#i have strong feelings about this thing that has a sliver of a chance of happening

[sharkneto]

Why don’t you want five in school?

Oh, I've ranted about it before in the tags of THIS POST but in general it makes me wildly uncomfortable. As an adult, the thought of hypothetically being forced back to high school is the fucking pits, you could not pay me enough to do it - and I even had a good time in high school! Five is almost 60 years old and they're going to force him to go to classes and hang out with teens? That feels bad from every angle! It forces Five to act in a way he'd only do under great duress and fucks his agency and autonomy as an adult so badly. There are better, more interesting ways to play with the consequences of his physical vs actual age than sending him to goddamn high school. There's other, less dominating options for the "he looks like a kid and never actually graduated" problem.

You do you if that's your jam, don't let a random dude on the internet yuck your yum, but Five in high school is a squick for me.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #25

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Family Reunion

Clockwork sends an adult Danny, newly appointed Ancient of Space, on a mission through time again. Except this time, it isn't located on Earth, but a distant planet he's never even heard of before. Clockwork didn't tell him any specifics on what he was supposed to do or when he was supposed to return to his own time, just to blend in and have an experience. He would know when it was time to return.

Needless to say, he has a blast! His core is bursting with happiness at getting the chance to explore this unknown corner of the universe with a sky full of constellations he's never seen and fascinating locals. Considering he might be here a while, he buckles down and learns all about their culture and their traditions and even eventually learns their language without having to use the two-way translator Clockwork gave him.

He spends decades there, not even having to worry about how he never appears to age, the people here being incredibly long-lived. However, he eventually meets someone. Someone he falls head over heels for. He gets married. He has kids. He watches them slowly grow into adults as well. It isn't until one of his sons informs him that he's expecting his own child(1) that Danny feels a tug at his core.

He ignores it, but over the course of a few weeks, it's gone from the occasional pull to a full-on yank at his entire being, along with a sense of dread that something was going to happen to this wonderful little planet. To his family.

He becomes restless and loses so much sleep, it's a miracle he can even stand. His family are worried for him, but he assures them that he's just feeling a little under the weather. One night, he's sat up in bed, unable to sleep again. His gaze is fixed lovingly on his spouse, but nonetheless sad.

He doesn't miss when all the soft sounds of the night stop and a green glow appears behind him.

"It's time to leave, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"There isn't any way I could stay? I can't bring them with me?"

"I'm afraid not. There are some things that can't be changed or stopped, even when they fall into your domain. I'm sorry."

"Why send me here just to make me abandon them like this? What was the point?"

Clockwork is silent, but when Danny turns to look at the ghost, he's gone.

Danny takes a few more precious days to spend time with his family. Kiss his spouse. Hug his kids. Feel the strong kicks of his grandchild he won't be there to witness the birth of.

The night he leaves, he places a letter on his spouse's nightstand, gently kisses their forehead, and disappears in a flash of green, never to be seen again.

Years later is when Danny gets the news. That the planet Krypton is no more and that his family is gone. He searched the Ghost Zone for them, but he never knew the location of Krypton in the cosmos. Their afterlife is beyond his reach, in a place that isn't even on the Infamap.

He nearly drowns himself in grief when he finds a sliver of reprieve in the form of a news broadcast. An extraordinary man in blue and red with the kryptonian symbol for such emblazoned on his chest is shown fighting off multiple enemies at once. He is the spitting image of his father and Danny as well.

He had a grandson. His grandson was alive.

✦

(1) This was Kara, not Clark. Danny left before he even found out about Kal-El being in the oven, so there will be a misunderstanding at first. Then Kara pops up later, and Danny just bawls his eyes out that he had two surviving grandchildren without even knowing it this whole time. How he first meets either of them is up to you!

(*) What this means power-wise for Clark is yours to decide. As well as what Clark already knows about his grandfather from the stored information his father left him. What his father thought of Danny disappearing without a word is also up for you to decide.

[missblissy]

Can you write an Alastor x reader where the reader tries to save him from Adam but ends up badly injured?

((Ofc course nonny! I apologize if I’m a little rusty and this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but!! I did get inspired by the last episode and decided to rewrite the scene with reader there too :’) I hope you enjoy!! This is more of a platonic stage of a relationship with Alastor, something where he cares for reader but not like… ya know… together yet 😂))

You already knew the plan, you knew your place in it, that being down on the ground with all your friends. In front of the hotel you stood, not far from the others. While Charlie and Vaggie watched with wide eyes, you felt a sliver of dread work its way into your mind. The shield that Alastor had created was holding… for now.

And you could see far above like a speck of glowing sand, Adam and his bright wings keeping him afloat. The sliver of dread was momentarily replaced with rage, anger, and possibly hatred. You had to shake it away though, as within a moment's notice Adam broke down the shield and the dread returned.

It wasn’t long before angels came flying down once again, with a newfound fury to destroy the demons who dared to stand against them. Luckily you at least knew a thing or two about dodging and weaving. Spending time in hell taught you enough to throw a few kicks, with the stab of an angelic weapon given to you before the battle.

You’d manage to take down a few angels, all while still keeping a seething eye on Adam. The closer he got to the hotel the more panic you felt, and more so for selfish reasons rather than selfless ones. And with Alastor’s shield down it was only a matter of time before the table would start turning. Purely out of your own instincts you turn tail from the battle out front and start racing up the hotel.

There were angels already swarming in like flies, and you did your best to avoid them. Despite that, one still caught you off guard and managed to slam you to the ground. A struggle ensued, wrestling on the ground with this vile heathen, to you at least.You’d let out a yelp and wriggle, arms flying and nails clawing into holy skin. With you elbow you jammed it into the angel’s face over and over until you could reach you weapon and go for their throat.

The bright glowing blood splashed onto you, golden, while slick it escaped the angel and stole its life in the process. You shoved the lifeless body off you and stumbled further up the hotel. You could hear the battle above, while bits of rumble crumbled and flung to the ground. The building gave a shake and shudder strong enough for you to slip on a step and reach for the railings.

Your heart leapt into your throat and threatened to burst any second. The panic was a terrible and familiar feeling. It was hard to say, or even admit, but dammit you cared for that stupid bastard up there in a way. Alastor certainly couldn’t stand a chance against Adam, you didn’t believe a word of his boasting earlier. Claiming that he could single handedly take care of Adam and keep him distracted.

No sinner, not even the radio demon could do such a thing you believed. He’d been gone for so long as well, who’s to say he hasn’t gotten rusty? Alastor was cocky, and arrogant, yet still you were racing up floor after floor to aid him in battle.

The hotel shook again and you had to put your hands out to catch yourself in the fall. You still shimmered with holy blood as droplets fell from you while racing the last few steps. Another good shake and rumble had you rushing and stumbling out of the door onto the rooftop.

A panicked expression came on your face, witnessing what was before you. Though Alastor seemed fine, causal even with a simple smile, you saw Adam trying evade the dark tenacles that manifested to and fro around him. Adam may have had a sneer on his face but he let out a mocking laugh, “Ha! You think you’re tough shit don’t you?” His golden eyes met yours in that second, and you started to take a step forward.

Alastor hadn’t even noticed, he just smiled and took another swing at Adam, “Tougher than you~!” He grinned with a twisted laugh. While Adam took a few attempts at striking Alastor, lurching forward with his bass ax, Alastor was too caught in the battle to see the split second decision that you made.

You ran forward with all your might, weapon in hand and death in your eyes. You hoped that with your speed you’d have caught Adam off guard, but it wasn’t enough. You were able to cut the distance and jab the angelic weapon into Adam’s side but not without him reaching around and back handing you away. You landed with a thud on the ground several feet away, ready to get back up, but Adam was quick enough to kick away your only weapon.

His ax cut down quickly on one of your arms, leaving it hanging by a thread before he grabbed you by the throat and used you as some meat shield. Your own blood gushed like a sprinkler and began to pool. All while you let out a curdling cry in pain.

To say Alastor was anything but enraged that you managed to make it up there was a mistake. His smile was still there regardless. But he froze if only to listen to Adam bicker. With his hand around your throat, the air was running out quickly in your lungs while you did everything you could to kick your feet at him.

“Come on you edge lord freak! Not gonna fight now that I got this neat little trick?” Adam’s smug grin was enough to test Alastor’s patience and reasoning. The grip on your neck only got tighter. Wriggling there you could do nothing but listen and watch… in fear. As Alastor only grinned and took a swing at Adam, taking you by surprise as well. You were mere inches away from being scathed by one of the tentacles as Adam prepared to use you to block it, but instead he was attacked by another seconds sooner from behind.

But it was enough of a hit to knock you from his hands, and you thudded to the floor. The two of them were back in some kind of battle locked tango as Adam swung and swung his ax and only missed Alastor as he mocked him, “You lack discipline, control!” Alastor laughed, his voice ringing in and out of your ears as you tried to fight back the pain and blood loss, “And worse! You’re sloppy!”

You couldn’t see, let alone hear much more other than the battle going on… You just needed to rest… just for a second. The back and forth bickering between the other two went fuzzy, along with the rest of the battle going on around. That’s when you felt… something... At least try and attempt to pull you to safety. It was the wrapping of a long singular black tentacle curling around your ankle, one that was coming from the shadows and away from the fight.

Even still, above it all, the ringing of battle, the throbbing of pain, the muffled bickering. You could hear the distance snap then a visceral cry of equal pain from an all to familiar voice. Perhaps it was the last bits of adrenaline and endorphins. Or it was your continuing unrelenting nature to never do as told, and always do as you wish instead. Even if it was every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, your eye snapped open and through the blood you could see Alastor becoming a corner like a caged animal with a wound all his own.

Something primal in you awoke, something that wasn’t fueled by hatred or even really fear, but rather more of a rage induced panic for someone cared for. The burn was enough to push you to your feet, leaping with all your might towards Adam. You managed to tackle him down, using your only good arm to wrestle him to the ground, fighting over his ax, “You little shit!” He barked at you, “You just don’t know when to quit don’t you?!?”

It was Alastor’s turn to bleed and watch, and more helpless than ever before. His ego tore in two behind a smile while fighting the instinct to turn tail and save his own skin. Guaranteeing your death. Or, risk what little left he could do to save you. And even more infuriating, his deal wouldn’t allow him to do more than what he wanted.

He gritted his teeth and choked on blood. Alastor smirk only got more bitter as he chuckled to himself and muttered a curse, reminding himself to chew you out later if you both made it out alive.

While you struggled on the ground with Adam, while his fist greeted your face, jaw and throat a few times, you’d claw and bite at him with the same force. If Alastor was going to act, he needed to act now. So he got to his feet, holding his arm over his blood oozing wound. However, in the other hand shadows began to take form. He closed the distance and let out a mocking laugh, “Don’t forget about me!” His arms swung back over his head, “You aren’t the only one experienced with an ax!” Alastor cackled as the long broad long handle of a felling ax formed from the shadows.

