Thank you,” he said meekly.

“Now.”  Tessie threw one leg over the other.  “I understand neither you nor the Kithrara family want me or Valen here, but Valen has the legal right to this estate and he has the legal right to an attorney, so we’re–”

“She,” one of the cops broke in.

Tessie’s manicured fingers stopped on the documents she was shuffling.  “What?”

“She has the legal right to an attorney.”

“The man has facial hair and everything,” Tessie muttered.  “Heavens above.”  She cleared her throat and raised her voice again.  “Anyway, the legal right to an attorney, so unless Valen prefers a different legal consultant–”

“I don’t,” Valen broke in quietly.

“–Which she doesn’t, you have to talk to me if you want to question Valen about the circumstances of her husband’s death.”

The two cops scowled.  “Fine, though I don’t know why they let someone like you be a lawyer anyway.”

Tessie peeled her lip into a smile that looked more like an animal snarling.  “Have you explained the basic facts of the case to Valen yet?”

They both fidgeted.  “That’s not how we were–”

“Members of the nobility have the legal right to have the established facts of a case in which they are a suspect explained to them fully before being obligated to answer any questions about it.  Decree 1,489 section 3 clause 8.”

“But we were just gonna–”

Tessie whipped out a notebook and started jotting things down.  “Officer… Davis… refused… to… establish… case… facts…”

“All right, all right, sheesh.”

“Oh, I like this one.”  Ari shut the door and sat back down. 

Valen swept his hair out of his face and crossed his legs with renewed confidence.  “Yes, if there are case facts, by all means I would like to hear them.”

One of the cops sighed and took out his notepad, flipping it back to an older page.  The bastard had a stack of notes ready to go, but hadn’t told Valen about it until someone came and threatened him with legal action!  Valen was so outraged he almost forgot to pay attention. 

“On the morning of May 4th, at 3:30AM, an incident occurred with four males of the Kithrara family who were together on an outing–Xavier, Priscus, Mordecai, and Sebastian.  There were four witnesses:  Xavier’s coachman, Priscus’s limousine driver, and two passersby.  The Kithraras were exiting the grounds of a theater and returning to the private lot to get to their vehicles when an unknown assailant propelled a wooden stake through the chest of Mordecai Kithrara, followed immediately by a second through Xavier Kithrara.”

“The limousine driver ran off at this point,” the other cop broke in.  “As did the two passersby.  Cowards.  No loyalty to their betters at all.”

“The coachman hid in the carriage but reportedly heard multiple gunshots, which according to him incapacitated both Priscus and Sebastian.”

“He didn’t go out to check until several minutes had passed,” the other cop sneered.  “No loyalty at all.  Cowardice.”

Even the first cop was looking annoyed by the commentary at this point.  “Anyway.  By the time police were on the scene, Xavier, Mordecai, and Priscus were all dead from wooden projectiles.  Sebastian’s body hasn’t been recovered yet.”

“He’s dead?”

“He’s presumed dead, but no one knows where he is.”

“Goodness,” Valen said.  “I hope he’s all right.”

The cop who’d designated himself as bad cop slammed his hands down on the table, making Valen jump.  “I bet you do!” he accused.  “As if you didn’t orchestrate this!  The order of assassination is perfectly lined up in such a way that it would be clear Priscus would inherit Xavier’s estate in the moments before his own death!  Mordecai dying before Xavier eliminated him as an heir, and the gap between Xavier’s murder and Priscus’s murder ensured the estate would go to you.”

Oh, so that was why they were convinced he must be behind it.  Valen did have to admit it looked suspiciously convenient that he would end up benefiting so much from this extremely specific series of murders.  But…

“I had no idea Priscus bequeathed the estate to me in his will,” Valen protested.  “Even if I’d wanted to kill him, I had no way of knowing it would benefit me!  I hadn’t been in contact with him for months!  When was his will last updated?”

“That’s besides the point,” came the reply.  “It’s also convenient that Sebastian Kithrara, the only person in any position to contest your claim, is conveniently missing.”

“I would never hurt Sebastian!” Valen gasped.  “You can’t be serious!”

Tessie stood, her chair scooting back.  “These are some very serious accusations to make without any evidence, officers.  Do you have anything that will hold up in a court of law?  Need I remind you that the nobility are explicitly entitled to the assumption of innocence in the absence of evidence, as per Decree 981, section 106 clause 4.”

“Mrs. Kithrara married in, and they've been separated, so she hardly counts as nobility, right?”

“Priscus Kithrara explicitly declined to sign divorce paperwork on multiple occasions and stated he didn't wish for their union to be dissolved.  And women who marry into nobility are entitled to all the legal rights of a born noblewoman, as per Decree 367, section 33, clause-”

“You and your clauses,” said Cop #1.  “I’ll show you claws.”

Tessie sat back down and started writing.  “Officer… Davis… threatened… physical… assault… against… a practitioner… of nobility law…”

Cop #1 crossed his arms stormily.  “Whatever.  We’re not gonna get anything out of the missus while this yahoo is here.  I think we’re done here.”

“I think we are.”

“Well I thought we were, first!”

“Well I concur!”

“Well you’re probably a faggot anyway!”

“Officer… Davis… leveraged… crude… language…”

“Don’t think this is the end of this.  The investigation is ongoing.”

And with that, the two cops absconded out the main entryway.

Valen watched them go with some relief.  “Goodness,” he murmured.  He unclasped his hands to find that they were sweaty.

“I don’t know where you came from,” Ari said to Tessie, “but thank you for saving our asses.”

“This is Tessie,” Valen said.  “We spoke on the phone earlier.”

Lex’s eyebrows went up.  “Oh, you’re Tessie?  Valen was so excited to meet you.”

Valen blushed, trying not to look excited for anything.  It wasn’t proper.  “Mrs. Tessandrax, these are my associates, Alexis and Ariana.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!”  Tessie went to grab Lex’s hand, before Ari broke in:  “Bad idea, sorry.”

Tessie pulled back.  “Oh?  You–Oh, you armored plated them!  That’s so clever.”

“I know they aren’t entirely safe here,” Valen said.  “I would rather no vampires touch them without permission.”

Tessie clasped her hands together, as though trying to restrain herself from shaking their hands anyway and burning herself.  “Very clever.  Yes, it’s so good to meet you.  I haven’t gotten to meet many humans who were, er, cognizant.”

“Right,” Ari said.  “So, pardon me for bein’ rude, but to get right to the point:  Why are you helping Valen?  Why’d you call him here and bust in to beat those cops back?”

“Right!”  Tessie's hair bounced as she gave a little hop, then she seemed to settle down, mimicking Valen’s attempts to restrain his enthusiasm.  “I know an opportunity when I see one!  This whole affair with the Kithrara estate is going to take years to untangle, and you’re going to need a good lawyer to guide you through the process.  And one who, perhaps, can help you navigate this in a way that benefits humans, as well.”

“Really?” Lex said. 

“I’m sympathetic to the plight of humans, and I’ve heard Valen is, too.  If we play our cards right, we might be able to shut down the blood farms entirely.”

***

Taglist

@tomato-whump @dragonfireridge @taterswhump @whump-cravings

@scoundrelwithboba @pigeonwhumps @whumpsday @whumpy-writings @fuzzydarkpebble

@melodicnommer @thecyrulik @snake462 @gt-daboss @appelsiinilight

@star-rott @mottinthemainpot @corvidat @melancholy-in-the-morning @whumplr-reader

@honeycollectswhump @dragonqueenslayer6 @whumpycries @starfields08000

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟒 (𝟏/𝟐)   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   THE DEN, AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  Leonor relished the daytime emptiness of The Den almost as much as the bustling nights she spent within it. Unlike most of Nakawe’s bars, it didn’t open until the sun went down, and it didn’t close as long as someone with the keys was willing to stick around. The first time Renzo asked her to stop by in the middle of the day, Leonor expected to find the place occupied but robbed of its liveliness. If not catering to the needs of drunks, daytime bars in her imagination were for desperate lunchtime breaks and closing business deals, neither of which Renzo’s private hideaway seemed to welcome. She was surprised to find him lingering on the sidewalk, waiting for her with a cigarette in one hand and a set of keys in the other. He pushed the door open and revealed The Den as she had yet to imagine it: empty, silent, still. 

❧ goes without saying but, if you're not reading the prose, you're missing half the story !!! part two soon ... (i am also proud bc i made many poses, pls clap)

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Renzo laughed at her, breaking the quiet. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” he said, mimicking a voice in perfectly unaccented Simerican that Leonor didn’t recognize. She had been standing, unmoving, while she soaked in the surreality. 

He was going behind the bar, hitting lights as he went, but knew to clarify, “You look like you’re in outer space. New planet. New dimension.” 

That was, in a way, how it felt. The soundproofing was impeccable. She couldn’t hear the boulevard just outside the door. Renzo began messing with bottles and humming to himself, but the few seconds after the door had shut were enough to make an impression. She liked being there during the day. She liked this version of the place, one that looked like a true escape from the world, where she could feel the residual good vibes of the previous night with the perfect clarity of a new day. She liked fanning her work out across the bar or on a couch. She liked pretending to be occupied with it while Renzo sat on the stage with a pencil behind his ear or colored block letters on handmade posters or laid, completely unmoving, on the dirty floor. Sometimes he worked, too. Leonor liked those instances best, and she allowed herself to be distracted by his miming of scenes and murmuring dialogue and tuning guitars across the room. 

“Why is no one else here?” she asked him one day, once this had become something of a once-a-week routine. 

They were curled up together like cats but were each engrossed in their own work. Renzo was reading a script, muttering words silently to himself. Leonor had a stack of policy briefs and a red pen. He took the pen from her after she spoke and began scribbling it against the flesh of her palm, gentle at first but then hard enough to draw out the ink in streaked lines.  

“You keep coming,” he said, enunciating each word. On her palm’s heel, he drew the glyph of his name. It was faint, so he traced and retraced the details. “I keep asking.” Then, looking up, he posed his own question. “Who else do you want here?” 

She shrugged, and he nodded. 

“If you’re worried this means something,” Here, he paused and angled the pen with purpose, tilting one end toward himself before pointing it toward her. “It doesn’t.” 

Renzo continued, sitting up, “Besides, I don’t wanna be around everyone all the time.” He said it as if the mere thought was an affront unable to be stomached. “God. Some of the people who come in here sometimes? Fuck.” 

“Why do you let them?”

Renzo reacted as if it were a question he had never pondered, and Leonor quirked an eyebrow as he sat there considering it. How foolish, she thought, if he hadn’t. She decided it was possible he was a fool, but she also decided that she should wait for his answer to really know—and, even if he was, that she would probably think it was endearing. He was the kind of famous that meant he had to be talented, not wise. Although he preferred providing a stage on which others might perform, she had seen enough to know he had talent. He made use of it. She already knew, too, that he wasn’t wise. She’d seen that when he’d said rude things to cameramen outside the bar or, on a different night, when he’d shoved another so hard he dropped his camera. That was inadvisable. It was even more inadvisable than Leonor having been there, at his side, walking slow to avoid stumbling, when it happened. At the time, she laughed. She could practically hear herself in the memory, giggling while a scuffle threatened to break out. 