Alastor chopped down with all his strength, eyes turning to dials, the large red X growing on his forehead. He flung the ax down with memories of dismembering bodies, however here he only managed to clip Adam’s wing, far from the glory days of his serial killings. But Alastor still had a skill or two left from then as he used the same motion to knock Adam back like a baseball player hitting a home run.

With a thud and a yell Adam cursed out, forced apart and bleeding from his wing he let you go in the tussle between him and Alastor. In that split second you felt a new pair of hands grab you from behind. Everything felt like it started moving in slow motion to you. The air felt thick, and shadows grew larger from every source. Alastor grabbed you with one arm, bleeding out as equally as you but still keeping you secure by his side, and using the other arm to throw the felling ax like a tomahawk, missing Adam by a hair.

Shadows started creeping in around you, misting and closing in on you. The last thing you saw was Adam’s shit eating grin before darkness enveloped you as you escaped with Alastor. Wind whirled around you but you couldn’t see it, only feel the cool icy bricks of the sharp currents. Lightless like a feather one moment, then the next you felt gravity slam you back into the ground.

The air was smacked out of your lungs, dropped onto the ground you let out a yelp as the world returned. Rubble and ruins surrounded you, dust fell and rocks shambled to the cold hard floor. This… must be the basement of the hotel… You thought. You could still hear the battle above.

But you couldn’t forget how you got here, and who brought you. Guilt washed over you quickly, you spun your head around and saw Alastor propping himself up against a crumbling wall. His ears pinned back, his smile all broken and shaky but still holding true… And some little shadow minion of his was shoving his guts back in his torso and stitching him closed.

That’s when you remembered your own wounds. Your arm… Quickly with fear you looked down and were surprised to find it also being tended to by a little shadow puppet. Which, honestly, you couldn’t feel anything from the shoulder down at this point. So pain or detecting someone pulling the sinews back together wasn’t going to be noticed anyways. At least your arm wasn’t a total loss.

Quickly though, you began frantically, apologizing, “Alastor-.. I am so sorry- I… I-” You felt like a fool, but you also felt a little angry, “I’m sorry!” You said again, “But why did you think you could take Adam on by himself!?” The little flair of anger was gone as soon as it came. Being replaced by guilt once more you hung your head and stared away from your own wounds, someplace random, and repeat, “I’m sorry,” You just didn’t want him to become a causality….

You kept muttering and mumbling away, you even felt tears ready to escape but the quick and short, “Stop,” From the other hushed you up quickly. Out of fear at first, you didn’t look up, but the slow troubled pattern of heels clicking towards you was enough to lift your tired eyes.

Still bloody but not bleeding, and with a limped pain in his step, Alastor approached you, his smile tired and barely hanging on. To your surprise, at first all he said was, “Are you alright?” As he knelt down and gestured to your arm. You were ready to be scolded, and even chewed up and split out… But all Alastor seemed to care about at this moment was if you’d live to another day.

The little shadow had nearly finished sewing you together like a broken doll, repaired and ready to play again. It disappeared once its task was done, and just to test its work, you moved your arm, rolled your wrist and waved your fingers, “I’ve been worse,” You told him with a huff, and a sheepish smile.

“Good,” Was all he said, which, you’d be lying if the empty look in his eyes and his hollow smile didn’t unsettle you to some degree. You didn’t have much of a chance to get a better look, as he stood up while brushing the debris and loose hair out of your face, “Go to the others,” He told you, “And tell them what happened…” His shoot started tapping further away again.

When you looked up again his back was to you. He reached down to his staff snapped in two, you couldn’t see his face but you heard the heavy sigh, “What about you?” You asked, he was still injured, he couldn’t possibly be going off for another fight…? Your nerves where settled only slightly as he reassured you, “I need to find something to fix this,” He gestured to the broken staff, “I believe there is something left in my radio tower,” He explained.

You slowly got to your feet, a sigh, a huff, then a nod of your head, “Okay,” You said. You watched for a second more, turning to leave but not taking a step, looking over your shoulder at him. A sullen moment broke into the air, an unfamiliar sorrow. And he stopped in his steps too. Mimicking your actions, looking back until your eyes met. He shared a smile, one at least more true and strong enough to spread on your lips. A second more was spent there, until more earth shattering rumbles began and the moment was broken. Separating you two once again, leading down different paths away from each other.

[fun-mxtx-polls]

E'ming vs. Xuan Su

E'ming propaganda:

I just had to come here and wax poetically about E-Ming. Not only is he a) a deadly scimitar that can and has defeated gods, b) the legendary weapon of the strongest ghost king, and c) made USING that ghost king’s eye, he’s also the goodest boy to have ever existed.

He’s basically a puppy dog in sword form and he just wants love and pets. He’s so expressive and adorable that Xie Lian completely ignore all warnings to avoid him to instead treat him like the puppy he is.

Plus there’s his creation story! (Spoilers for TGCF). Back when Hua Cheng was still a weak ghost on Mount Tonglu, he chose to pretext a group of lost mortals by ripping out his eye and forging E-Ming as a weapon. It was a dangerous and risky choice that could have forever separated Hua Cheng from Xie Lian, but he still did it simply because he cares more about others than he likes to admit. E-Ming represents Hua Cheng’s weakness and humanity and even though Hua Cheng resents him for that, Xie Lian loves him for it all the same.

Therefore E-Ming is a) a badass sword, b) an adorable puppy who deserves love, and c) a physical representation of who Hua Cheng is and how he and Xie Lian perceive him. E-Ming is precious and deserves all the votes (and pets)!

Also he just looks really, really cool too! (submitted by @alittlelessalone)

e'ming is babie!!!!!

Xuan Su propaganda:

Xuan Su means "Dark and solemn". Yue Qingyuan's sword, vitality important to his backstory. Its so strong that few cultivators can even stand when he pulls it out, even by a sliver. It drain's yqy's lifeforce in exchange for incredible amounts of power! It wasn't even drawn fully during the sealing of Tianlang-jun, and was instrumental to his defeat. Even pidw Bingge couldn't defeat him one-on-one!

i haven't been able to get 'Xuan Su is YQY's erectile dysfunction' out of my head for multiple days and I have one thing to say about it: it's SO funny, please let Xuan Su win so that this extremely powerful, OP, life ending sword can instead be known as YQY's limp dick. (submitted by @valiantbarnes)

Xuan Su is quite possibly the strongest sword on this list. It is so powerful that when Yue Qingyuan first got it, he was forced (via many broken bones) into secluded meditation in a cave for YEARS to prevent a deadly qi deviation, preventing him from saving Shen Jiu, destroying their relationship. And even once YQY grew to be the most powerful cultivator in the world (Bingge couldn't even kill him without an ambush) he still couldn't draw it without it sapping years off of his life every time. YQY had to carry two swords for his entire life because his first sword could and would kill him if given the chance.

Also, in PIDW, after Bingge killed YQY and Xuan Su shattered, Bingge used the shards to taunt Shen Qingqiu and SQQ swallows the shards to kill himself. Imagine swallowing the shards of a sword that belonged to your beloved childhood friend turned kind-of boss who missed you so much even when you were right there and for whom you feel so much bitterness and longing and yet cared for so much that news of his death is the only thing that could have broken you, even after years of horrific torture. The drama of that alone should win it some points, I think. (submitted by @slythavakna)

[shini--chan]

Can i request for general yandere hcs for the baltic trio (seperate)?

Ravis is first, the other two Baltics will follow in due time.

Yandere Charater Sheet I

1p! Latvia: Raivis Galante

Characters adjusted to the reader's age. Here I am, wondering how I managed to turn Latvia into a complete nutcase. 

Trigger warnings: Kidnapping, stalking, inappropriate touching, theft, voyeurism, restraining, subduing, human experimentation, murder

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

Raivis, is for all intents and purposes, shameless when it comes to the activities surrounding his pursuit and "relationship" with you. The notion of stalking you, stealing little "trophies" from you, taking pictures of you while in public or in private - he doesn't feel a sliver of guilt. The factors preventing him from being completely insolent around you is that if other people caught on to his behaviour, then they would do their best to stop him. Furthermore, he wants you running towards him and throwing yourself in his arms, not running away from him. If anything, he hates it when his actions have negative consequences, even if he technically did nothing wrong. 

On the flip side, he is desperate to have you, and that is something that curtails his behaviour. Latvia so dearly wants to impress you, to have you in awe of his skills. Everytime you enter the room or his vicinity, he perks up like a puppy that wants to play. In a way, he even acts the part - when he does get the chance to be with you, he is enthusiastic, stumbling over his words and gesturing a bit too wildly with his hands. He'll become your shadow for the evening, or just the day, opening doors for you or pulling out your chair. He'll use these small chores as excuses to get very close to you - hands lingering a bit too long when he takes your jacket, his nose almost in your hair when he stands behind you in the bus. 

Added on is that he has been withdrawn for so long, and with his exuberance in approaching you, that he doesn't know how to handle the situation correctly. He is awkward in many ways, even more so during your time together. However, he is somewhat conscious of it and will make it clear that the things he does wrong are not due to malicious intent and are genuine mistakes. This way, he hopes to encourage you to dismiss his yandere tendencies. 

Because he is self-conscious and aware enough to know that what he is doing isn't right, that a healthy relationship doesn't consist of him dogging your every step, or interrogating every person you spend more than five minutes with. However, if there aren't any negative consequences then he can't bring himself to care. He just wants somebody to dote on him and in turn to be cherished by him. Surely there is nothing wrong about that, even if it means infringing on your personal freedoms? Besides, rights are only as strong as those willing to enforce them, and if nobody comes to your rescue, then surely there is no problem. 

Immaturity is another mark of him, but not in the way you would expect. It manifests in that he strives to ignore problems as much as possible, i.e. if there are negative consequences to his actions that can be ignored, he'll readily sweep them under the rug. Likewise, if he can shove responsibility of some atrocity onto somebody else, it will be done without a second thought. In his mind, the reason you don't accept him is that others filled your head with fluff. He is not at fault that you find him reprehensible, oh no sir. 

Cornering - How would they get you?

This is where he can be spectacularly impulsive. Mayhaps he is fretting over how to approach you, how to win over your heart, when he spontaneously decides to throw it all in the wind and nab you. It could be during a field trip - the two of you out on a lake on a sailing boat, just having finished lunch. You're just lying on deck, sated and sleepy. Would this just be the perfect time to tie you up, dock and then squirrel you away to his house? 

Or he offers you a ride home from an event that you both are attending, and decides to take you to his house. If you protest when he pulls into the garage, he'll feign being a cheesy romantic and that he understood his place when you told him to drive you home. 

The matter is, Raivis is very intelligent, but he still sucks when it comes to planning a complex sequence of events, especially when some of the variables are unknown. Chess is foreseeable since it is a lot about developed tactics and countertactics, where the properties of all pieces are known and everything is visible. Real life is not so accommodating and thus he struggles. Thus, he has a vague idea as to how to win your heart, but as to how the chips should fall so that he gets his happily ever after, he is clueless. 

So he decides to just go for the kill. Part of this is also to blame on the fact that his idea of romance comes from tragic romance books, where the love interest slips through the fingers of the protagonist due to lack of action. 

You wind up in his humble abode, and he has no idea what to do with you. Installing child safety everywhere seems like a good first step. If you don't watch out, you might wind up tied to a bed. All in all, how well you are treated depends on how well you take the sudden change in your living situation. Should you accept it with grace, then you'll be able to trick yourself into thinking it is a normal relationship, with one eye closed that is. Should you might back, tranquillisers and chains it is. 

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

He wants you to me feminine. Not girly, don't be mistaken, rather imbued with grace and kindness. Lavia wants somebody tender to spend his time with after enduring the stresses of the day. A bit like those old aristocratic ladies, with impeccable manners, a good sense of fashion and a stern demeanour. Though, please don't look down on him. 

That is partially where the desire for a more down to earth persona comes in. Somebody that doesn't hesitate to roll up their sleeves and get to work, no matter how long the hours and tough the task is. Somebody with whom he can build a home. A partner with a matronly side here is ideal, that isn't too stuck up to laugh and enjoy life, nor withers away when the going gets tough. 

It is then up to you to stick a balance here. Ravis is very much a dreamer, and can often get carried away with them. On top of that, he often tries to superimpose his dreams on reality and then becomes either upset or anxious when they don't match. Here, you'll have to be good with words, good at dragging him out of his slump while not encouraging his daydreaming tendencies to an unhealthy extent. Additionally, have good communication skills. He is so afraid of you leaving him, but doesn't see how the fault for that could rest on his shoulders, instead it would be all your doing. In the long-term, you'll have to learn how to communicate with him without setting him off. 

Also, rely on him. Let him feel smart and strong, worthy of your time. If you don't, then it isn't him that is wrong, but you. You are the evil being trying to undermine his self-esteem and make him doubt himself. How can you reject all his hard work, you ungrateful ignat? Here you would be dealing with a volatile young man. Be careful what you say to him or else you'll put yourself in danger. Be grateful for his affections and attention, even if it should come in the form of a severed head in a cardboard box on your doorstep. 

On top of that, you'll have to have a lot of metal resilience. Look, he isn't the sort that doesn't know how to comfort people, or bring somebody down from an anxiety attack, but he doesn't expect to have to carry you through life because you can't function in day-to-day life. And if you are catatonic? Then you'll find yourself without company, not even his. He wouldn't provide the most psychologically healthy environment to begin with, and it not something he'll ever fully, consciously acknowledge. In that way, you'll have to put up with his daily antics without tearing your hair out. 

Intelligence is also important to him. Mind you, you don't have to be a complete genius - that would just intimidate him and the leash he'd have on you would become even shorter. What he desires, is somebody that can understand him, especially when he starts rambling about his interests and hobbies. And understands not to fidget too much when the chains are brought out. 

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

If you would become catatonic, then he would toss you aside without a second thought. Being a walking corpse, you just wouldn't be the person whom he became obsessed with. Since you wouldn't have any value to him as an empty doll, he would get rid of you fast. Murder wouldn't be an option, not for old times sake at least, so he would just drop you off at the side of the road and call it a day. He would be a bit worried about you, but would ultimately decide that he would do you no good by fretting over you. With you out of sight and having no more importance to him, he'll manage to move on.

The other way would be if you are much more powerful than him in your own right, or if you have somebody protecting you from him. Even if it is just Poland that is your partner, he would hesitate to make you his. So it might just as well be that he'll be restricted to pinning for you from afar. Over time, he could just as well fall for somebody else, or force himself to not think. With enough distraction and enough time, the memory of you will fade.

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

Oh, this can be scary. You see, this young man doesn't really know when to stop and often goes too far due to his skewed perception of reality. Don't worry though, he isn't for public humiliation, usually. What can he do if unsavoury rumours about you suddenly start circulating. Bad things happen, and sometimes people get bored and make stuff up to pass the time. It isn't his fault in any way. If it pushes you closer to him, then he won't complain. 

Other than that, he would want to illustrate to you how generous and gracious he is being with you. How about going a few days without heating. How about without food? No clothing? No water? No electricity? It would be like a science experiment to him where he can play around with the parameters to produce different outcomes. Ravis isn't above writing a report about it and then presenting his findings to you, also thanking you for your "willing participation". 

Another way he would punish you would be by granting your wish to stop interfering with your life. He’d let you run the show, cook and clean and read whatever, whenever you want. But he would be there the whole time, eyes tracing your every movement, listening to your every word. He would never interfere, just watch the whole time. With him having all the keys, you wouldn’t even have privacy while sitting on the toilet - he would just be standing there, watching you. This would also be one of those scenarios where he wouldn’t say anything for days. Ravis would do his best to not outwardly react to anything you say or do, and only end the whole affair when he deems you ready. This could be after a few hours, or after a month or two. 

There is also a game plan if you resort to violent action - breaking bones. If he shatters the bones in your fingers, then you'll be dependent on him for and during your recovery. Also, you won't be able to attack or escape. Actions have consequences, and this would be the consequence of you being mean and hurtful to him. Surely that will teach you a lesson. On top of that, your hands will never be the same again. Future attacks will have no chance of being smooth and lightning quick. 

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

This would be where he'd get very impulsive. You see, you are like an opiod that soothes and dulls the pain. Having you suddenly disappear into thin air would be a shock in more ways than one. Latvia would become frantic, running all around your shared living space, ripping open closets and peeking behind wardrobes, because surely you are just hiding from him, right? Right? 

There is a chance that he'll be the one to catch, not eating or sleeping until he has you back in his grasp. Should you meet him in this state, don't expect him to be reasonable or merciful - he'll be too frenzied for either of those. Best come along quietly and don't draw it out for longer than need be. That would just make him more irate and prone to injuring you and bystanders. 

It could just as well be that you aren't captured by him, but by agents or mercenaries employed by the Latvian government. They might not have a lot of power or influence, but they still need a functioning nation. The best way to ensure that is to drag you back to captivity.

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO?

This would only work if you can convince him that you are acting in his best interests. Maybe he is a patient and you have to play nurse for him, taking his health in your hands and handling it expertly. Maybe you earn more than he does, and thus make the big purchases, like buying a house, a car and whatnot. Then he can be relatively at ease with the whole dynamic. Control ultimately rests with him though, and at the end of the day, you have to accept him in your life. 

When that isn't the case, that is when matters turn ugly. Due to nearly always being under foreign control means that Ravis has garnered a lot of negative experiences of what happens when he gives up control. He reacts allergic to situations and dynamics where he doesn't have any control and doesn't go in his favour. So you can expect manipulations, pot shots, and waking up in the night to find that he is smothering you with a pillow. All of this wouldn't be to kill you. No, it would just be to make you hand back the reins to him. 

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition?

Ravis would know that he is a small country with little to his name. Little to offer, and even less means by which he can threaten. All in all if another country or a powerful person takes interest in you, there is little he can do about it. What he can do is gather allies or also use somebody else's interests to his own ends. There are border issues, economic disputes, intelligence problems and so much more that rise and subside in international relationships. He just has to make sure goals align and with a little grease on the wheels, he is good to go. 

Perhaps the near neighbour is in desperate need of a colour revolution. Or should it rather be a plain political crisis. With some well placed words and offers, he could end up pointing a benefactor at his enemy like a howitzer. Once the wolves are done tearing at each other's throats, he'll be sifting through the rubble to take his own spoils. If one of those spoils is you, then that is just his luck, isn't it?

In the case we are talking about a regular mortal, then matters are simpler - they go missing. If they end up as pig food or as "goods" on the black market really depends on his mood. 

[justasimp1]

Five Hargreeves x F! Reader

Angst, Jealousy, **requested: "You should do more five ones :)" @boisboysboisboys

Platter

There was no way this could be happening right now. The world could be fucking ending at your dressed like this- so promiscuous, dazzling, and entrancing... Five couldn't contain himself, he fixed his posture, taking a gulp of the harsh liquor.

He didn't like you, he couldn't like you even though his heart pounded everytime you came into view and he even thought about living in the apocalypse ruins only with you.

He was practically an old man trapped in an young body, he wasn't emotional stable neither available. Five swore you deserved better, someone who could caress your smooth skin, kiss you goodnight, and tell you how beautiful you were everyday.

Five would do all of those things till the day he dies but it just couldn't be him. He pushed your flirty comments away, ignoring your presence when you hang out with the family.

You assumed he didn't like you...at all. You even tried changing up your advances, seeing if there was a sliver of chance he could see you the way you saw him. You felt head over heel, the book type of romance, or the late at night crying love.

You decided maybe Five wasn't the one but you never lost your burning feelings for him. Attending this party, the commission was holding, with Clint was an example of you trying to shove your feelings away.

You bit your tongue, eyes seraching for an escape. "So how about after this-" "I should go get a drink, I'm a little parched" You chuckled, pulling your wrist from his grasp. "Okay" Clint nodded, his eyebrows furrowed.

You quickly walked, trying to wrap your head around some sort of emotion you might have for the male. "A Blue Lagoon please" You spoke to the bartender, not noticing Five walking beside you.

"Another one" Five muttered, his eyes trained on you. Your ears perked to the sound of his voice, your stomach cringed at the proximity. "You enjoying the party?" You reached for your cocktail.

"Eh not really my style" He smoothed out his shirt, watching you intensely as you sucked on the blue liquid. "However you seem to be enjoying this...with Clint" Five added the last part with a strong amount of venom.

You would start banter about he seemed jealous but you refrained from it. "Yeah I am. He's...unique" You tried faking a smile. To be honest, all you could imagine while being with Clint was Five, every physical trait shifting into a version of Five's.

"Huh.." Five hummed, intrigued. He has studied Clint before, average looks, average fighting, average grades, good dental records (maybe a cavity or two when he was young). Clint definitely didn't deserve to be with you who excelled at everything.

"What" You smiled, looking at his concentrated face on Clint. "He's doesn't seem like your type" "Whats my type?" "Someone who can fulfill your needs properly" Five eyes narrowed, turning back to you.

"Someone like you" You quirked, nudging his arm. Five froze for a moment, eyes locking deeply with you. "Anyone but me" His mouth moved slowly. You shook your head, squeezing the lemon slice into your drink.

You glanced at him through your eye lashes, furrowing your eye brows. "Five Hargreeves. You're everything I need" You snickered, brushing your fingers against his skin. "Don't" Five hissed but he allowed his arm to rest on the counter.