Enough time passed for her to wince at the recollection before Renzo spoke. When he did, it was definitive. “I’m cool,” he explained. “I’m a cool guy. I have to be cool. You can’t be yourself if you aren’t cool, you know?”

She did know. That was one of the key distinctions between royalty and celebrity. 

Renzo elaborated further, “I start policing the door, that’s not cool. People make it into a problem. It’s just not the kind of problem you can have—not with people who are, as it were, your peers.” He sneered that word, and Leonor could picture who he meant. If she had come through that door with Kore during any other year of her life, she would have been one of them. “The more famous you are, the more you’re in rooms with fucking assholes. It’s just,” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes the assholes want to come into your room.” 

He gestured around with a grand flourish, and Leonor snickered. “Gotta let ‘em,” he sighed. 

She nodded, quipping, “You let me.” Immediately, she regretted voicing the thought, but Renzo found it amusing. 

“Not the same,” he responded, shaking his head.

With some success, she played an earnest question off as a tease. “Why not?” 

He shrugged, “You’re not a problem, Leonor. Nice girl, that’s what everyone said. I was, uh, excited you were here.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, adding, “Squeaky clean and incorruptible—they said that, too. Excitement, anticipation, same thing.” 

“Sure, okay,” Leonor chuckled. “I’m a real good-time girl now, aren’t I?” 

Renzo regarded her thoughtfully, and Leonor resisted the urge to squirm away. Their conversations always teetered on the edge of confessional, whether because Renzo spoke with such bluntness or because his openness encouraged her to respond in kind. Leonor never allowed herself to speak so freely as to admit everything, but she made honest admissions that Renzo accepted without judgment. He wasn’t wise, but he had, in some ways, lived more lives than she had. Usually, he just knew what to say. She took that as solid in some essential way, as a support to lean against. 

“You’re happier that way,” was his ultimate reply. 

Leonor sat with that thesis for a moment, debating whether it was true—or, for that matter, if the veracity of it mattered at all. She wanted it to be true. That had to be enough and, in that moment, it was. 

Now it was August. Months had passed since that conversation, but Leonor still felt the same way. She felt the same way, too, about the quiet of The Den on a weekday afternoon, which is how she found it now. She let herself in through the unlocked front door, knowing she would find Renzo somewhere inside. There were big plans looming. He might be stringing lights, or testing microphones, or standing with his legs wide apart and a hand pensively cupping his chin. On the phone earlier, he had sounded busy. He was instead at the bar, hunched over with a pen in his hand. Whatever he was working on demanded great concentration. Leonor allowed the big, heavy door to close slowly and gave herself a few extra moments. Partly, she wanted to delay the conversation. Another reason was to observe him. If he’d heard her enter, which she doubted, he made no indication. Through the dim lighting, she could see him chewing his lip. He tapped his fingers in a simple rhythm against his thigh.

“Writing?” she called, emerging from the shadowy entryway. The last sliver of sunlight disappeared as the door finally closed, hard but muffled, behind her.

Renzo didn’t look up as he replied, “Wrote. Done now.” 

“Is it for the reading tonight?”

“Did you write anything?”

Leonor wasn’t feeling light enough to laugh, so she made an approximate noise instead. “Why would you ask that?” 

Now, he eyed her with a look of provocation. “You’re an artist, Nora,” he said. “Everyone has their medium, sure—I’ve seen yours, very nice—but I think you should take the written word more seriously. It doesn’t have to be an endpoint, really. Maybe a translation.”

At this bit of persuasion, Leonor scoffed. “I can be creative; I am not an artist. Besides,” She paused, settling in on a stool beside him. “Everything for everyone is not the kind of world I want to live in.”

Renzo scoffed now, but he was smirking as he said, “Well, fuck, if that isn’t the most hereditary monarchist thing I’ve ever heard. Alright, my princess, if you say so.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she protested, but he waved her off. 

Solemn, he admitted, “It’s true. I’m jobless in that world.” Renzo held up his paper and inspected it. “Can’t host private poetry readings with free booze for my friends if I’m as poor as I was in ‘87, that’s for sure.” 

“Wouldn’t know me,” she said, lowering her head. It was meant as a gesture of mock sadness but, in this moment, she did find the notion disquieting. 

“You don’t know any poor people?”

Leonor’s rueful smile faltered as she considered that. “I don’t think so?”

Instead of laughing, Renzo looked at her with an expression that was neither quite amused nor fully bemused. She waited for a joke that never came. Instead, he turned back to looking at his paper. Tension mounted within while he sat there looking focused once more but otherwise relaxed. Finally, as if remembering they were in the middle of a conversation, he said simply, “I’m glad I know you, yeah.”

Leonor shifted on her stool. It was a motion of discomfort, something she could do while she thought of something else to say. In the process, she caught a good look at the words on the page. Her lips parted to pose the question—‘Will you read it to me?’—but she stopped herself. Renzo had gotten caught up in this occupation, it seemed. He must have forgotten why she called. She had half-expected him to be waiting, face toward the door, for her arrival. Usually, he was curious when she indicated she had something to share, not nosy or greedy for insight but possessed with sincere interest. He was a listener. He enjoyed it as much as whatever conversation ensued. Once, she decided to imitate his way of jabbing people with questions—incisive and direct, not pointed. His questions flowed without pretense. They were bare inquiries, genuine as his interest. Her question was just so: did he think himself trustworthy—did he want to be a confidante? 

His answer surprised her, and she had felt a kind of awe as he’d replied, ‘Honestly, no, that would be a bad idea. I know myself, so I don’t stop others from knowing me. User beware.’

Now, she leaned against the bar and heaved a sigh. Renzo looked over at her and let the paper slide unceremoniously back onto the surface. 

“What is it?”

Leonor snapped back to earlier that day. No longer sitting on a barstool beside Renzo, she found herself at a table that abruptly felt too small. Her father sat across from her, his hands folded on top, the thick band of his favorite watch visible under his sleeve’s cuff. It matched his wedding band. It was almost afternoon, and he arrived late to the early lunch he had requested of her. For twenty minutes, she sat at the table with her bare arm pressed against the warm glass window. She could have left at any point. It wouldn’t have been rude; better still, she could have imagined no reason to regret it. Yet, she didn’t. She sat and waited, staring out of the window or across the restaurant’s bustling dining area with an expression so forlorn that it compelled the server to stop by for a check-in several more times than was necessary. Each time, Leonor glanced up at her with a forced smile. ‘No, thank you,’ she would say. ‘It’s fine. I’m waiting.’

“Do you remember, I told you I was meeting with my father today?”

Renzo thought for a moment, then nodded. “Right, yeah, breakfast.”

“Lunch,” she corrected, before laying her head on the bar. It was cool, if sticky, and the embrace of her forearms easily blacked out the low light. “It went awfully.” 

“You said it was going to be weird,” Renzo responded. “Did he tell you what you wanted to hear—I mean, what he said he needed to talk about, was it worth it?”

Leonor closed her eyes. For a moment, she wished she could just drift off into a deep, unbreakable slumber, right then and there. She imagined herself slumped over on the bar as evening began, a curiosity rudely ignoring the raw, vulnerable poetry that a string of performers offered. Someone would try to shake her awake when the night’s end came. ‘Leave her,’ Renzo would say. ‘She’ll be okay here.’ And, she would be. Night after night, day after day, she would rest there. She would become more than just a fixture—she would be a unique decoration, a conversation-starter, really and truly part of the bar’s collection of interesting things. Becoming a thing wouldn’t be so bad. People would tell stories about her even after she had rotted away and crumbled to dust. ‘A sleeping princess sat here,’ they would say. ‘Her prince never came along, I guess.’

That didn’t happen, and Leonor lifted her head. “It was kind of hard to follow, honestly,” she said. “He was late, and he kept trying to rehash—well, he wanted to tell me about it again, you know, what happened?” Leonor sighed. “I wanted to cry. It was so embarrassing. It wasn’t even new information.”

“None of it?” Renzo asked. He had angled himself toward her, leaning against the bar while he gazed at her perturbed face.

Leonor, feeling pitiful, shrugged. “I didn’t really want to listen,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about Mother Beatriz the whole time.” 

Renzo’s heavy-lidded eyes ordinarily conveyed one of two sharply contrasting states. At times, he looked bored out of his mind—entirely removed from whatever was happening, on another planet even when his pupils weren’t giving away a convenient reason why. He had an almost unsettling kind of attentiveness other times. When they first met, Leonor found the way he had looked at her from beneath long, dark eyelashes alluring. She felt looked upon or looked through most of the time; with his heady stare, Renzo looked at her. She hadn’t fully appreciated the distinction until their regular conversations. Now, as she waited for him to respond to her admission, she appreciated it more. 

Finally, Renzo posed another question. “Do you think he was responsible?”

TRANSCRIPT:

LEONOR | Writing? RENZO | Wrote. Done now.

LEONOR | Is it for the reading tonight? RENZO | Did you write anything? LEONOR | Why would you ask that?

RENZO | You're an artist, Nora. Everyone has their medium, sure—I've seen yours, very nice—but I think you shoudl take the written word more seriously. It doesnt' have to be an endpoint, really. Maybe a translation.

LEONOR | I can be creative; I am not an artist.

LEONOR | Besides, everything for everyone is not the kind of world I want to live in. RENZO | Well, fuck, if that isn't the most hereditary monarchist thing I've ever heard. Alright, my princess, if you say so.

LEONOR | I didn't mean it that way. RENZO | It's true. I'm jobless in that world.

RENZO | Can't host private poetry readings with free booze for my friends if I'm as poor as I was in '87, that's for sure. LEONOR | Wouldn't know me … RENZO | You don't know any poor people?

LEONOR | I don't think so?

RENZO | I'm glad I know you, yeah.

[Leonor sighs] RENZO | What is it?

LEONOR | Do you remember, I told you I was meeting with my father today?

RENZO | Right, yeah, breakfast. LEONOR | Lunch. It went awfully. RENZO | You said it was going to be weird. Did he tell you what you wanted to hear—I mean, what he said he needed to talk about, was it worth it?

LEONOR | It was kind of hard to follow, honestly. He was late, and he kept trying to rehash—well, he wanted to tell me about it again, you know, what happened [sighs] I wanted to cry. It was so embarrassing. It wasn't even new information.

RENZO | None of it? LEONOR | I didn't really want to listen. I kept thinking about Mother Beatriz the whole time. RENZO | Do you think he was responsible?

[faffreux]

can you tell us about when you fell in love with fawful? :)

Yep. In fact, I'll write a whole mini essay for you so I can add it to the FAQ section of my website coming up shortly LMAO (SINCE I NEED TO FULLY ANSWER THIS QUESTION FOR THERE ANYWAY, RIGHT???) CLICK UNDER THE READ MORE TO SEE IT BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO BE THE LONGEST THING I'VE EVER POSTED HERE, LMAO.

To preface, I have been a fan of the M&L games going back to the early-mid 2000s when I was a kid. I had no involvement with fandom or anything of the sort back then but I used to hop on my mom's bulky computer and look up fanart and other related content as early as 2004/5 and as a result, ended up captivated by the characters long before I knew who they actually were. (As a result of this, I have the names and art styles of various old M&L fandom creators permanently ingrained in my head and often wonder where they are today since a good deal of them vanished..!) It wasn't until 2006 that I got my first handheld console (DS Lite) and of course, what did I do? Immediately begged my mom to order me a used GBA copy of Superstar Saga. 

When I finally had the game in my hands it was like coming home to a colorful world that I'd been captivated by for so long but never gotten the chance to actually explore until now. The characters felt like old friends and the Beanbean Kingdom as a location felt familiar and comforting to me. (As a side note, Popple quickly became my favorite. Shocker, right?)

I used to sketch various beans in my notebooks as well as on printer paper we had lying around the house. Long story short, I finished Superstar Saga and then a few years later in 2010 I picked up Bowser’s Inside Story and THAT’S WHEN THINGS SHIFTED–

BIS brought Fawful and his personality to life in a way that captivated my imagination like nothing else had prior. He quickly overtook Popple as my favorite character from then on forward… and that’s where it ends! Or.. is it?

Nah, that’s where it gets funky. Life got a little chaotic after that and not only did I stop playing video games altogether for many years, but I also almost completely gave up on art - the one thing I was most passionate about above all and thought I would make a career out of someday. A series of depressing events caused me to lose all hope and motivation for anything I created and the spark I’d kept inside of me for so long all but died out as a result.

We’re going to timeskip again, this time to late 2019. I’d just moved away from home permanently for the first time and had been getting settled in and no matter what I did to make my new apartment a cozy place it always felt like something was missing. My mind would keep wandering to the fact that I never made art anymore despite it having been such a key part of my life when I was younger. I so desperately wanted to change this and over the next few months the frustration only kept growing until on January 1st, 2020, I sat down in the living room with a pencil and paper in my hand and shut my eyes tightly before saying under my breath:

“I do not care what it is, I don’t care how it comes. Just please… PLEASE send me something to bring my art back. Anything… anything at all. I don’t care what I draw, I just want to be drawing again.” And with that, I placed the lead onto the paper and began to sketch…

And from there… a familiar face appeared!

(Now I could ramble to you about how much I do NOT like this drawing and how off model it is from how Fawful actually looks… but I’ll forgive myself since I hadn’t touched the M&L games in over a decade at this point and had forgotten most of Fawful’s character. And yet?? Here he was.)

How else can I explain it except that in that moment it felt like the pencil in my hand had suddenly become one of these:

A joy that I hadn’t felt in SO long suddenly filled my entire being and without wasting another second, I immediately went online and ordered both Superstar Saga and Bowser’s Inside Story to replay again. In the time waiting for the games to arrive I had started drawing daily again - sketching out various old characters of mine with dozens of doodles of the bean man stacked in between them all.

There he was… always smiling, always happy to see me, and oftentimes with his arms outstretched as if to give an encouraging hug. When the games arrived I worked through them quicker than I ever had prior - finishing up Superstar Saga in less than a week and subsequently moving onto Bowser’s Inside Story with a LOT of excitement built up for it. 

It was my first day playing and I was having the time of my life! The way Fawful looked in his little grey cloak with that enormous, charming grin of his as he bamboozled Bowser into eating the Vaccuum Shroom had me giggling with joy while words repeated in my brain over and over of: “I need to draw this later, I NEED to draw this later!!!” I WAS EXCITED ABOUT ART AGAIN… AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. I was practically hopping in my seat from the happiness I felt in my heart and chest every time Fawful appeared at this point!

This was how it felt until the moment I arrived at the Fawful Theatre and watched as he began dancing on the stage floor. THIS time.. something different came over me. If you’ve felt it before, then you’ll know what I mean when I say that it was like my entire body turned warm all at once, like some sort of flame had been lit inside. I’d never felt it for anything or anyone prior to then, and that's partly why it hit me as hard as it did. I was practically sweating.

Heck, I was so absorbed in my feelings that I had forgotten there was anyone else in the room with me! That is.. Until my roommate at the time spoke up: 

Her: Are you alright? Me: Uhhh… yeah, why? Her: You’re red as a beet. Are you sure you’re okay?

By this time I had realized what was really going on so I reassured her I was fine, grabbed my 3DS, and ran to my room to finish the playthrough on my own so I wouldn’t embarrass myself any further, hahaha.

In the days, weeks, and months following that moment I became dedicated to drawing the best art of Fawful I could possibly create! What started as a challenge to myself to ‘give back’ to the person who’d given me back the ability to create again turned into someone I genuinely could not stop drawing for how much fun I was having doing it. The desire to make better and better art in order to honor him drove me to improve at a speed I never had prior, and soon thereafter I created Jolligig as a way for me to be in this colorful world with him and to express the deepening affection I was feeling for him with every day that passed by.

By some miracle, my prayer had been answered and here it was in the form of a grinning lima bean.

[End of Part 1. Interested in the rest? Yes… there’s more, I’m sorry. Please let me know in the comments. This took a while to write so I thought splitting it up would be best if folks are interested, LOL.]

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.129 Friend

Sophia was still on the couch when I got home, rubbing her belly ever so tenderly. Knowing Dr. McKnight prescribed rest, I wondered if a little exercise would be okay. All that sitting couldn't be good for her health, but our focus was the baby for the time being. Besides, Sophia was perfectly happy to sit there and host our girl until check-out time; she was so beautiful doing it, too.

"Looks like our sweet potato is not a sweet potato anymore," I said.

"Nope," she replied, still rubbing her belly. "She is fully grown and ready to rule the world!"

"World domination already? I thought we'd have time for a few rounds of hopscotch before then."

She laughed heartily.

"I'm sure she will pencil you in."

"I hope so."

"So how is Maira? Is she coping alright?"

I paused for a moment, thinking about how to answer without going into too much detail. It wasn't that I didn't want her to know what we spoke about. I just didn't want to worry her...because of the baby.

"She, uhhh... She's got a lot on her mind. I think she'll be okay, though. She was talking about corrupting our child, so I'd say she's back, heh."

Sophia chuckled and shook her head.

"Hopefully she'll wait until she's at least a teenager! But I'm glad she's alright. It's so tragic what happened! That's way too young to die."

"Yeah, it is. What about Rashidah? She seemed okay at the parties."

"Well...you know how it is when you wear a mask."

I certainly did. We had become experts at it.

Sophia's text notification chimed.

"Oh! Speaking of her," she said, looking at her phone. "She's inviting us over tonight."

That was a first. We'd been together all that time, but now when it was critical for Sophia to rest, she invited us to her house? Sims.

"Do you feel up to it?" I asked. "I mean, you're in the home stretch now..."

"I'll be fine, Luca! We're just gonna go over there and sit around, so what's the difference?"

It wasn't the sitting around part I was concerned about. Socializing wore her out sometimes, and she was supposed to be conserving energy. But whatever my pregnant queen wanted, she got.

Mark and Rashidah lived in Willow Creek down the street from our old house. It felt really strange to be back in Courtyard Lane after all this time. Bittersweet memories came to mind as I glanced at our house. From the outside, it looked so cheery, with its manicured landscaping, colorful flowers, and white picket fence. The new owners had no idea what secrets lurked behind the walls and how many gallons of tears stained the pillows. Hopefully, they were having a much better time than we did. Flashes of lightning and booms of thunder cut my memory lane jaunt short. Mark and Rashidah came out to usher us in from the storm.

Naturally, Sophia and Rashidah flew to each other like magnets, sharing their excitement about the baby together. I didn't know Mark that well, but we tried a little small talk. As the night went on, the two lively friends carried on as always, laughing and swapping stories. Maybe she bore her grief better than Maira. After all, she was a lot older than Imran and may have already left home by the time he was born. Or perhaps she desperately needed cheering up, and Sophia had done her job well. Either way, I was glad we left her in higher spirits.

[thepenultimateword]

Hey! Can you please continue short prompt #56? I’m literally on the edge of my seat wanting more lol. Thx ❤️

Part One

Supervillain's office smelt like someone had dumped a gallon of autumn spice cologne over every cherry wooded inch of the room. Villain tried hard not to gag as they came through the door--they were already in enough trouble as it was--but they couldn't seem to completely wipe their grimace. The scent made their eyes sting and lingered bitter in the back of their mouth.

"You needed me?" Villain piped up and then immediately winced. Was Supervillain going to take that in a romantic way? Of course, Supervillain didn't need them; first of all, it was just a dating app match, and second of all it wasn't like Supervillain couldn't date whoever they wanted. They didn't want Supervillain to assume that they assumed that something was about to happen between them. Villain wasn't that pathetic. Or desperate. Or interested.

"Ah! Villain." Supervillain swiveled in their desk chair, steepling their fingers beneath their chin. "Quick question. Roses or orchids?"

Villain stared, facial muscles seizing in involuntary shock. They didn't even think they could blink. "Uh...orchids?"

"Eating in or eating out?"

"I don't get why--"

Supervillain cocked their head to the side, the sharp cut of their slow blink stopping Villain short. Those eyes were like clear-cut diamonds, so pale they were almost devoid of color. In picture, Villain could stare for hours, but in person, it was a little like being flayed alive.

Villain swallowed. "Depends on my mood and how long of a day I've had."

Supervillain considered that for a moment, and though their eyes vaguely clouded over, the change in luster was not enough to stop their vacant gaze from piercing straight through Villain's throat. Another sudden blink seemed to file that information away for later and on they went.

"Movie or dance?"

"Movie I guess."

"Salty or sweet?"

"Neither. Spicy."

They were getting the hang of this question game.

"PDA or privacy?"

Nevermind.

Villain blushed and looked down at their knees. "A little of both."

This time Villain did take a physical note on the notepad in front of them. Then they marked something on a grid sheet and nodded Villain politely back toward the door. "Alright, I'll take that into consideration. You can return to your workstation now."

Villain blinked. "What?"

"I said that's all I need from you, you can get back to work."

Was Villain hearing this right? Not acknowledging the dating app was one thing--there were a million ways to explain it away, and after all, it was sort of embarrassing--but to ask all these odd personal questions and then dismiss them?

"You're not even going to tell me what all these questions are for?"

"Just a little pop quiz."

Villain blinked again. "What?"

Supervillain pulled a stack of papers across the desk and began initialing sections every few paragraphs. "I'm gathering data from my admirers in order to transfer it into my ruling style. Whatever attracts you to me could also be used to "attract" more followers and sway the public to my side."

"Oh." Villain hated the humiliated flush spreading across their cheeks, but they hated the disappointed knot in their chest even more. "That...makes sense."

Stupid. Why didn't they deny it? Tell Supervillain that their little narcissistic test didn't apply to them because they'd only swiped up out of pity. Why did any words at all refuse to come to their mouth?

They turned numbly back toward the door, barely feeling their legs move them across the room and down the hall back to their desk. They stared blankly at the blueprints they'd been drawing up for a new destructive weapon, something that had been meant to really make them stand out from the rest of the think tank, and half-considered crumpling it into the garbage can beside their desk before they forced their hand to take up their pencil again and went back to sketching lines. This jilted feeling didn't mean they still didn't want a raise.