"I'm not right for you" His eyes squeezed shut. "No one seems to be" You sighed, eyes flickering to Clint who obviously found another attraction. Five clicked his tongue, bringing your gaze to him.

"Someone who deserves you will come, that's a fact" Five placed down his whiskey. He didn't mean the shitty hookups or deceiving boyfriends. A part of him even wanted to talk about himself but he knew you were made for something way better than a crippling 60 year old in a teenager's body.

You pinched your temple, blinking furiously at the burning feeling nudging your eyes. "Yeah whatever" You scoffed, setting down your drink. His eyes flickered to ground as you walked away.

A gut twisting feeling pulling at his intestines.

Masterlist

[veveisveryuncool]

so, i was wondering about that mirror AU. first off i wanna say, i really like the designs. but i did have a few questions.

So first off, for Magolor, you say he's basically blind but it looks like he has an eye in his mouth like the original soul version. Is that not an eye or am I just going crazy?

Secondly, You mentioned how Adeline is the most normal of them. So are all the characters basically insane and if so, how would you say they rank on the sanity scale?

And finally, and I just have to ask this being a fan of both these characters, but you mentioned that Magolor has someone to help guide him, being blind. Is there by any chance that this seeing-eye jester you mentioned happens to be Marx?

ohhh hi!! tysm for asking about this! i'm really glad people took an interest in those mirror world counterparts, it means a lot :]]

ok, to start, i'm gonna talk about adeleine and sanity :D (since the two magolor questions tie in with each other and bc i like talking about her)

here is the "sanity" scale! i put this in quotes because they are all a little bit insane in their own ways <3

adeleine is the "most normal" here, not because she is mentally sane, but because she basically lives the same life she had pre-DL3 (living alone in cloudy parks, surrounded by her living discarded WIPs, having various temper tantrums). obviously, she still plays a role in the mirror-world version of 64:CS, but she let the whole "shiver star oh my god. earth is dead. humans are gone and i'm the only one left" thing completely take over her psyche. she stays up in the clouds, desperately trying to remember life on earth, and maybe– just maybe, convince herself that she's not alone.

magolor is doing surprisingly okay here?? like, sure he barely managed to scrape his way out of purgatory, and now has the remains of his wrongdoings etched into his body, but he's taking it like a champ 👍👍 he denies what happened to him was his fault (even when it totally was), and because of it, his AD experience was ramped up to 11. he feels no remorse for his betrayal, and instead no longer fights kirby simply because he gave up trying. he's also got the whole..eye and crown thing going on. so.

elfilin is next, with him basically being confined to the Pickle Jar. he's trapped in his own mind (forever wandering the isolated isles) and just kinda floats there, waiting for something to save him from an eternity of chaos. i put him above adeleine because of the situation that leads him there in the first place. since the initial splitting of elfilis/elfilin was a lot more messy, it means that they're stuck in a yin-yang scenario. instead of completely good, elfilin is mostly good, and that sliver of darkness increased his susceptibility to fecto forgo, drawing him to lab discovera. the beast pack captures him and tries to fuse him with forgo, but because of the discordance, it's taking a lot longer. the "good" part of elfilin hangs on, trapped in his dreams and slowly losing his grip, which is represented by his constant crying of the blood cell-like orbs from chaos elfilis' fight.

ribbon is. not doing so hot here. not only is she on the verge of breaking (mentally and physically), she has essentially isolated herself to complete an impossible mission. since the crystal was smashed into thousands upon thousands of pieces, she'll likely spend the rest of her life searching for each shard. she wallows in guilt and self-depreciation (even though it's not her fault!!), and is also fighting off dark matter possession at any given point. her will is strong, but how long can she last?

okay!! magolor time!!

magolor's seeing-eye jester is indeed marx! (though he will kill you if you call him that) while mirror-marx is even less of a good choice to befriend than normal marx, their friendship still upholds :]

while yeah, magolor does have a huge-ass eye in his mouth, it's not him that's doing the seeing. the visual information goes straight to the master crown, if this makes sense.

the master crown's power has dulled, now forming a symbiotic relationship with him. magolor provides the crown with a body to host, and the crown's magic allows him survive AD, basic perception (he's not gonna run into a tree anytime soon, but can't read or see faces), and a huge ego boost.

[hoshibait]

i'd love to hear those drake headcanons of yours :^)!

alright anon i warned you

quick warning for obsessive love and idk bro toxic angst i guess

also another warning i’m projecting a lot, specifically onto drew.

i’m a strong believer of drew being one of those gay people that just really represses their sexuality to the point of just not realizing for a while. he eventually figures out his gender but he doesn’t really talk about it much and cringes when he thinks about it too much. he’s a transfem agender, no big deal.

i know a lot of people hc drew as hispanic and that makes me very happy. you wanna know why i made him peruvian though, i’ll tell you why, i’m projecting, suck it nerd.

drew began being friends with jake during freshman year, in my head i feel like part of it was out of pity, drew didn’t think too much of jake at the time, just a new cool guy to hang out with.

idk how canon this is but in my interpretation the two of them the two of them got close to the point of being best friends, the two of them just jived together so well, he felt so understood, jake was an amazing guy, he was so fun to hang out with. it felt like things were perfect. however we know it wasn’t always great for the opposite party.

i’m a firm believer of neurodivergent jake, i don’t know what he has exactly but he’s def peculiar LMAO.

because of this, he’s always struggled socially and generally just being able to be his true self, of course he has a passion for singing and music and i wouldn’t be surprised if his neurodivergence impacted that at all.

think about it though, you’ve been bullied and outcasted your whole life, and all of the sudden a group of cool dudes want to take you in just because you seem cool to them?

jake finally felt a sense of belonging, right?

except those people were also judgmental to an extent, they put other people down, they put down your passion indirectly. you don’t want to lose them, because they seem to care for you, so you hide and lie, you mask.

i wouldn’t put it past jake to have some identity issues with how much he lies even to himself. ngl the more i write this the more i realize i said all the important things in my little chart. oh yeah my drew bpd hc this is def just me projecting btw, also i called it developing/undiagnosed in the chart since it's very rare for people his age to get diagnosed with it, plus he def goes around untreated. i guess the best way i can describe the two of them in my hc is this weird complicated love-hate thing. they're definitely not healthy, not at this rate, but it's like there's this slight chance, this sliver of hope that maybe things can work. i don't think that would happen though. i still need to think of how jake would even turn down drew, but i just know he'd be, more torn, lmao. you guys think a little bit of tyler the creator could've saved drew //slap

[morgana-ren]

A thought: Astarion learning from a good-aligned Tav that just as much as 'innocent' does not mean 'stupid...' 'Good' does not mean 'soft.'

Ethel, her head torn from her neck when she makes the mistake of trying to trade Mayrina for a sliver of her own power to the enraged barbarian. Olodan, Kagha's Shadow Druid contact, with her throat torn by a Wildshaped bear come to protect the innocents sheltered by the Grove. Anders, run through on his own greatsword after he's reminded what a true paladin looks like.

... He catches himself hoping that he just might stand a chance if he can just keep Tav between himself and Cazador. He called them a bleeding heart in the beginning, and they coldly smiled, tolerating his barbs, finding other ways to make him care for them, to the point that he could tolerate that about them, too. But if that 'weakness' makes them this strong, what might they become if they keep refining themself from this blunt tool into a weapon?

What a strange feeling, hope.

To me, it seems like he very much mistakes kindness for vulnerability. He's learned through hundreds of years of both being a vampire and held captive under the thumb of one that being soft and gentle and trusting is a good way to become prey. After all, what is easier? Dragging someone to your lair kicking and screaming the whole way? Or tricking some poor fool into walking into the slaughterhouse of their own accord? He seems to view being traditionally 'good' as a waste of time, mostly because it doesn't benefit him in the slightest. Even if you direct him through the 'good' choices in the game--i.e. saving the tieflings, helping Mayrina, etc-- he doesn't get that giddy little tingle. Instead, he seems indifferent at best and bitter about it at worst. Definitely not a choice he would have made on his own, even seeming to dislike the attention being a 'hero' garners him, perhaps because it feels disingenuous and unearned.

But being kind does not mean one does not have claws, and endearing himself to a 'good' aligned Tav-- especially while putting them under the impression he is trying to change for the better and really impressing what a monster Cazador is and how many lives will be saved by putting him down-- is a good way to keep his pretty neck attached to his shoulders.

However, I think he feels like good also means naive and foolish to a degree, which is very much not the case. He will learn, likely the hard way, that he cannot manipulate his way through life. Especially people who are kind and good natured get used to people trying to take advantage and attempting to manipulate them. He will have to be a bit more open than I feel he deems acceptable, which thus far, he has done of his own accord given enough time. Getting the kind of help he wants requires a level of vulnerability on his part, so he will have to leverage it out and weigh the detriments verses the benefits.

He will have to unlearn a lot of things he picked up during his time in confinement if he wants to keep a wise and good Tav on his side. They might still be willing to help but I doubt they would stick around long if he was constantly trying to pull the wool over their eyes, especially because it doesn't seem necessary.

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part II

Another Sunday, another Spooktober Special. In this installment, we learn a little more about what landed our intrepid hero, if he is not a victim, in his current predicament.

11.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. My captor’s absence has grown lengthy, and so I have taken the chance to spend a little time to collect my thoughts and regroup. I will still attempt to be brief, as I have no guarantees his absence will be lengthy. Luckily, the vertical coal chute that he uses to access this hidey-hole is a noisy old thing, and scuttling down it as he does makes ample noise of forewarning. I suppose he could always use the one door to my one-room prison, but considering how heavily it is barred, I severely doubt that’d take less time or make less noise.

I suppose I should start with how I got to wherever and whatever this is. It all started the afternoon of the day after my entry about contacting the Enforcers. I skipped lunch and headed for one of the beer halls they tend to hang out in. I did not relish the thought of seeking out one of those dark, noisy places, stinking of stale beer and violence, but it was the price I paid for getting the Enforcers involved, part of the price at any rate.

The first block of my journey went without incident, although I could still feel that strange tingle in my blood that someone, somewhere, was watching me. I hadn’t exactly tuned it out, but I was working my way to a state where I could, at least for the duration of my stroll, pretend that I was not worried. This all came to an end when I heard the second clang. The first time I heard the muted, yet unmistakably resonant sound of bronze on cobblestone, I assumed a workshop had left their doors open. It wasn’t that uncommon of a thing, the bane of floor managers everywhere. When I heard it again, though, a sliver of doubt twined with fear started digging into my mind. Had it sounded almost exactly as close as last time? That would mean the source of the sound was moving.