They lost themselves in the work, letting it consume them whole, anything not to think about the humiliation and irritating hurt roiling in the back of their mind. It was nearly midnight when they realized Supervillain's story made no sense. How did gathering data on Villain have anything to do with Supervillain's admirable qualities?

They must have dozed off sometime after that because when they came to themself again, they were blinking morning light from their eyes and their cheek was pasted to the blueprint sheet. Lifting their head groggily, the glint of blue glass caught their eye.

A little vase of red orchids sat safely on the far corner of their desk.

Villain rubbed their eyes, but when they lowered their fists the orchids still stared prettily back. They looked around the empty office for matching gifts, even mozied around to the other dead departments to widen the pool, but it became quickly apparent that they weren't going to find anything.

They were the only one with flowers, and based on yesterday's interrogation they knew who they were from. They just wished they knew what that meant.

…

I felt like this scenario could go lots of ways, hopefully this one is ok :)

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer

[idyllicwillowtree]

A Good Pair (of Skates)

Genre: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, afab!reader, rollerskater!reader, y/n

Summary: Steve’s in love with his childhood best friend and he does everything he can to keep his feelings a secret from you. A roller skating injury might change that.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, friends to lovers, injury, broken bones, mutual pining, road rage, he want you to have his babies, hurt x comfort, use of y/n

Author’s note: My first fic! I broke both my arms while roller skating (but I was by myself) so this is loosely based on true events!

part 2 | main masterlist

Part 1:

“Hey! Settle it down, you’re gonna scare away all my customers,” Steve ordered in his signature “dad tone” as he whipped open the glass door at Family Video.

Mike and Will were seated at the dark green bench outside the store while Dustin was standing and waving his arms frantically. They were all arguing about different Dungeons and Dragons strategies, a game Steve will never understand. It’s not like he hasn’t tried playing before but he just couldn’t get into it, much to Dustin’s disappointment. 

“I don’t think you want us to leave, Steve,” Will commented, sharing a knowing smile with Mike and Dustin.

“Oh yeah, Byers? And why not?” Robin said, popping out from behind Steve. The working duo didn’t really want them to leave, though. They were in desperate need of a distraction so they could survive the last hour of their shift.

Dustin raised a brow, “because our ride happens to be your favorite customer, Steve.”

Steve finally took the time to look up at the mostly vacant parking lot, surprisingly quiet on this nice summer evening. A beautiful golden color lit up the end of the day as the sun was getting ready to set. The sharp ka-thumps of a basketball caught his attention next. Lucas was patiently teaching El how to dribble and pass the ball a few yards away from them. She was taking it very seriously, eyebrows pinched in concentration as she listened to her friend.

“Yeah, well as much as I like those two, I don’t think-” Steve abruptly cut himself off, realizing they don’t have a car, they can’t even drive yet, duh. His eyes slowly widened as he heard his favorite sound in the world. 

Your laughter filled the air as you zoomed past the group at an alarming speed, Max gliding quickly behind you. 

“Hey! You’re cheating,” the redhead exclaimed with a laugh.

“There’s no rules in drag racing, Mayfield” you teased. 

“There’s no rollerskating in drag racing either,” she quipped back.

Steve realized Max was on her skateboard and you were wearing your famous roller skates, the tan and worn out boots you’ve had ever since your feet stopped growing. He once offered to get you new ones for your birthday, fearing for the safety of your ankles, but you had declined. It’s not like you couldn’t afford new skates, he just thought you deserved something new and nice. But you liked what you were familiar with.

We’ve been together for so long! If I were to get new ones it would almost feel like cheating! You laughed, trying to be serious, but even you knew how silly that sounded. 

Fine, just don’t come crawling to me when your ankles snap in half!

Okay fine, I guess I won't! You playfully shoved at his chest.

Wait, wait, you can come to me. I'll just have to give you a lot of shit for it though.

Deal. 

Stubbornness was an ugly trait in most people but you managed to make it beautiful. You did that with the majority of the things in Steve’s life. No matter how horrible his day is, one look from you and all the ugliness of the world would simply melt away. Every look, every shoulder graze, every embrace, he’d treasure it. He treasured you.

Steve was brought back to reality by an uncomfortable intrusion in his ear. 

“Damn it, Robin!” He swiped at the pencil she was trying to stick there, “I told you to quit doing that.”

“But you make it so easy,” she teased, basking in the validation of the other kids’ snickering.

Robin started messing with Steve when she realized he would fall into a bit of a trance when he was busy admiring you. Placing small pieces of trash in his hair, sticking candy up his nose, things like that. It made his blood boil, mostly because it was frustrating to be stuck in a hypnotic-state of love without actually being with the person he’s in love with, and all his friends were there to witness it. This was made worse by their incessant teasing. He hated himself for being so obvious, that meant it was only a matter of time before you figured it out and would hate him for it. Steve figured you’d want nothing to do with him if he tried to change the dynamic that you already had, but it was getting increasingly difficult to mask his affection for you.

“Hey guys,” you said breathlessly as you rolled over to the group. He did the quickest glance to your heaving chest, hoping his eyes were fast enough for no one to notice. “Hi, Steve,” she added, causing Steve to send you a dopey smile.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you guys up to today?” Steve said, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady and casual.

“Oh you know, just lugging the crew around,” you gestured towards your trusty yellow ‘67 Volkswagen Kleinbus. Giant enough to fit all your friends. How’d he manage to miss that? Every time he hears the gentle purr of your car’s motor he’d come running, but the walkman he was listening to earlier must’ve drowned it out. “Thought we’d pay you guys a visit and maybe pick up a movie.”

“That’s good ‘cause we’ve got plenty of those,” Steve awkwardly jokes. He missed the door frame as he moved to lean on it but he’s hoping he saved it well enough for you not to notice.

It took only a second before a loud laugh bubbled up from your throat, causing you to let out more of a snort than the dainty giggle you were going for. Everyone else stayed quiet, not appreciating the joke as much as you did. Mike looked downright disgusted by Steve’s attempt at humor, but that didn’t matter as long as he got a chance to hear you laugh.

“You guys should come over after work and watch with us,” you said excitedly. “My parents are gone for the weekend so we get the whole place to ourselves.”

“We would just LOVE that, wouldn’t we Steve?” Robin gripped his shoulder and shook it with more force than was necessary.

“Y-yeah that sounds like a great idea, we’re definitely in.”

“Great,” you beamed at him. You pulled out a couple of bucks out of your jean short pockets and handed them to Will, “Will makes the final call on the movie decision, no exceptions.” Dustin and Mike groaned in response. “Don’t give me that! Unless you two can finally agree on something then you can choose, but Will’s the only one who actually thinks about what the group would want. They don’t call him Will the Wise for nothing.” The boy’s ears and cheeks turned a bold shade of pink, embarrassed by the positive attention he was getting from someone he looked up to so much. 

“Will calls himself that,” Dustin grumbled.

“No talking back Dustin,” Steve added cheekily.

You sent Steve a goofy smile as Dustin harrumphed in protest. 

Max got impatient by the lack of attention you had on her. Instead of using her words she hooked her fingers into your back belt loop and started wheeling you away. “Make sure they stay in line, Harrington,” you said, ignoring the redhead as you continued being pulled backwards.

“I’m on it, Y/L/N,” he saluted. You giggled and turned around to playfully scold Max about her manners.

You and Steve had always had this good-natured mom and dad role in the group. The younger of the kids appropriately nicknamed your bus the “mom-mobile” as you’ve taken it upon yourself to carpool them around the entire town whenever they asked. When Steve had work, you were the driver but Steve made sure he was the one behind the wheel whenever he was around. It’s not like you were a bad driver, he just wanted you to relax and focus on picking the music. 

He would imagine being an actual dad with you by his side whenever he was in the driver's seat. Steve couldn’t help but fantasize about how you’d be as a real mom. So supportive and sweet, but strict and protective when you needed to be. You took your role as group mom very seriously. Going as far as to remember and plan everyone’s birthdays, making sure everyone ate food and drank water, and you would even volunteer to make extravagant Halloween costumes for them. Steve would chastise you for spoiling them too much but you’d just shake your head at him and smile. It was just as nice for you to spread the love as it was to be on the receiving end of it. 

You and Steve grew up near each other and have been friends since he saw you skating around in circles on his street. It was a warm spring day when he saw you out his window. You stumbled every so often but never managed to fully fall. His parents weren’t home and he decided to just start biking alongside you. When you spotted him you lit up and shyly asked him his name. 

‘I’m Steve, do you want to be friends? I have a pool!’

Relationships were so much simpler back then.

Your parents, much like Steve’s, were never really around. You both bonded over your lack of parental supervision. Birthdays and holidays were always spent making sure the other one wasn’t alone. Even when Steve started to become more focused on popularity, he always made sure to find time to make you feel loved and special. Steve felt so lucky that they were both welcomed into their new group of friends together. This ‘found family’ would not be the same to him if you weren’t a part of it.

You were always one step ahead of Steve, anticipating everyone’s emotional needs before he could. He knew for certain that he wanted someone like you for his future children. Steve convinced himself that there had to be other women out there who were just as equally thoughtful and patient as you, but deep down he knew no one could compare. The longing he felt for you was resting heavily on his heart, but he had to resist so he didn’t ruin your friendship. It was 10 years in the making, all you had were each other. He couldn’t risk losing the one thing that anchored him just because he was having romantic feelings.

He stood there in the Family Video doorway for a few more minutes, watching as you gracefully circle Max, making it look like you were walking forward while actually moving backwards. He admired the way the golden sun spread across your body and the way it magically transforms your eyes into a whole different color. 

Steve used to be nervous about your lack of safety gear when you would go out skating but once he saw you in action after you practiced more he loosened up a bit. The skates were like an extension of you, anyone who watched you would see that. Your passion shining through as you glided around the parking lot, occasionally flowing into a beautiful spin. Those were Steve’s favorites to watch, your hair would splay out with the movement, the colors of your outfit blending together, and your arms pumping you around and eventually being placed in a delicate pose as your momentum picked up. 

You’d make it look so easy and smooth that even Steve believed he could emulate the grace you possessed on wheels. He has tried before, much to your delight, but it was definitely harder than it looked considering he ended up with two bloody elbows and a fat lip. At least you were there to patch him up afterwards. Hating the sting of the alcohol wipes but enjoying the excuse to be close to you and to have your delicate fingers on his skin. 

Robin managed to get a Red Vine part way up his nose without him noticing before he dramatically smacked it away. He spun towards her ready to give her a piece of his mind when suddenly your terrified voice broke through the peaceful evening.

“MAX! LOOK OUT!”

Steve turned just in time to see you yank the young girl backwards by the back of her bright blue t-shirt. You successfully pulled her away from a pick up truck that was going way too fast in the parking lot. You weren’t able to save Max’s skateboard as the car drove right over it, splintering it to pieces. You both landed on your backs, Max not hitting the ground as hard as you did since you were still on wheels. The man driving continued on at the same speed and even had the audacity to stick his hand out the window to flip the girls off.

El’s instincts took over and she stopped the truck with her powers, causing steam to smoke through the front of the vehicle. The man stepped out in a rage.

“What the FUCK?!” he bellowed in anger, confused by the sudden damage to his precious car.

“Robin, call Hopper!” Steve called out before sprinting towards you two. He needed to make sure everyone was protected from this angry man so he could focus on making sure you and Max were okay, he could trust Hopper to do just that. 

He ran as fast as he could, Lucas trailing closely behind him, basketball forgotten. Max sat up slowly and looked at you with worry in her eyes, you were still laying in the same spot on the ground, frozen.

“Shit! Are you guys okay?” Steve panted as he came to stop in front of you. Lucas was already helping the redhead up and gently brushing the dirt from her clothes. “Y/N?” Steve questioned gently. Your eyes were open, at least you were conscious. It looked like you were processing what had just happened, “Hey doll, are you hurt?”

The nickname made your eyes snap to his brown ones, with a shaky voice you said, “oh, uhh, hi Steve…I don’t think so…”

That wasn’t very convincing.

“I’m gonna sit you up now, okay?” Steve communicated clearly.

You nodded slowly at him, giving silent permission for him to help you. He reached behind your upper back and gripped your hand gently.

“Shit,” you hissed as he pulled you to sit.

“Shit - sorry - shit! What hurts, doll? I’m so sorry,” Steve said, chastising himself for not being more careful.

“It’s okay, Steve. I think I just landed on my arms wrong.”

His eyes scanned your arms, he stopped himself from touching you in case he caused you more pain. Your limbs were at their normal shapes, no bones sticking out at unnatural angles or anything obvious like that. But the way you sat there with your arms still, making sure you didn’t jostle yourself, indicated to Steve that you weren’t okay. He had participated in enough sports over the years to recognize the panicked look of someone who had just broken a bone. Steve’s big hands were hovering around your upper body, unsure of what to do. You missed the warmth they transferred to you when he helped you sit up.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Max told you quietly, kneeling down to your level.

You plastered a big smile to your face and in an overly patronizing tone you said, “oh little Miss Max, you’re so silly. Of course I had to.” 

She rolls her eyes with a soft smile, appreciative of your selfless act but still nervous about your condition. You tried to reach out to her but your arms weren’t responding, this caused your smile to drop and Steve’s anxiety to spike. 

Robin was dealing with the irresponsible driver after getting off the phone with Hopper, who was thankfully on his way. The man was convinced that you and Max had something to do with his car breaking down and was yelling at Robin about it. Mike and El stood behind her as back up in case she needed it before police could arrive. 

“Shitshitshitshitshit...” The familiar sound of Dustin’s repetitive cursing became louder and louder as he got closer with Will by his side.

“Are you guys okay?” Will said, brows pinched in concern.

Max responded, “I’m fine, but Y/N isn’t.”

“SHIT,” screeched Dustin, causing Steve to flinch slightly. He swiped a hand over his face in frustration.

“I’m fine guys, seriously. I just…I just can’t really move my arms, no big deal,” you mumbled the last part, still trying to diffuse everyone’s worry.

“Alright that’s it, we're going to the hospital,” Steve said sternly, making the call to get you professional help. He began untying the frayed laces of your skates and sliding them off your feet. Will silently went to retrieve your Reebok sneakers that you had stashed in your Volkswagen. 

“What?! No Steve, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Steve was already lifting you to a standing position by your hips, not wasting any more time. “You’re hurt and we have to get you help.” 

“I’m fine, Steve, I just need to sleep it off and I’ll be good as n-new,” you said as you tried your hardest to straighten your right elbow, your left wrist not doing any better. There was blood and dirt into your palms, evidence of where you landed. As a skater you know that you’re not supposed to stick your arms out when you fall but your instinct to protect Max took over.

You were actually convinced it wasn’t that big a deal. Adrenaline was still coursing through you so you weren’t able to fully feel how messed up your bones felt. You assumed it was at most just a sprain that you could easily nurse on your own at home. You barely ever get hurt, this is a whole new experience for you. Even when the group was out fighting monsters and Russians, you had managed to make it out mostly unscathed every single time, much to Steve’s relief.

Steve’s grip stayed planted on your hips. If anyone said anything he’d claim it was just to make sure you didn’t tip over, and that might be the case but in reality it was mostly to keep you close to him. “Sweetheart, your arms could be broken. We have to go,” he stated gently.

 “I don’t-...broken?” You had a rebuttal already queued up in your mind before processing what Steve had said. Once he mentioned the “b-word” your nerves started seeping in to replace the adrenaline in your veins and it became more real. Will handed your shoes to Steve and he bent down to slip them on your feet, carefully making sure you didn’t fall in the process. You tried placing your left hand on his shoulder to steady yourself but instead you winced at the dull ache in your wrist.

Steve stood at his full height and was prepared to counter your arguments so he could get your stubborn self to the hospital, “we need-.”

“Okay,” you surrendered softly, glancing up at his eyes before looking down at your shoes. They were equally as worn out as your skates. 

Steve allowed himself to be surprised for only a second before jumping into action. He plucked the “mom-mobile” keys out of your pocket by the colorful braided lanyard that was sticking out of your jeans and started escorting you towards his BMW, hands back on your waist.

“Give these to Robin, she’ll drive you guys home” he said tossing your keys to Lucas. That was the first time since you fell that he took his gaze off of you. 

He wished he hadn’t. 

Steve witnessed how upsetting this was for the group of young teens which made his heart hurt even more. 

Dustin wore his heart out on his sleeve so he was openly letting the tears flow down his cheeks into his quivering chin, while Max was trying her hardest to keep the tears from escaping as she watched you carefully. Lucas looked at how gentle yet strong Steve was being towards you and tried to mirror that with Max. Poor Will looked like he was going to yak all over himself. Sure, they all have the shared trauma of fighting actual monsters, but this was so normal that it almost scared them more. Almost. Seeing a man who is just a man, not some sort of evil supernatural creature or mad scientist, do something so inhumane was very alarming.

Now wasn’t the time to comfort the young teens, as much as Steve might want to, but his focus had to be on you. He knew they could handle themselves, they’ve proven it time and time again. 

Steve was leading you towards his BMW but unfortunately, you two had to walk past the man from the truck in order to get there. Luckily, Robin had been defending you and giving the driver a piece of her mind. Robin’s tactic was to just keep talking at the man, leaving him angry and confused, not able to get a word in. Steve trusted that Robin could handle it until Hopper arrived.

“Robin, you’re gonna have to close up. I’m taking Y/N to the hospital.”

El gasped but you sent her a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes, but it was enough to let her know you’ll be fine.

Steve made eye-contact with the driver, sending him the most intimidating look he could muster. He couldn’t stop the rage from building inside his chest as he looked at the poor excuse for a man. He wore grimy overalls that strained against the pressure of his beer-belly. There was a sweat stained t-shirt underneath the denim that Steve assumed used to be white. His patchy beard, that was filled with crumbs, barely hid his excitement at seeing you hurt. 

“That’s what happens when dumb broads like you mess with my truck,” he commented gravelly, still convinced that you and Max were at fault for breaking his clunky vehicle.

Steve felt you tense beside him and before Steve could launch himself at the man, he heard sirens in the distance and decided to let Hopper handle it. His focus needed to be on getting you medical help.

Steve continued with you towards his car and opened the passenger door, gently helping you settle in the familiar spot. The smell of leather and stale coffee would usually envelop you in comfort, sending you into a calm and relaxed state. Being in this spot meant you were with your best friend, but for now all you could focus on was the pain continuing to blossom throughout your arms

Before closing the door Steve knelt down on the ground next to you, trying to catch your eye. They were dancing across the dashboard, not really focusing on it. He could see all the bad thoughts swarming through your head by the look in your eyes alone. 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that. Everything’s going to be okay, I’m right here.” Steve placed a warm hand on your knee and it grounded you immediately. Your wide eyes moved to look over at him. You sniffed before nodding, not trusting your voice at the moment. 

Without thinking, Steve used his unoccupied hand to hold your cheek softly and planted a tender kiss on your forehead, hoping to scare away the demons swimming around in your mind. 

His heart plummeted when he realized what he was doing. It might have been a little too intimate to just kiss you like that without even asking first and he was nervous that he broke some sort of boundary with you. Steve anticipated a headbutt for crossing that line as he slowly pulled away, he would’ve expected a slap if your arms had been working. 

But what Steve did not expect was for you to let out the gentle breath you had been holding and for the tension in your shoulders to dissolve.He looked into your eyes and saw nothing but relief.

“Thanks, Stevie.” You smiled sweetly at him. 

“No problem, sugar,” he breathed out, overwhelmed by the love blossoming in his chest. Steve couldn’t help but blush violently when you called him ‘Stevie’. He still had your cheek in his hand so he began to stroke it softly with his thumb.  He didn’t miss the way your gaze stayed on him. He watched you back and noticed a new freckle on the bridge of your nose that caused the butterflies in his stomach to flap even more aggressively. 

Suddenly, remembering the task at hand, he cleared his throat and helped you with your seatbelt. He closed the passenger door and ran around to the driver’s side. Wasting no time in pulling out of his parking spot and driving towards the town’s emergency room, carefully avoiding Hopper’s cop car on the way out.

part 2 | main masterlist

[otakween]

Digimon Tamers - Episode 35

This was basically part two to the last Wham episode. Crazy shit's still going down, but it had a more hopeful ending at least. The visuals were also more striking this time, so I enjoyed this one more overall.

Notes:

FUSION! I did NOT know that this season had digimon-human fusion (jogress?) Guessing this will be a Takato-Guilmon exclusive since he's the only one who's been shown to have a connection to his digimon partner so far. Kinda strange that Guilmon's official ultimate form requires this fusion?? (In future video games, will the player character fuse with him?) Interested to see where they take this.

I was surprised we didn't get a reaction to Takato's digivice shattering, but I guess they have more pertinent matters to attend to. I guess Takato doesn't need it to do tamer-y things? Maybe this just means he can't scan cards or look at digimon data

I appreciated the opening scene with Jian's mom crying about Shiuchon. Little moments like that flesh out the characters and up the stakes. I hate it when parents are just omitted from stories cuz it makes it seem like they don't give a crap about their kids. (Side note: her chunky sweater/skinny jeans combo is cute lol. Ahead of her time!)

So Megidramon's existence puts the digital world in jeopardy because he's just not supposed to exist? Was that ever a thing in the past with bad digivolutions cuz I don't think so...

Megidramon was very badass in this episode. There was a lot of detail put into him like his acidic drool that made him fun to watch. Felt very Jurassic Park on steroids. (Though looking at his snout, he's more dragon-like than dino-like).

Makuramon shows up just to be killed lol. I call BS with Beelzebumon gaining other digimon's powers after he loads them. Renamon loaded a bunch of digimon and we never saw her gain any powers from that...He even had Taomon and Rapidmon's characteristics bulging out of him which was a pretty cool effect.

Pretty fishy how in the last episode Kyubimon was exhausted and incapable of digivolution but now all the sudden she's like "JK" and digivolves without issue. I get that times are desperate, but exhaustion is exhaustion.