I upped my pace. Not into a run, of course, but a more brisk walk. Like a man who comes to remember he has pressing matters to attend to, or who catches a glimpse of one of the large shift clocks in the intersections between streets in the Foundry District and realizes his break grows short indeed. Much to my terror, the clanging seemed to pick up the pace, confirming what I feared. This clanging was from some sort of footstep. I didn’t want to imagine what sort of a being walked around in town with one armored boot, but it wasn’t really the kind of thing I could stop myself from. I tried a casual peak behind me, but what I saw did not assuage me.

In the crowds, rapidly thinning as the change of the hour meant the start of a new shift, I could see my pursuer, or rather, I could see his caped and cowled form. It would be considered gauche to walk around in such garb, so whatever else I could say about my pursuer, he was not vain. The thought of what he looked like to prefer the total anonymity of this disguise briefly crossed my mind, and I decided not to dwell on it as I again upped my pace, now being only a slight change of posture away from breaking into a jog.

The streets wouldn’t be empty enough for any footpad with at least an ounce of self-preservation to harm me right out in public. This wasn’t to say I was safe, though. In the rapid onset dark of early fall, it wouldn’t be too hard for an experienced throat-slitter to pull me into an alley with nary a one of the tired souls marching homewards after a long day of work even noticing. I’m a pretty strong man, but I didn’t like my odds if it came to such a gambit. A knife in the ribs cares little for the muscles of your chest and shoulders, after all.

My pursuer kept pace with me. Somehow, the ease with which he did so seemed unnatural to me, like he had merely accelerated rather than putting in more effort to match my speed. His gait was uneven, I spotted when first noticing him, but it did not seem to slow him down any. If anything, the foot he favored seemed to propel him forward faster than the other.

I thought I’d beat him to the next intersection, but it was difficult to be sure. With the blood pumping in my ears from stress and the exertion of the brief aerobic exercise, I could no longer hear the tell-tale ring of my pursuer’s steps, and I could not find the courage to turn my head again. He would be right there, I told myself as my body, entirely without my input, decided to prepare for a mad dash as soon as I could chose directions freely.

It was a desperate gambit, and ultimately a futile one. Something hard and cold closed around my neck, not a crushing pressure, but certainly enough to make me stop cold in my tracks.

I could hear him behind me now, his breath uneven but measured. I stood still, petrified by this new development. Whatever was latched around my neck pinched the skin, but otherwise didn’t harm me. I raised a hand to touch whatever it was, but a quick squeeze dissuaded me with haste.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, casting my eyes around in an attempt to sneak a glance at my attacker. It was no good, my phantom stalker remained in my blind zone, as silent as death. “Why aren’t you saying anything? What do you want?” I pleaded, but to no avail.

The contraption around my neck tugged at me, digging into the flesh of my neck with tiny prickling teeth. I took it as a command to move, and so I did start walking towards the little alley that my captor had apparently chosen for whatever fate awaited me.

“I don’t have much money,” I told him as I walked. “I have some scrip saved up, a stock or two I think? It’s not much but it’s yours if you let me go. Won’t even tell the enforcers or nothing.” I was admittedly getting desperate, but it got me nowhere. Once we were well into the alley, he threw the bag over my head. As of today, that’s the last time I saw natural light. I must end my narrative here, for I hear the shaking of the coal chute that heralds my captor’s arrival. I still don't understand what he wants with me, but if he wants to kill me, he’s had many a chance to do so.

[fatiguedcorvid]

apparenly i have strong feelings about Phinks MagCub

In the troupe centric episode in the CAA Phinks refused to mercy-kill the turned humans in meteor city, saying that they should attack first and i love this scene.

The most obvious explanation for someone with no context is that he has a moral objection to killing, but not to self defence. This is demonstrably untrue.

 The second possibility is one similar to Hisoka’s reasoning not to kill Goz in the 4th phase of the exam, that a fight isn’t worth it if the opponent’s too weak to be satisfying, but i also think that’s untrue. The two are extremely different. If Phinks were only motivated by the thrill of battle, he would be more proactive in fighting other troupe members, nen users, and chimaera ants. No, he tells them to “show us there’s some spirit left in you! Send yourselves off in style!” and I think that says so much about his and the troupe’s worldview.

 He loves the city and its people, their strength is in their drive to survive and thrive despite the world having turned its back on them. He wants their final moments on this earth to be triumphant, not miserable. It’s in tiny moments like this one that the troupe become human. Phinks was never a main focus in any storyline, and at a cursory glance one could conclude that he was simply amoral, without a care in the world other than himself. But here it is demonstrated that he has strongly held convictions, however unorthodocs.

 When Chrollo was captured, Phinks was one of the members most in favour of sacrificing him as he told them to. One might think this is Phinks sacrificing his friend for the chance of saving himself from Kurapika’s wrath, but in the CAA it’s shown that Phinks is extremely concerned about Chollo, eagerly waiting for him to call. It is his convictions that are so strong in his mind that other things become irrelevant. His conviction in the importance of preserving the spider and listening to Chrollo’s wishes surperseed his concern for his friend. His conviction in the importance of maintaining the spirit of meteor city supersedes his pity for suffering people.

 If you asked most people, ‘principled’ would probably not be the first word that comes to mind when they think about Phinks, but it seems to me he very much is. You just have to look a little deeper to find it.

 I absolutely love these small moments of characterization from the background characters. It makes them feel like whole people all on their own, rather than chess pieces, only moved around for the sake of progressing the plot. It makes the world feel real and expansive, rather than only existing in the small sliver of it we happen to focus on.

 Also, can i just say, phinks warning kalluto and lending shizuku his tunic tughkjslkdlkl my heart melted 

p.s. wrote all this before the new chapters

[outerspacebisexual]

A Place in this World - Steve Harrington

Book B - Part Seven

Summary: You and Steve Harrington are together, and this feels like it could be the end.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word count: 9.4k

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical levels of violence and gore, major injury

a/n: this is the final part of this series, and i'm so sad for it to be ending.

thank you so, so much for sticking with it and for supporting it. all of the love has meant the world to me, and i hope that my little fic has bought you some joy.

<3 aeia

Masterlist

Over the past ten minutes, you weren’t sure if you admired Nancy Wheeler’s courage, or if you thought she was absolutely bat-shit crazy.

The idea of going back into the place that you only just narrowly escaped from, and potentially into the waiting, open arms of the monster that killed Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick was beyond insane.

And yet, the longer you listened to Nancy and the others debate it, the more you thought it might just be the only way of stopping Vecna from getting Max.

Using Max as bait was the one thing that you were the most hung up on. There were so many ways that this plan could go wrong. If just one cog in this machine failed, she would most likely end up like Chrissy and the others, and you didn’t know if you could let her run that risk.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to use you, Max,” you said from the couch beside Steve. “If we get the timing even just a second wrong, you could die.”

“If we don’t do this at all, I’m dead anyway. There’s only so much Kate Bush can do, and I don’t think it’s going to last forever.” She fiddled with the cord of her headphones around her neck. “This could be our only chance.”

You hated the way she said it, like she was already resigning herself to death, but you hated even more that she was right.

You were vaguely aware of Nancy and Robin talking about something to do with logistics, but you zoned out. You hadn’t known Max for very long, but in the six months that you’d been neighbourly, you had really come to like her.

She was strong, and hot-headed, even after the death of her brother Billy last year. She was still just a kid. And now she was going to dangle herself in front of Death, with a sliver of hope that it would all work out.

You didn’t even notice that you were fidgeting and picking at the skin of your nails until Steve placed his hand over yours.

You looked up at him, and he looked like he was dealing with this whole idea about as well as you were.

He brushed his thumb over your hand, and you relished in the way it calmed you down. It bought you back to the present, enough that you actually paid attention to what the others were saying.

“We’ll need weapons,” Nancy said. “We’ll need guns.”

Robin scoffed. “Where are we going to get guns? I know you have two in your bedroom, but that’s hardly enough to take down a child-killing-Upside-Down-monster.”

“What about the War Zone?” you piped up.

Eddie perked up and leaned forward enough to see you around Steve. “You think so?”

You shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. That’s where we got my guns remember?”

“Oh yeah. We got the fireworks then, too.”

“And those ones you throw and they explode. The ones you used in the school bathroom.”

Eddie let out a bark of laughter. “I forgot about that.”

Steve turned to Eddie. “Wait, that was you guys who blew up the guy’s toilets in senior year?”

Nancy cut everyone off. “That is besides the point.” She looked at you. “Does this place have everything we need?”

“And more,” you answered, nodding.

“And it’s just far enough outside of Hawkins that if we stay off the main roads, we could go unnoticed,” Eddie added. “Slip in and out without anyone suspecting anything.”

“OK, that’s cool and all,” Dustin interrupted, “but it’ll take all day and back to bike there.”

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie replied, and he sent you a conspiring look.

You narrowed your eyes. “Munson, are you suggesting what I think you are?””

He was already smiling as he said, “Since when are you above a little grand theft auto?”

+

Steve was quick to volunteer to go with you to your trailer to collect your small bag of tools that you and Eddie used for a wide variety of purposes.

You surveyed the area, and when you were sure no one was watching, you slipped out of Max’s house and through the park to your trailer, Steve hot on your heels.

The graffiti was still there, just as bright as when you first saw it a few days ago. You weren’t even sure how you would explain it to your parents.

You weren’t sure how you would explain any of this to your parents.

If they didn’t already know that you were wanted for first-degree murder, they would soon. You’d be surprised if Chief Powell hadn’t already managed to track them down.

Pulling open the door, you found everything exactly as you had left it on the night of Chrissy’s death.

Cups and plates still stacked on the counter; clothes strewn across the living room from where you’d taken them off before going to Eddie’s; it was as if you just up and disappeared, which you guessed you did.

The door to your bedroom was still open, and you immediately pulled the box from beneath your bed that held a whole bunch of different bits and bobs from over the years.

As you did, you caught sight of the old guitar strings on your bed, right where you’d left them.

That day somehow seemed so far away, when in fact, it had only been days ago.

You shifted through the box, finding the small bag towards the back of the box. You opened it, checking that the pliers were in there before closing it and pushing the box back under the bed.

Turning around, you were surprised to find Steve right behind you, eyes on the vase of peonies that were now dead. Most of the petals had fallen to the top of your bedside table or onto the floor, but a few were just barely holding on.

He touched one of them, and it dropped to join the others. “Did you like them?” he asked you.

“I did. They were really beautiful.” You tried to remember back to what they looked like on the day he gave them to you, all bright and lively and all different colours. “I’m sad that they’re dead.”

“When this is all over, I promise I’ll buy you more flowers,” he told you. “More than you can fit in your house.”

You looked over at him, and he had a sad sort of smile on his face, one that you knew was a combination of all this shit, and also because your flowers were dead and he hadn’t gotten you any more like he had promised.

You swallowed and said shyly, “How about as many as will fit in your house?”

Steve stared at you for a second, before realisation washed over him and his face lit up. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, yeah. Not…Not all the time, but most of the time.”