One thing that's super confusing to me is that...didn't we see Takato design Guilmon's previous digivolutions? Like with pencil and paper? So where the heck did Megidramon come from? Did he just picture the design in his mind? Although that doesn't seem right since he was disturbed by his appearance. I don't really get the logic here...

Beelzebumon was too screamy in this episode lol. I was like "alright already, we GET IT"

I didn't expect this anime to pull out the dramatic slow-mo. You don't see slow-mo a lot in anime, especially not slowed down voices. It's honestly been done for comedy in western animation so many times that I can't take it seriously anymore.

Ew, they did one of my least favorite anime cliches which is the fish eye lens scene. I just think it always looks really dumb.

You gotta have the naked transformation sequence. Not often we get a male one, so that's refreshing (not that I want to see Takato naked lol).

New insert song yaaaay! Dramatic moments are always made better by a good ole insert song. I like Dukemon's design a lot, even though it's a little generic. The color palette is nice and I like that he uses a lance like he's a jousting knight. The lil Guilmon hat/visor is pretty funny.

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: a section of faded denim fabric, on which is a partial embroidery of the words "In the face of extermination say fuck", with a "you" penciled in on the fabric. The "in the face of" and "say" are in yellow, "extermination" is in red, and "fuck"–which is currently encircled by an embroidery hoop, which is also partially obscuring "extermination" and "say"–is done in the colors of the trans flag (blue pink white pink), with a black background behind it in the works, with a black thread with a needle on the end resting against the denim. End I.D.]

So I'm making this patch that @a-star-that-fell made and posted a while ago, seen here (reblog with my caption). Now, @a-star-that-fell , you told me I could go ahead with copying this, that you got the idea from someone else. Well and dandy, wish I could credit the original but I figured this was a long chain of trans punk patches. So I've been working on it for the last five days, giving myself blisters and finger pricks and having my butt go numb from sitting because I'm bipolarly hyperfocused on this despite the fact I desperately need to unpack my new apartment. But I'm sitting here on my numb butt, fingers blistered, proud of my work on the patch, proud of you for doing your patch and inspiring me to do mine, thinking about you, thinking what I know about you, wondering who came up with the idea, and oh

This is an MCR lyric, isn't it.

[scrunkalicious]

🤝GRAHHH dude the one u sent me is gonna make me go crazy /pos

OKOK FINALLY GOT TO THIS ONE YALL,,,,, GET READY FOR THIS ONE YAALLLLL

WORD COUNT - 2017 EAT TGIS UP YALL

errmm based offa personal experiencez it SUCKKZZZZ BUT WHATEVA

Late nights, heavy eyelids, and lack of sleep. A list of things that were all familiar for the young artist and scholar. Hunched over at her desk, Marly worked her way through a portrait, upscaled on large paper. It was a final for the art course she took at the Academy. Though that wasn’t the only thing she seemed to be working on. 

The artist had her own little workroom, rented out for the school year. While she had the main portrait in front of her, textbooks and papers for her other subjects lay in differing parts of the room. A science textbook strewn open, with complimentary notes and papers with an abundance of questions. A math book with its open pages crumpled, with practically unintelligible numbers and formulas scrawled about. Papers from classes she didn’t even have work in, somehow finding themselves in her workspace due to her untidy habits. The risk of messing them up with art supplies, and the risk of stepping on some sort of pencil she left on the ground were both high. 

Stepping back from her work, Marly groaned. The composition of the portrait didn’t seem right. The colors didn’t blend the way she had wanted them to, as it was a mixed media piece, including mediums that she didn’t use often. Reaching out towards a nearby table, she fumbled to grab her marker, desperate to place any marks down that will somehow pull the piece together. Though her efforts are fruitless, so Marly groans as she sets the marker down. She looks around, staring at the other papers in her area. 

She hates how she had procrastinated her work, as all of these things are due tomorrow for her. Yet, she has to get the work done. Marly knows she’s always been seen as a smart individual. Acing her classes, always on good terms with her teachers, able to help struggling students, the pinpoint perfection for a level and steady person. Yet, here she was, with so much undone work around her, head in her hands as she could barely think of how to finish what she had needed to finish for so long. Stress pounded at Marly’s  head, and she felt just about ready to give up, and have her body give out on her. Grumbling to herself, Marly moved to go sit in her chair, taking her glasses off and tossing them to her table, well aware they may end up with ink or paint on them. 

Marly was unsure of just how long she sat in that chair. She’s covered up the clock in her room to prevent stress about the time, though she believes that it’s well past midnight. Marly could attempt to take a break from art, and rather do mathematics, or even science. But she doesn’t understand the topics. In math, she can’t seem to wrap her head around the equations or the problems, something that even her calculator can’t assist her with. For science, they’ve begun a new unit, and it isn’t genetics, her strong suit. She’s just following what the textbook reads, without actually understanding the content. 

With four knocks to her door, Marly is jolted to stand, immediately feeling her head pound as she stands. She trudged over to the door, opening it slowly, not even bothering to check who it is. She seems to have a good idea though, the only sure thought she’s had this entire night. 

Even with her blurry vision from not having her glasses on, Marly’s is able to depict the figure’s brown hair, sharp face, and amber eyes. She could barely keep her own eyes open as she looked up at him. 

“Marly? What are you doing up so late?” Concern laced Viktor’s voice as he glanced down at her. With her messy hair, dark eyebags, and tired eyes, Marly’s current appearance was a stark contrast to her usually well kept outlook. “I went to your dorm a few hours back and waited, but you did not appear for quite some time,” He added. 

Marly stared at him for a few moments, half lidded eyes blink slowly, “Huh?” She mumbled, before continuing, “I have work to do,” she stated simply. Her stance was slouched, and she leaned heavily against the doorframe. Viktor raised an eyebrow, before looking over her tired form. As he spotted her mess of a workspace, Viktor then looked back to Marly. 

“My Marly, you’re aware it is past midnight?” Viktor noted, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Marly squinted, seeing that upon closer inspection, he was in his pajamas, in which Viktor had just put on a pair of shoes and coat over what he already had on. 

“I’m well aware,” Marly muttered, “Why are you even here?” She asked, closing her eyes for a few seconds. 

“Well, you should be sleeping, yes?” Viktor told her, to which Marly shook her head in response.

“I must do my work,” She slurred out, “Its due,” 

“You look like you’re going to fall asleep,” Viktor replied, moving towards her, “We should sleep,” At the thought of stopping her work, Marly shook her head repeatedly, seemingly panicked by the idea. The tiredness left her voice when she replied, replaced by desperation and what could almost be described as fear.

“No!” She exclaimed sharply, “I have to do the work!” 

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting such a response from her, “But you are tired,” He noted, “It will do you no good to keep working like this. Besides, I’m sure your teachers will understand, yes?” In all honesty, he was unsure as to why Marly was all panicked. 

But as for Marly, she shook her head again, pressing her lips together firmly, feeling a tightness becoming present in her chest.

“But I have to do the work!” She squeaked, feeling herself lose her composure. 

“Are you aware that your health is much more important than schoolwork?” Viktor asked, keeping his voice soft, not wanting to startle her. “You know I’m not going to chastise you,”

“I don’t know,” Marly replied quickly, pent up stress ebbing away at her. She rubbed her hands tightly against the sides of her body as she turned away, a sign of being overwhelmed. “I don’t know,” she repeated, whispering the words. She could feel her breathing grow erratic, and she felt as if she needed to burst out of her skin.

Marly hated this. She felt awful with Viktor seeing her like this. The idea of falling academically behind was terrifying to her. Letting imperfections show through her upright character was something that she desperately wanted to avoid. The silence weighing upon the two was a strong one, though soon broken as Marly sniffled, before she pressed her hands against her eyes.

Viktor was quick to react, and he stepped closer to her. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out Marly’s pink plush lamb, before holding it out to her. He has brought it to give himself some company, and to give to Marly sooner or later.He had brought the plush to give himself company, and to give to Marly later on. 

“Here you go, my dear,” he whispered. Marly removed one of her hands from her face, and Viktor slowly moved the toy side to side, before pressing it into her open hand. Marly took Lambie gratefully, squeezing her. Such a familiar sight. The plush she has had since birth, and one of the only things she was sure of nowadays, along with Viktor.

“Thank you,” she whispered, attempting to calm herself down. Viktor nodded his head, smiling softly. He then looked around her workspace. After spotting Marly’s glasses, which had been thrown onto a table earlier, he walked over, and folded them onto his shirt. He led Marly outside, softly closing the door to her mini-studio.

“Let us go. You need rest,” he insisted, as the two were equally stubborn. But Marly didn’t have the strength to retort, and she sighed as she walked over to him, grabbing his arm with her free hand. Viktor nodded his head, before slowly beginning to walk, adding on, “My dorm is closer, alright?” Marly nodded her head slowly in response. At this point, she felt too tired to even care about the mess that her workspace would be when she came back to it. 

The rest of their journey was slow and silent. Marly didn’t know what to make of her thoughts, and Viktor didn’t want to say anything that would further upset her. Along with that, Marly could tell that her fatigue was creeping back on her. So when they finally got to his room, he sat her on the bed, and left to go get some for her to change. Viktor returned with the softest pair of pajamas he found, and looked over at Marly.

“Let me help you, please,” he murmured, though with his words, he was referring to the situation as a whole. Marly nodded her head, and Viktor moved to sit next to her. She gently set Lambid aside, before looking back to him. Marly raised her arms over her head, and allowed for him to help her change. Viktor gently slipped off the clothing she currently had on, replacing it with the clean pajamas, tenderly caressing her skin as he went. When he was finished with that, he lay his cane against the wall, placing Marly’s glasses onto his bedside table. 

Pulling the blanket back, he coaxed Marly underneath it, before laying next to her and pulling the covers over them. “I’ll let your teachers know about the work, and request they be lenient,” he told her.

Marly shook her head, “That would be abusing your role as assistant to the dean of the academy,” she whispered meekly.

Viktor shook his head, “Not when you were about ready to collapse,” he wrapped his arms around her, slowly pulling her over him, a switch up in their usual position, as Marly was usually the one underneath. Though, Viktor assumed it wouldn’t be well for her to take on that role tonight. 

Marly sighed, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, placing a light kiss on the mole she knew was present there. “Mahal kita,” she murmured, at last seeming to give in to him, and allowing herself to relax. After closing her eyes, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, granting herself some well needed rest. Despite having retaliated against his suggestions to rest, Marly could feel herself relaxing. Perhaps she could live with this. It was warm, and Marly usually got cold during the night, so this was a pleasant experience for her. So for now, she would sleep. Truth be told, she was really grateful for Viktor. 

Viktor’s breath hitched slightly when he realized she finally slept, and he wrapped his arms around her more firmly, pulling her closer as he nuzzled his face into the top of her head. The inventor was thinking of possible ways to make tomorrow a good day for her, as he planned on calling off letting her attend classes, and he would do the same for himself so he could tend to her.

It was heartbreaking to him, to see his usually upbeat and ever so smiley Marly, now beat down by something such as schoolwork. Viktor had a few theories as to why she seemed so upset, but he wouldn’t dare bother her while she clearly wasn’t ready to talk yet. To him, all of what he was doing was “the least he could do”, compared to every single time Marly had been the one to comfort him, and hold him close. He wanted to do everything he could to make her feel as safe and loved as she had made him feel.

But for now, Viktor knows that he also needed to sleep, so he softly kissed the top of her head, before whispering, “Sweet dreams, mahal ko,”. Viktor let himself drift away to the lullaby of his lover’s breathing, allowing peace to the both of them.

TAGLIST UNDER CUT (ask to be added/removed lmao)

LUCCCYYY (but u get notified for yo ask) @h0t-p1nk-ch33tah-pr1nt @kiawren @l0v3sickl0s3r @mirr0r-image @mrsmunson1986

[bmodiwrites]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hi friends! This one is based of a prompt I got sent a couple of days ago. The general gist of it is janitor x workaholic AU. So, here we are! Eddie's a story board editor with nothing to go home to and Steve, well, he's a janitor. This little beauty is filled with cuteness, a few twists, and lots of steddie goodness. Oh, there's some naught stuff, too. Minors, DNI! Check it out here or over on AO3! Let me know what you think in the comments below <3

Dropping the ludicrously expensive color pencil back onto his drawing desk, Eddie reclines back into his chair. He quickly clenches and unclenches his fingers in a desperate attempt to get some blood flow back to them. The sketch before him, a recent episode idea for Epic Kids, is almost perfect – after ten straight hours of work, Eddie is glad to see the thing finally shaping up into what it’s actually supposed to be.

As a story board artist, the demands on Eddie change daily. He doesn’t work for one show or something simple like that. Instead, he works for a company that dabbles in both television and video games. His projects range from children’s shows to multi-million dollar selling video games. No one knew the 90’s would be the time technology blew up – now, so many different game consoles exist, Eddie is never shy on work.

Upon picking up the craft right out of college, Eddie didn’t expect this to be the rest of his life. Sometimes, though, the world works in mysterious ways. The children’s book he always wanted to write comes alive in the shorts he draws and ideas he shares. Though he’s still wanting to put together a D&D epic for younger kids, Eddie is content enough with his lot to continue doodling on someone else’s dime.

He's about to pick the red pencil back up when the creak of his already open door startles him. It’s well past the time at night where anyone else is usually in the building. Eddie likes to close his door until everyone leaves so he’s got the space to himself. Now, he’s drawing in ambient light with nothing to disturb him – except, he guesses, for a gorgeous man dragging along a cleaning cart.

For a lingering moment, Eddie knows the man hasn’t seen him yet. He’s got headphones covering his ears and his head bobs to the beat. Strong hands are already reaching for the tools he’ll need to clean the floor before clearing out Eddie’s trash. This guy is new because no one ever took the time to sweep up the pencil shavings under Eddie’s desk. Lately, he’s been coming back to the office to a clean space. Now, he knows who the culprit is.

Since the guy still isn’t reacting to Eddie’s presence, brown eyes greedily take in their fill. Though the headphones push it down, the janitor has gorgeous hair. It’s thick and dirty blonde. Eddie thinks about the potential for amazing hairstyles and almost swoons. As his eyes roam a little further, Eddie notices wide wire-framed glasses pushed up an angular nose. They enhance hazel eyes that are now looking at him with a mix of panic and surprise.

“Oh damn, I’m so sorry. No one is ever here, I didn’t even think to knock. I’ll uh – I’ll come back later.” The words are out of the new janitors mouth so fast that Eddie’s head spins. Though, he’s quick to put it on right in hopes of keeping this mouthwatering stranger in the room.

“Hey, it’s alright. I should be thanking you. You’re the first cleaner to ever pick up my pencil shavings. It’s awesome, man. I appreciate it.” Eddie finishes his thanks with a soft smile. It should be enough, saying something sweet before moving on. Yet, it’s not. Eddie feels compelled to keep talking. “Are you new?”

The guy looks incredibly uncomfortable for a second before nodding. It’s brief and coarse but it’s a reaction – one that Eddie wasn’t all that sure he was going to get. Happy with that small crumb, Eddie’s smile widens.

“Cool, you’ll like it here. I’ve been working behind this desk since college. Loved every second of it.”

His comment is met with silence that lingers so long Eddie thinks his new friend is done with the conversation. He’s about to grab at his pencil again when that deep voice sounds off.

“Maybe you’re right. It’s really quiet. I like that.” The man pauses for a second, takes Eddie in. His hazel eyes roam over Eddie’s face and down until he sees the drawing on the desk. For an instant, those eyes widen, but the moment is gone long before Eddie can process it.

“I’ll let you get back to your work, Mr. Munson. Sorry again about the interruption.”

Shrinking back at the name, Eddie calls out immediately – “It’s Eddie. Please, call me Eddie.”

Though the man doesn’t verbally respond or outwardly acknowledge Eddie’s request, there’s a short little nod before the squeaking of the cart sounds again and the enigma of a man is gone as quickly as he came.

Over the next couple of weeks, Eddie changes his routine in hope of bumping into their new custodian again. He walks the halls every couple of hours during the day to see if the man works while the rest of his crew does, but never finds him. He then stays a little later, lingering in his office until the call of food or a television show or plain boredom has him collecting his bags to head off for the night.

Eventually, Eddie’s enigma makes another appearance. This time, though, Eddie is not prepared for him. He’s been curled up into the sanctuary of his arm, napping soundly, since his last meeting. They ripped apart his drawing and asked for something completely different than what Eddie had been picturing. The game isn’t even out yet and Eddie is over it. The headache that sets in kicks his ass, making the call of the flat of his desk so very enticing. He doesn’t know he’s fallen asleep until the door kicks open and he’s blinking awake.

“Shit, I did it again. I’ve been saving your office for last every day, trying not to disturb you on your late nights. Sorry, Mr. – Eddie. I don’t mean to disturb you.”

Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, Eddie stops him before he can go. “Wait! You don’t have to do that. I don’t mind the interruption. It’s probably needed. I’m spending way too much time here, anyway.”

With an invitation to stay, the guy doesn’t take off like the rocket he had just been trying to become. Instead, he lingers in the doorway, eyes roaming over Eddie again. Since they’re staring at one another, Eddie doesn’t disguise his desire to look back.

This time, Eddie notices a thin little mustache that covers red and probably delectable lips. They’re plump and forming words that Eddie is obviously missing out on. He clues back in just in time to catch the tail end.

“ – my friend’s son loves Epic Kids. I get so many more cool points now because I know one of the artists.”

Eddie is glad he managed to tune back into reality – catching that compliment makes the rest of his shitty day seem insignificant. Epic Kids is his pet project, one he’s much more interested in than the stupid game pitch still haunting him from his desk. Though, Eddie is unsure how the man before him knows about his involvement. He hasn’t had a new project for the show cross his desk since they first met.

“How did you know I worked on that show?”

The man smiles then, his lips (they are absolutely kissable, Eddie just knows it) quirk into a knowing grin. For the first time since Eddie encountered him, there’s a sign of life outside of trash cans and a grumpy demeanor.

“That first night I barged in, you were working on a doodle that ended up in yesterday’s show. After Lucas finished up the episode, I watched through the credits. Eddie Munson, Storyboard Editor, is pretty hard to miss.”

“It’s kind of unfair you know my name and I don’t know yours,” Eddie petulantly says before he can stop himself. Though, it’s not a bad thing because the man laughs, genuinely chuckles, and points to the embroidered name on the left side of his tacky blue jumpsuit.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

Eddie’s cheeks heat up for some reason, as if access to a name gives him so much more. While it’s just a title to call the hot man that roams the halls at night, Eddie sees the vulnerability as something more. An obvious door has been opened and he’s timidly excited to step through it.

Steve becomes a regular fixture after that. It’s easy for him to wheel his cart into Eddie’s office at the end of the night and make conversation while he goes about his duties. Eddie draws or sits in his chair listening intently to everything Steve’s got to say. He learns about the man’s found family and his platonic soulmate who also doubles as a roommate whenever she’s in town. The connection they have is something that should be cherished, despite only being nurtured for a handful of minutes the nights Eddie can force himself to stay late enough.

There is, of course, an easy fix. Eddie isn’t one to actively pursue another person, especially when he’s not quite sure about their interest. Steve, it seems, is the exception to every rule that Eddie’s ever put into place, however. Their time together is too nice not to extend it past the walls of his workplace. Never mind the fact that Eddie is more than excited by the prospect of Steve in anything but the ugly blue uniform he’s forced to wear. The man is beautiful, Eddie sees that through and through. Something tells him, though, that Steve has lots of potential outside of navy blue.

He bids his time until the perfect opportunity presents itself. It’s a Thursday night and Steve is already talking about the weekend. He has yet to mention Friday night, however, so Eddie takes that as his chance.

“What about Friday? Are you free? There’s this joint in town I’ve been dying to try out, thought you might like to come.”

Eddie waits with bated breath as Steve blinks a few times behind his thick lenses. He goes about putting the trashcan back in its spot, even replaces the bag before looking in Eddie’s direction.

“Uh, yeah. That – that sounds good. I haven’t been out with adults I didn’t grow up with in ages. I think I’d really like that.”

It takes a massive amount of effort for Eddie not to happily jump up from his chair. His fist is tingling with the need to thrust itself into the air in triumph, but Eddie keeps control. After finally securing some extra time with Steve, the last thing Eddie wants to do is muck it up by being over eager or worse – immature with his excitement.

It seems, however, that Steve is just as excited. Pink overtakes his cheeks and a smile that Eddie’s never seen before stretches those gorgeous lips wide. And while he’s not making eye contact with Eddie at all, Steve sneakily glances in his direction time and time again as he finishes up.

Eddie feels like he’s back in high school again, fumbling over his first crush. It’s a glorious thing, experiencing freedom like that after the fickle mundaneness of adulthood.

----

As expected, Steve is an absolute dream out of uniform. The yellow polo Steve’s wearing makes the hazel in his eyes stand out beyond belief. His blue jeans are tight in all the right areas, enhancing thighs and ass like navy blue fabric never could. Eddie has to physically close his mouth upon first glance, lest he starts drooling before the date actually gets started.

Thankfully, Steve spots him across the weird little bar and makes a beeline in Eddie’s direction. The space they’re in is an eclectic little place that serves beer while it’s patrons play mini golf on the two courses out back. It’s one of the coolest things Eddie has seen – he desperately hopes this little place won’t be the last of such an interesting idea.

Everyone around them looks to be enjoying themselves, either way.

Glad for that knowledge and reassurane, Eddie makes quick work of getting them both a drink and the things they need to play the first course. Steve is slightly stiff as they start but loosens up by the third hole.

Now that they’re not in the noisy bar and the party before them is a couple holes ahead, Steve relaxes. He starts to shoot better and actually takes a couple pulls of his drink. It’s a relief because Eddie already thought he blew it.