His grin was breathtaking, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing you.

You smiled into the kiss at his giddiness and moved your free hand up to his shoulder. But as soon as you did, he hissed, and you pulled away.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” you apologised. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured you. “Just sore.”

You bit your lip as he stretched out his shoulders, trying to break up some of the stiffness. “I’m sorry,” you said after a second. “For how I acted in the Upside Down. I…I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it. I was just…scared. Seeing you hurt like that, it was almost too much.”

He placed his hand on your cheek, making you look at him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever.”

You smiled at that. “Lucky me.” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone. “I don’t want to miss out on any more time with you,” you admitted. “After all of this, you’re the one place I always want to be.” You hesitated for a second, but with everything that had gone wrong over the last few days, you couldn’t not say it to him. “I love you.”

Steve froze.

You thought that maybe you had made a mistake, but then his shoulders sagged, and he looked relieved. “I love you, too.”

Your heart fluttered at the words.

“I’ve been trying to say that to you all week, but every time I chickened out,” he admitted.

“I wish you had said them, because I would have said them back in a heartbeat.”

Steve kissed you again. This time slow and purposeful, like he was making up for all the lost times he hadn’t said it.

You broke apart all too soon. “We’d better go,” you breathed. “We have a campervan to steal.”

By the time you made it back to Max’s, and then to the side of the van, Eddie was almost bouncing out of shoes.

He pushed open the window, climbing in with about as much grace as you expected.

You followed, clutching your tool bag to your chest as you flung yourself up and over the window ledge. The others were quick to follow you, and you shushed them as they clambered about.

“You ready for this?” you mumbled to Eddie as he locked the door and took a seat.

“You mean, am I ready for some seriously overdue fun?” He pulled the wires out from beneath the dash. “Hell yeah.”

You handed him the pliers, and he got to work.

You watched him, trying to memorise what he was doing. Even though you and him had done this before, you still didn’t know how. The carjacking was usually left to Eddie.

Steve came up behind you. “So, this is what you meant when you said that you and your friends did stupid, illegal shit on the weekends?” he observed.

“One of us has to be law abiding, babe,” you replied.

He shook his head, even as he smiled. “Where’d you learn how to do this?” he asked Eddie.

Eddie didn’t look up from his work. “Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. Now, I swore to myself I wouldn’t wind up like he did, but now, I’m wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So, I’m really living up to that Munson name.”

You frowned at the mention of his father, but then Steve asked you, “And you learned this from him?”

Eddie laughed. “No, she can never remember how to do it,” he teased. “She’s more interested in petty theft and breaking and entering.”

You flipped him off, even though it was true.

“Eddie?” Robin called from over Steve’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving.”

“Oh, I’m starting this sucker. Harrington’s got her. Don’t you, big boy?”

All three of you took pause at that, but no one had time to question him as he struck the exposed wires together and the engine sputtered to life.

The owners were quick to start shouting, but you didn’t care, not as that rush you got whenever you did something like this thrummed through you.

You and Eddie locked eyes, both already grinning. Steve and Robin, however, were both sharing similar looks of panic.

Eddie jumped up, switching places with Steve who was having a mild panic attack as he tried to work out how to drive the van. “Everybody, hang on to something!”

He took off, the van jumping up and down with every bump hidden in the grass.

You and Eddie were laughing manically as the others started screaming, shouting directions at Steve who was already doing exactly what they were saying.

“Hold on!” he called out as he took a hard left straight out of the park and onto the road.

As soon as the van hit the tarred road, it evened out, and Steve stepped his foot off the gas. “Is everyone OK?”

A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ came from behind you, all with varying degrees of sincerity.

You left your spot beside the fridge and took a seat next to Steve. “That was fun.”

He shot you an incredulous look. “Fun? I’ve never felt closer to death than that moment right there.”

“Oh, toughen up, princess; that was easy money,” you joked.

You and Steve held eye contact for a few seconds, and your stomach flipped as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Do you want to tell me about what you and Eddie were talking about earlier when he said you spent the night in jail for getting caught breaking and entering while drinking underage?”

You hummed, a sparkle in your eyes as you said, “Absolutely not.”

+

Steve was sure that you were going to come bounding into the store at any second after how hard you refused to stay in the van.

You had argued that no one here would recognise you and that you would keep a low profile, but he had been steadfast in making sure you stayed in the van.

Eddie had helped him out there, aiding him in convincing you to stay put.

But even as he walked around the store with Robin, chucking random things he thought they might need, he had one eye on the entrance.

“She’s not that dumb,” Robin said to him as she picked up a sheathed knife. It was a lot longer than what they needed, and she thought the same thing, putting it back on the shelf. “She won’t just wander in.”

“I know that,” he shot back. “I just…She doesn’t always listen.”

“She’s been my friend for years, Steve. I know she doesn’t listen. But she’s also not an idiot.”

Steve picked up a jacket in his size, turning it over in his hands before sliding it on over the shirt he’d already put on. He pretended not to notice the small amount of blood that had leaked through Nancy’s makeshift bandage and onto his shirt.

“Still,” he mumbled, “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Robin stopped in front of him, and he looked up to see her staring at Vickie across the store.

If he was honest, Vickie wasn’t exactly the type that he thought Robin would go for, but he supported her in it nonetheless. She looked different to how she normally did when Steve saw her; usually it was in her band gear, clarinet under her arm.

“Well, are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to make a move?” he teased, and despite her trembling hands, Robin prepared herself to go over to her.

Before she could though, a guy that Steve didn’t recognise came up behind Vickie.

Robin faltered, her face dropping.

Steve could feel her heartbreak. “Hey, Robin—Robin!” But she was already taking off.

He sighed and caught Vickie’s eye a second too late. He could tell that she had seen Robin, and he couldn’t help the disappointment for his best friend.

He knew what it felt like to have the person he liked in a relationship with someone else. Granted, you hadn’t actually been in a relationship with Eddie, but he hadn’t known that.

He had to deal with watching you sneak off with him to the drama rooms, and Eddie pick you up from work, and Eddie take you to dinner. None of those things turned out to be romantic, of course, but he had needed to push down that jealously in order to remain friends with you.

Even if you had been in a relationship with Eddie, Steve would have crushed that part of himself that loved you, if it meant that you would just be his friend. It was a little pathetic on his part, but he didn’t care.

He shook his head. None of this was helping ready you guys to kill Vecna.

Turning down the next aisle, he found a headband in your favourite colour, and grabbed it. He didn’t know if you would even wear it. If you didn’t, maybe he would, just to have a little part of you with him. He smiled, wrapping it around his arm.

He made to exit the aisle, but ran into someone.

“Sorry—” Steve stopped short at the sight of Jason standing in front on him.

He looked deranged, large bags under his eyes, lines deep on his face. When he spotted Steve, his eyes turned feral. “Hey, man,” Jason said.

“Uh, hey, Jason,” he replied. He hadn’t really seen Jason since he graduated. They had played on the Hawkins Tigers basketball team for a few years, but Steve had been older and a dick and didn’t have much to do with anyone younger than him.

Seeing him now, he didn’t see any of the young Jason he’d known. It was all rage and agony melded together.

Steve gave him a polite nod, trying to sneak past him.

“I’ve been hearing some crazy things about the town freaks,” Jason said offhandedly, and Steve paused.

He tried his best not to bristle at the way he was talking about you. “Yeah? That’s crazy, man.” He went to push past him, but Jason stopped him, holding out his arm.

“The Hellfire bitch, she’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?” It wasn’t a question.

Rage was suddenly swirling within him, and Steve was barely concealing his fury as he pushed Jason away with two fingers. Jason let him. “How about you take a few steps back, buddy,” he murmured, voice low and controlled, filled with the promise that things would not go well for him if he didn’t stop.

Jason didn’t reply. He only took two steps back as Steve gave him a long, hard look. Steve watched him walk away, barely breathing.

Robin ducked out from one of the aisles behind him, pushing their cart full of all different items. “Hey, I think we should—”

Steve took her elbow, guiding her to the counter. “We need to go,” he muttered.

“What? Why?”

“Jason is here.”

Nancy suddenly appeared beside them, shotgun in one hand and a bag of ammunition in the other. Her eyes were wide with concern. “Jason is—”

“I know,” Steve interrupted. “Let’s pay for what we have and get out of here. Where’s Erica?”

As he said it, she came around the corner, pushing her cart with the same alarm on her face. “The basketball team—”

“I know, I know.” He started unloading the miscellaneous items onto the counter, rushing the cashier along.

He tried not to think about how many others were with Jason, and if they had found the camper.

They had parked around the side of the building, surely they wouldn’t have found it.

The cashier asked for the cash, and Steve pulled it out, practically throwing it at the guy as he, Erica, Robin, and Nancy pulled the items from the counter and exited the store.

He checked over his shoulder for Jason before slipping down the side of the building and reefing open the campervan door.

“What happened?” Lucas asked.

Steve dumped his bags in Eddie’s lap. “We’ve got to go.”

“Your old friends are here,” Erica explained as the rest of them filed into the van.

“Wait,” you said, coming up from the back of the van, “Jason is here? Did he follow you?”

“I don’t know. Sit down! Sit down!” he shouted as Dustin started telling him to drive.

As he drove through the parking lot, he saw Jason, Andy, and the rest of the basketball team crowded around one of the cars.

“That’s Jason’s car,” you said suddenly from right beside him.

“Shit!” he cried out, then did a double take. “What are you doing? Get down!”

“I am down. They can’t see me from here.”

Steve was ready to pull out his hair as he turned onto the highway. “You’re infuriating, you that?”

You smiled. “And you love me in spite of it,” you replied, swiftly planting a kiss on his cheek as you dropped into the seat beside him.

He huffed, even as the corners of his lips turned up.

+

Standing before the gate in Eddie’s trailer seemed more ominous that last time. Mainly because this time, you were heading back into the danger.

You knew that everyone else was thinking it, too, the way they stood silently beside you.

“Alright,” you said to no one in particular. “Let’s get on this highway to the danger zone.” As you said it, you winked at Nancy, even as Robin and Eddie groaned. Nancy flushed at the reference to her Tom Cruise poster that you and Robin still hadn’t let go.

“Not funny,” Eddie said.

Steve stepped forward and took the rope. “I’m going first just to get away from you.”

You pushed him slightly as he climbed the rope. He glared at you over his shoulder right before he dropped over the threshold, landing on his feet.

He gave you a look of triumph, much like the ones he sent you when he successfully climbed through your bedroom window, despite being told more than once to just use the door.

“What does he want us to do?” Robin scoffed. “Applaud?”

Nancy laughed at that as you took the rope, clambering up after Steve, who had placed Eddie’s mattress from the Upside Down on the floor. You fell as the gravity changed, landing hard on your bad.

“Shit,” you coughed, and Steve held his hand out to help you up. “That was better the first time.”

Slowly, each of your friends made their way through the gate.

You opened the door to Eddie’s trailer, taking in the dark sky. Like last time, the lighting cracked, illuminating the Hawkins that was both the same and different to your home.

“I got you this,” Steve suddenly said from behind you. He held out a headband for you to take. It was your favourite colour, with little lines all over it. “I forgot I had it on my wrist. I didn’t even pay for it,” he chuckled, but it fell flat against the desolate background.

You took it from him, eyes running over the soft material. After a moment, you reached for his hand again, and tied it back around his wrist. “Keep it with you and bring it back to me.”

You didn’t need to say anything else.

You and Steve were still not dealing with the whole splitting-up-again thing very well. You had tried to come up with a different plan, but this one made the most sense. It was the best way that you guys could come up with that gave Max the best chance of survival.

And for Max? You two would do anything.

You tried to block out how nervous she had looked when you dropped her, Lucas, and Erica off at the Creel House. She had been so scared, but tried so hard to pretend she wasn’t.

“I love you,” you said softly, still holding Steve’s wrist.

He removed your hands, taking your hands in his own. He ran his thumbs over your knuckles. “Save it for when I get back.”

You scoffed. “I’m not saving shit, Harrington. Tell me you love me.”

Steve laughed, and for those few seconds, you were just a girlfriend who loved to make the man you loved laugh.

“I love you,” he said finally. His eyes lost their mirth as he stared at you. “Be safe. Please.”

“You, too. Come back in one piece.”

His kissed you, just once. A singular kiss that was both a promise and a good-bye.

He squeezed your hands before moving off towards Robin and Nancy, while you stepped back to beside Eddie and Dustin.

“Guys, listen,” Steve said suddenly. “If things start to go south here, I mean, at all? You abort. OK? You draw the attention of the bats, keep them busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna. Don’t try and be cute or be a hero or something.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Dustin said. “You can be the hero.”

Steve didn’t look too impressed by that comment but nodded all the same. He hesitated for one second, eyes locking with yours. You sent him reassuring smile.

He swallowed harshly and turned away. Your smile dropped once you were sure he couldn’t see.

“What do you say we get our metal on, Kirk?” Eddie said to you, causing your eyes to leave Steve’s back.

You were immediately taking off towards your trailer. You ignored how different things looked from three years ago as you grabbed your guitar from its stand and returned to Eddie’s trailer.

The three of you turned Eddie’s trailer into a makeshift fortress before turning your attention to hauling the amps up to the roof.

Once everything was situated correctly, you gave Dustin a thumbs up and he plugged in your guitars.

Eddie pulled his pick from around his neck, and you pulled one from your pocket as you readied yourself to play.

“Don’t mess up,” Eddie called to you.

You rolled your eyes. “I see where Dustin gets his ego problem from.”

He grinned at you, and you breathed in, closing your eyes to calm your beating heart. You envisioned Steve standing in front of the Creel House. You could do this. For him. For Max.

Your eyes snapped open, and you said, “Try to keep up.”

Then, you were playing.

+

As the first notes sounded across the Upside Down, Steve’s heart pained in his chest.

And it only started to beat faster as he watched the bats take off in the direction of the trailer park.

“It’s working,” Nancy said. “Let’s go.”

Robin followed her out and towards the Creel House. Steve hesitated for one moment, eyes on the swarm of bats.

You would be OK, he told himself. You had to be.

+

You, Eddie, and Dustin held out as long as you could.

As the bats grew closer and closer, you were sure that your heart would stop dead in your chest. They grew closer, their shrieks become louder and louder, even over the volume of your amps.

“Now!” Dustin yelled. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

You jumped down onto the awning, Eddie almost taking you down with him in his hurry.

“Hurry!” he shouted, and you and Dustin were hot on his tail as he flung open the door and slammed it shut behind you.

You were all panting hard, eyes wide as saucers as you listened to the bats attacking the outside of the trailer.

You prayed that it was enough to keep them here while the others took care of Vecna.

Picking up the nail-embedded shields, you threw one to Eddie and one to Dustin. “Just in case,” you said as you picked up the knife-slash-spears.

The three of you stood back-to-back, the bats continuing to attack the walls—until they weren’t.

“What…”

“They’re on the roof,” Eddie said, voice full of suspicion.

Dustin started swearing, but you ignored him, slowly creeping forward as the bats crawled along the roof…right to the air vent.

“They…They can’t get in through there, can they?” Dustin asked, only to be met with a bat crashing through it.

“Shit!” he screamed.

You and him stabbed at it, but they just kept coming, their shrieks ear-piercing in the tiny space.

“Get out of the way!” Eddie screamed, pushing through the both of you to slam one of the shields against the vent, trapping the bats on the outside.

You were breathing heavy as you collapsed against the counter.

“Nice one,” Dustin said to Eddie, to which he replied, “Thanks.”

“Are there any other vents?”

Eddie froze. “My bedroom.” But he wasn’t quick enough, the bats shooting into the room before he could jam it. He pulled his door shut, backing up to the rope as the bats tried to tear the door down.

“Let’s go! Dustin, go!” you shouted at him.

He started to ascend the rope, pulling himself up and through the gate, landing heavily on the mattress below—above—whatever it was.

You tried to push Eddie to the rope, but he didn’t take it, handing you the rope instead. “We don’t have time to argue right now,” he yelled.

“And yet you still find a way. Get up the rope, Munson.”

He grabbed it and was about to start climbing when the first of the bats broke through the door.

“Shit,” you whispered, and you looked to Eddie.

Dustin had started screaming, pleading with you two to hurry, but that one look at Eddie said everything you didn’t have to.

Protect Dustin.

Eddie sliced clean through the rope.

+

“What are you doing for your Futures project?” Eddie asked you from where he was plucking at the strings of your guitar on the floor.

“I don’t know,” you replied from your bed. “Maybe talk about leaving Hawkins.”

Eddie had already been at your place for hours, the two of you fresh from completing the outline for a new campaign. One that you were hoping the new Hellfire recruits Jeff and Gareth would want to play.

You were exhausted, and the last thing you wanted to think about was school. Especially the project you had to present to the class next week about what you wanted to do in the future. “What are you doing yours on?”

“I want to do it on Corroded Coffin,” he said, and you smiled at him.

“You think we’ll blow up?”

At that stage, Corroded Coffin was little more than 14-year-old you and Eddie playing guitar in your rooms while your parents and Wayne tried their best to block it all out. It was hardly even a band.

“Yeah, definitely,” he responded. “We’re going to be huge. Touring around the world. Drinking, smoking, playing shows night after night.”

You smiled at the thought. “I can see it,” you teased. “Me, centre stage. You, somewhere at the back.”

“Funny,” Eddie snorted, and he went unusually quiet. He had a pensive look on his face.

“What?”

He looked up at you. “Nothing. I just…I don’t actually care what I do with my future. Just as long as you’re in it.”

You blinked in surprise. Eddie was rarely as serious as was right now.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N, not to mention the co-founder of the band,” he continued. “As long as you’re always there, I don’t care what we do.”

For some reason, you started to cry, and Eddie was immediately alarmed. In typical teenaged boy fashion, he wasn’t sure what to do.

“I can’t imagine doing anything without you either,” you told him as you wiped your eyes, and Eddie relaxed. “Even if we don’t tour the world, I wouldn’t care, just as long as we do it together.”

“What kind of friends would we be if we just ditched each other?”

You laughed. “Really shit ones.”

+

As the rope hit the ground, Eddie became frozen. He was so scared, and you could see it.

Mustering up all your courage, you reefed open the door and started calling the bats away from his trailer.

He was quick to shout after you, but you were already riding towards the entrance of the trailer park, the bats screeching behind you.

Vaguely, you could hear another bike coming along the gravel, and as you dumped your bike, Eddie was right there beside you.

“Can’t ditch me that easy, asshole,” he shouted, but you caught the teasing behind it.

And then the bats were upon you.

You fought and sliced at them, taking some of them down with your spear, some getting stuck on your shield, even as they flapped about.

There were so many. Too many.

Eddie started screaming, and just like the night of Chrissy’s death, your heart dropped. You fought even harder, trying to get to him.

The bats started to grasp at your legs and arms through your pants and your jacket.

You screamed as one tore into your thigh. You dropped your spear, grasping at it and reefing it off you.

But it suddenly went limp in your hands. You stared at it, and the other bats circling you began falling from the sky, hitting the ground with thuds.

You looked over at Eddie. He was heaving, trying to catch his breath as he took in the bats going lax mid-flight. He had cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs like you, but he was whole.

His eyes snapped to you, and you dropped the bat in your hand.

Eddie’s somewhat hopeful expression fell when your hand went to your thigh. There was a whole chunk of flesh missing, you could feel it. It was deep, deep enough that when your hand ghosted over what should be skin, it touched muscle, coming away bloody.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. The adrenaline abandoned you all of a sudden, and the pain came through in full force.

Eddie was rushing to you, but he wasn’t quick enough, and you hit the ground with a thump.

+

The journey back to the trailer park was a lot quicker than the trip to the Creel House.

Steve no longer took care to avoid the vines stretching across the ground.

All he cared about was getting to Max.

If Nancy was right, then Max was gone. She had been taken by Vecna as the last piece of his plan for world domination, or whatever it was that he wanted to do.

Steve didn’t want to believe it until he had seen it. Until he saw Max’s lifeless body, he couldn’t believe it. It just wasn’t possible that one of his freshmen was gone. He had promised to protect her, and he couldn’t break that promise.

But any thought of Max was emptying from his head as he broke through the edge of the woods and found Dustin crying on the ground outside of Eddie’s trailer.

He was holding his ankle with one hand, even as he crawled across the gravel, pulling himself along with all his might.

“Henderson!” Steve called, immediately rushing to him. “Henderson, hey? What’s wrong?”

Dustin couldn’t speak, he could only sob and point towards the exit of the trailer park.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on,” Steve ordered, shaking him just enough to get him to start talking. He couldn’t see you or Eddie anywhere, and that fact caused his heart to start racing.

“Eddie a-and Y/N,” he cried. “They—They’re gone. I can’t—”

True terror unlike anything he’d ever experienced was dumped over him like a bucket of ice.

“Where?” he demanded, dropping his pack and the axe. “Where, Dustin?”

Dustin pointed towards the entrance of the trailer park, and Steve was racing away before he could say anything else. He didn’t need anything else, he just needed to find you.

Please, he begged. Please, please, please, please, please.

That was when he saw Eddie crouching over something.

You.

Steve spurred himself faster, dropping to his knees into the hard dirt, breathing heavy.

It took him too long to work out what he was looking at.

You were covered in scrapes and cuts and bite marks, but the worst part was hidden beneath Eddie’s hands.