As it turns out, Steve is just a man with a little social anxiety. When it’s just the two of them, Eddie gets so much from Steve. He talks about his family the most, the little brother (who’s not actually a ‘real’ sibling, though Steve counts him as one) that’s been a pain in his ass most of Steve’s life, the niece and nephew he spoils incessantly. It’s a beautiful thing to experience a person so dedicated to the people around them.

Eddie tries to reciprocate by telling him about art school and the program he did throughout. He talks about the children’s book he wants to write, despite never spilling the beans of that to anyone else in the entire world. Uncle Wayne doesn’t even know the plot of Eddie’s dream work. For some reason, Eddie can’t stop himself from speaking so earnestly to Steve. It doesn’t hurt, however, that Steve is pretty candid with his words, too.

The only thing that Steve doesn’t talk about is himself. After the first date and then the second, Eddie chalks it up to nerves and taking things slow. He’s in deep already, so the change in pace is a welcome thing.

Except, it keeps happening the longer they’re together. Two dates turns to two months of dating, two months of Steve avoiding questions, two months of them never once setting foot in Steve’s apartment. Admittedly, the lack of personal details is a little off putting. Though, Eddie is eager enough to see where things might go with Steve that he pushes all of that aside. One day, one day really soon, Steve will open up.

It eventually happens, just not in the way Eddie ever thought it would.

For the first time in their entire relationship, Steve’s walking him towards his door. Well, he’s backing Eddie up against it because they can’t keep their hands off each other. Between their intense connection and the chemistry that runs rampant, Eddie’s been edging himself, waiting for this very moment. It’s a little much now that it’s happening but Eddie’s here for it, eager and willing, too. So much so that he doesn’t question Steve leaving off lights as they stumble inside.

Despite the time it took them to get here, Steve is anything but patient and inexperienced. He doesn’t fumble or miss buttons in the darkness of the room. His accurate attack gets Eddie out of his clothes in record time.

Instead of taking off his own, however, Steve immediately drops to his knees, eager hands finding Eddie’s cock without struggle. Long fingers wrap around the base while Steve’s other hand drops to Eddie’s balls. He rolls them at the same time the wetness of his mouth sucks in the head of Eddie’s cock. It’s so glorious, Eddie can do nothing but thread his fingers through Steve’s hair and pull him closer.

The suction is so good that Eddie has to dig the nails of his free hand into the fleshy skin of his palm. Drawing blood is the only thing stopping Eddie from shooting down Steve’s throat but it’s all too good to make him stop. At least, Eddie thinks that until the end is actually imminent. Then, he tugs on Steve’s hair, pulling him off as gently as possible.

“You’re way too good at that. Care for a little something more?” Eddie asks as Steve stands up from his spot on the ground. There’s a smile on his face, though Eddie barely recognizes it in the dark. He thinks to ask about the light but bypasses the urge – if Steve wanted them on, he would’ve flipped the switch as he passed.

Knowing that, Eddie is a little surprised that Steve takes off his clothes at all. Usually when a person liked to keep the lights off, they liked to keep their clothes on, too. Steve, it seems, is filled with contradictory worries and triggers. He sheds his clothes in the same manner he disrobed Eddie. It’s efficient and quick and soon, they’re both standing in front of each other naked as can be.

Steve doesn’t give Eddie much time to take him in. That self-conscious air is back, despite Steve covering it up by sliding his body on top of Eddie’s on the mattress. They fit together so well it’s difficult to keep up with anything at all aside slick slide of Steve’s hips as he grinds down against Eddie. Their cocks are both wet with pre-cum that makes each brush of their pelvises an electric thing. Eddie is already done in – he’s not sure how much more he can take.

There must be precognition in Steve’s life because he moves away from Eddie right as he thinks that. It’s both a torture and relief, one that’s only made better by Steve shifting his body so he can dig into the bedside table for a condom and some lube. The triumphant little noise he makes is kind of nice, too. It reorients Eddie back to the real reason they’re taking each other apart. He loves Steve. Steve loves him. Coming together like this is the ultimate culmination of their feelings for each other.

That thought echoes in Eddie’s head while Steve lubes up a finger, then leaves a dollop of the cool liquid on Eddie’s hip for later. When that finger breaches him, Eddie lets Steve project his love into him, feeling complete for the first time since things started between them. It’s satisfying and dizzyingly delicious.

Steve is very good at the things he’s doing to Eddie. His fingers take no time at all to find Eddie’s prostate. They nail the bundle of nerves tirelessly before not touching it again for many minutes on end, despite more digits coming to the party.

Eventually, three fingers barely skim against it by the time Steve’s getting antsy for more. Eddie too is right there with him.

“I’m good, Steve. I’m good. I need you, baby.”

A soft chuckle slips from Steve’s lips that are pressed against Eddie’s neck. While hands fumble between them, Steve kisses and nips little marks into soft skin, distracting them both from the lurid slip of a condom down Steve’s cock. Eventually a hard tip presses against Eddie’s entrance and the softest of whispers echoes in his head.

“I’ve got you, Eds. I’ve got you,” Steve mumbles, his words laced with lust and want and anticipation that reaches a peak as Steve finally presses inside.

It’s so difficult to keep his composure, Eddie doesn’t even try. He yells out a loud “fuck” that sits in the room with them. While Steve draws back and thrusts forward, Eddie clings to him. He runs his hands over Steve’s back and sides, tracing lines of something like scarring from one side of his torso to the other. If he was thinking straight, Eddie would’ve taken that all into account. Instead, he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and lets the man drop even more weight upon him, distracting Eddie further.

When the end comes creeping near, Steve’s head is tucked into Eddie’s neck, his harsh breath like a tsunami’s wind. Eddie is hanging on the precipice, already able to cum for minutes now. He’s clutching to that edge just to make sure he tumbles off at the same time Steve does. It only takes a handful of thrusts and a cleverly placed bite of Steve’s teeth right above Eddie’s collarbone for both boys to free fall into the unknown abyss of immaculate pleasure.

Eddie must black out because the next time he blinks back to consciousness, there’s light streaming through Steve’s windows. There are curtains but each one is pulled back, letting in the light.

It’s then that Eddie sees them, the reasons behind Steve’s need to keep the lights off in front of Eddie. There are scars everywhere that Eddie can see. Some are long and thin while others look like something tried to take a bite out of Steve’s skin. The flesh is red and raised, though healed completely all the same. Eddie wants to reach out and touch but he refrains. Intimacy is a gift he doesn’t want to give away. Misplacing Steve’s trust in him is not at all what Eddie wants to do.

Already, it’s too late, though. Steve turns slightly, revealing more of the scars on his chest and neck. There’s a long line around his throat that Eddie is surprised he’s never noticed. It obviously hides well under all the clothes Steve wears. This time, he doesn’t tamp down the urge. His fingers brush up against Steve’s neck on their own accord.

“What happened, Steve?” Eddie’s eyes are welling up with tears. He can’t decide if he’s mad at whatever did this or overwhelmed with the need to care for the man before him. That must be clear – Steve doesn’t draw away or try to hide. He rolls over completely and pulls Eddie into his arms.

“It’s – really hard to explain,” Steve starts, his hand idly running up and down Eddie’s sides as they cuddle. “The town I grew up in, Hawkins – it made the news a bunch of times a few years ago.”

Sensing some familiarity, Eddie wracks his brain, trying to remember but New York is a long way away from Indiana. He still nods his head, willing Steve to go on.

“Some crazy stuff went down that you probably won’t believe. In the end, I took a beating to make sure my family got to see another day. I got… taken and the things that were trying to tear Hawkins apart, they did this to me. A couple times over.”

Steve’s a little breathless when he finishes. Despite not sharing all that many details, Eddie knows whatever he just purged from Steve is a lot. It’s something that’s stricken him down in unimaginable ways.

For all it’s worth, Eddie leans further into Steve, dragging him in a little closer. He doesn’t know what to say but that seems to be okay. Steve wraps him up tighter and lets the easy silence settle between them. Without noticing, both drift off again.

Between a nap and another round of amazing sex a while later, Eddie is famished when they eventually resurface to go about the rest of the day.

Steve volunteered to cook so Eddie wanders around the apartment. He takes in the comic books and CDs. There are toys in a box in a corner and a big tv box tucked into a nice looking stand. It’s simple and nice and totally not what Eddie expected at all.

Neither is the master’s degree Eddie sees hanging from the wall.

“Steve, you went to college? For longer than the mandatory four years?” Eddie’s voice is high, the shock clearly coming through.

Steve comes bounding around the corner, a spatula still in his hand. “What are you screaming about in here?”

Eddie takes a long breath and then another. He looks at the diploma on the wall and then back at Steve. “You never said you were a college boy.”

Laughing lightly, Steve shrugs his shoulders. “You never asked.”

“But – “ Eddie starts, his face flushing. The mere thought is too much. How can he ever say the words?

Steve, of course, beats him to it. “But what? But I’m a janitor? You know, Eddie – that’s pretty narrow minded of you.” The words hold no malice, despite the tone of Steve’s voice.

“I don’t like people or crowds. I have PTSD from all the trauma in my teens. Offices and university campuses are the Mecca of loud noises and large masses of other humans. Instead of putting myself into danger, I work a slow job that fits my complexities. It’s exactly what I need, Eddie. Kind of like you.”

The last sentence is enough to make Eddie’s head spin. He for sure thought he was getting a lecture where in fact he gets the opposite.

Steve strides towards his bookcase a determined look in his eye. He searches and skims his fingers over book spines until the right one is in his hands. “Read this. You might understand things a little better. I always told anyone who asked that the events weren’t real but they are. Everything I wrote down in that book is what me and my friends went through. All of it.”

Steve taps the top, looking directly at Eddie. “Read it, don’t read it. If you’re curious about me, you’ll find a lot of what you want to know between those pages.”

All the sudden, Eddie remembers where he heard the name Hawkins before, where he’d even been privy to Steve’s name prior to them meeting. Looking down at the book in his hands, Eddie distinctly remembers demogorgons and bats with tails that stung and ripped and tore. Quickly, Eddie riffled through the pages in order to get to the back cover.

There, in all his gorgeous glory, was Steve Harrington, not at all smiling at the camera. Reading into the bio, Eddie ticked off all the educational credentials that Steve has. Two master’s and a prestigious scholarship from the university he used to teach at. Despite himself, Eddie is surprised, yet not all at the same time.

Instead of continuing to read through the book in hopes of finding out more details, Eddie closes it and puts it back on the shelf where Steve found it. Sucking in a long breath, Eddie nods, then goes to join Steve in the kitchen. Now that the cats out of the bag, Eddie thinks he might enjoy learning more about his boyfriend strictly from the source himself.

As Eddie settles himself against Steve’s back, he allows himself to relax. Steve’s mystery is one Eddie can’t wait to pick apart. Until the clues lay themselves out for him, however, Eddie’s content to hold onto Steve tight and see where the road leads them. It’s too easy to be enraptured by a man that holds his hand while flipping pancakes with the other.

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers as the breakfast making commotion calms down.

Steve doesn’t ask him what he’s thankful for or demand an explanation. He simply pulls Eddie close and silently finishes breakfast.

Slow and steady.

Absolutely perfect in every way.

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