“Steve,” he whimpered, and when his eyes met Steve’s, he noticed the tears racing down Eddie’s cheeks. “Help me, please—I don’t…” He lifted his hands, and through the blood, Steve could see the massive gouge in your leg. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of it. He almost threw up.

“Put your hands back on it!” he shouted at Eddie. “Y/N,” he called to you, but your eyes fluttered as you struggled to stay conscious. His hands flew all over you, as if trying desperately to grip onto that small bit of consciousness. “Hey, baby, you need to stay awake,” his voice was trembling as he fisted handfuls of your jacket and hauled you into a sitting position.

Your head lolled backwards, and one of his hands was instantly behind your neck, pulling it back.

Your eyelids fluttered open just enough to see him. “Steve?”

“I’m here,” he reassured you. “I’m here. Stay with me.” He turned his head back towards where the others were still coming. “Hey! Get over here! Now!”

“Steve…” you murmured, and his eyes shot back to you. You moved your arm until your hand came up to rest sloppily on his forearm.

“Hey, hey.” He brushed a hand down your face, wiping away the blood that had congealed there.

“You’re OK,” you managed, and Steve’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest as tears clouded his vision.

“I’m OK, baby. I’m all right.”

Your lips turned up at the corners. “Did you like my music?”

Steve blinked rapidly. “I loved it. You were so good—so, so good.”

The footsteps coming towards them got louder, but he didn’t dare pull his eyes away from you.

Eddie pressed harder into your leg as the others finally reached them. Nancy gasped—at the blood coating Eddie’s hands, at your state as you teetered between life and death—and it only made Steve’s eyes water more.

“Wheeler, please,” Eddie begged, voicing cracking. “Do something.”

Nancy backed up, eyes not leaving you before she turned and took off towards the house that would have been Max’s in three years.

Steve wasn’t sure what she was doing, and he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was the way your hand started to loosen on his arm.

“No,” he croaked, “No, Y/N, you have to stay awake, baby. You have to stay with me.” He pleaded with you, and he could see the way you fought against the darkness.

Your eyes continued to flutter—until they didn’t.

Nancy was sprinting back, first aid kit in hand.

Eddie was pushing his jacket that he had shucked off harder around your leg.

Robin was pulling at her hair as she watched on in horror.

But then your eyes suddenly rested between open and closed. You became dead weight in Steve’s arms, hand falling from him, hitting the ground beside you.

And then, he was screaming.

+

Steve wasn’t sure if he could do it as he stood by himself in the parking lot.

He was crying, which felt like all he’d done in the last few days.

There were more people there than yesterday, but that was to be expected with the ‘earthquake’, as they found more and more people buried beneath the rubble.

He heard Robin coming over before he saw her, and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can’t stand here all day,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t see her like that.”

“It’s your girlfriend, Steve. You have to.” Her tone was firm, but he knew she was only trying to help him get through today.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, fiddling with the flowers in his hand. Camellias and carnations; for everlasting love, according to the florist who had sold them to him this morning.

“I’ll be right here with you,” she said, taking his hand.

Steve let out a shaky sigh, pulling at the collar of his shirt as they entered the building.

When the woman behind the desk saw him, see smiled, recognition passing over her face. “She’s still in room 247, honey,” she said with a sympathy, and Steve gave her a thankful smile.

Robin’s hand was a welcome comfort as they made their way through the corridors.

Your room was the same as it was yesterday.

Same monitors hooked up to you. Same doctors’ names plastered on the boards. Same lifeless form on the bed.

Eddie was sitting in the chair opposite you, his eyes planted firmly on the book in his hands. It was thick, like three times the size of a normal book, and not something that Steve would ever read.

“Hey, man,” he greeted, and Eddie looked up.

“Hey,” he replied to both of them.

Robin squeezed his hand. “I’m going to see Max.”

Steve nodded. Max was only a few rooms down, and Robin disappeared into the room that he knew Lucas was sitting in.

Lucas, like Steve, had been here every day for the past three days.

Eddie stood. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

But Steve shook his head. “No, stay.” He put the flowers in the vase on the side table before he fell into the chair beside the bed, running his eyes over you.

You were looking better than you had yesterday. Some of the cuts on your arms had started to heal, and you were breathing on your own, which was a good sign according to the doctors.

He adjusted in his chair when he leaned back a little too hard. His back was still tender to the touch, and the stitches in his side were doing their very best to hold together the bite mark on his stomach.

At the thought of stitches, his eyes went to your leg, hidden beneath a blanket. He had gotten a look at the scar on your thigh yesterday when the nurses had changed the dressing.

It was long and gnarled, and the muscle beneath it was mishappen. The scar would never go away, and the doctors weren’t sure if you would be able to walk again properly. They had been surprised that the bone hadn’t been broken by the force of the fall.

That had been the cover story: the earthquake, and despite the questioning looks they received from the staff, they had taken them at their word.

It had been nearly four days, and you still hadn’t woken up.

Initially, the doctors had hooked you up to a breathing machine after you arrived, barely alive at all, but after the second day, you had started breathing on your own. Now, it was just a waiting game to see if you could push through, to see if you would wake up.

Eddie shifted in his seat, and Steve looked over at him. “What are you reading?”

He glanced up, closing the book so Steve could see the cover. “The Lord of the Rings. It’s—It’s her favourite. Well, it and The Hobbit.” Steve nodded, and they returned to silence for a long moment. “We used to take turns reading chapters when we were younger. Before we could read properly, her mother would read it to us before I had to go back home. But then when we could read…” he laughed at the memory. “She would always do the best voices, better than me, and we would spend hours just reading it out loud together.”

Steve smiled. That sounded like you.

“I told myself that it would be OK,” he said, picking at his jeans. “I told myself that there was no way that anything bad would happen to either of us. Because she’s always been there, you know? I don’t…I don’t remember ever being without her.”

The smile slowly fell from Steve’s face. “I know,” he murmured, looking back to you. He absentmindedly toyed with the headband on his wrist.

“I wish it had been me,” Eddie whispered.

It was clear to see that the guilt was slowly eating him alive. Steve knew the feeling.

“I don’t,” Steve replied after a few seconds of silence, and Eddie looked up at him with raised brows. “Can you imagine what she would be like if it was you? She’d be personally hunting down each one of those bats individually to exact revenge. It’d be so annoying.”

Eddie looked amused by that, even though he didn’t smile. “Annoying is her middle name.”

“That explains a lot.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip before standing. “I’m going to go check on Lucas,” he said, and with only a moment’s hesitation, he disappeared the way Robin had gone.

Turning his attention to you, Steve gingerly picked up your hand. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, counting all four, just like he normally did to calm himself down, to centre himself.

He placed a kiss to the back of your hand. “Come back to me, baby,” he said into your skin.

You didn’t move, no matter how much he wished and prayed that you would.

He leaned back, eye catching the book Eddie had left behind. He stared at it.

Then, he was up and grabbing it before returning to his seat.

The cover was worn, no doubt from all the times you and Eddie had read it, with some kind of wizard on the front. He flipped it open, seeing your name scribbled in your childhood penmanship. He brushed his finger over it before turning to the first page.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for the Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne…

+

It turned out that there was a reason Steve didn’t read fantasy books, because two days and over two hundred pages later, he still had no idea what was going on.

He had even resorted to asking Eddie to explain it to him, but that had only made things more confusing.

He resigned himself to knowing that he was just reading a bunch of different words all strung together in an almost incoherent way, but he was all right with that.

Steve flipped the page, but his mind was hardly on the words he was reading. He couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation that he’d had on the phone with your parents last night.

The police had finally been able to track them down and explained the whole ordeal.

From you being wanted for murder, to Chief Hopper’s return and his explanation he had given which meant you and Eddie were off the hook, to Hawkins being a smoldering mess.

They had immediately called him, demanding to know how you were. He had gone over everything again in detail, explaining that you still weren’t awake, but you were stable. He told them about your leg, and your mother had cried.

They were still a full two days of driving away, meaning that they should be back by the end of the week.

Steve prayed that you were awake by then. He didn’t think that he was strong enough to deal with your parents if you weren’t.

It was killing him to sit here day after day with nothing but his prayers to keep him company. The others came and went, Eddie there more than the rest, but from the moment that visiting hours were open to the moment they closed, Steve was right there by your side.

There was nowhere else that he could be.

You promised each other the rest of your lives, and now, with yours under threat, he couldn’t miss a single moment of it.

He turned the next page.

He would sit with you, no matter how long it took.

The was a sound from beside him, and he couldn’t place it at first.

Looking over at you, there was no change. You were still laying perfectly still, arms by your side, breathing lightly in and out. Everything was normal, except—

There.

Your breath hitched ever so slightly.

He was on his feet, leaning over you. “Y/N?” he whispered.

You didn’t move.

Steve swallowed down the soul-crushing disappointment as he slumped back in his seat.

He sat like that for a few long minutes, just watching you. Patience, the doctor had said.

He sighed, picking up your book again and flicking to where he’d left off.

The room was silent again, nothing but the faint talking of doctors and nurses floating under the door. There were even more people today, the ambulances bringing more survivors in to the inundated hospital. Some were worse than others, but they all held that same fearful look on their faces; the one that said something is seriously wrong.

“Am I dead, or is Steve Harrington reading The Lord of the Rings?”

Steve almost broke his neck at how fast he turned to you. “Y/N?” he breathed.

And there you were, looking over at him with bleary eyes and a small smile.

He dropped your book, letting it fall to the floor as he stood and grasped your hand. “You’re awake,” he said, tears already clouding his vision. “How—How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by truck,” you croaked, and he was quick to pass you a glass of water. You struggled to sit up, and he placed a hand on your back to help you until you were sitting.

Being so close to you, he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss you. You didn’t mind, and you were kissing him back, bringing a hand up to his cheek to wipe away his stray tear as he pulled away.

You hissed, and your eyes shot to your leg that was still hidden beneath the blanket.

Steve wanted to warn you, but he didn’t know what to say.

You flipped the blanket back, and even under the bandages, the damage was visible. You gingerly reached out and traced your fingers over the warped muscle. He had no idea what you were thinking, your face carefully blank.

You tested out moving your leg side to side, looking somewhat relieved when you could move it at least a little.

“You…uh, the doctors said that you might have some trouble walking,” Steve broke to you gently. It was a half-truth, but he didn’t want to bombard you with bad news two minutes after you woke up.

“Oh,” you replied, voice low. After a moment you turned your attention to him. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, baby. I’m just glad you’re finally awake.”

“Eddie?”

Steve nodded. “He’s OK, too. He’s been here every day.”

That seemed to alleviate some of your stress, but then your eyes widened, and you almost jumped out the bed. “Max?”

He hesitated, and your face fell. “She’s…she’s alive, but she’s in a coma,” he explained. “And Vecna broke her bones, like Chrissy, and Lucas said that she couldn’t see before she went unconscious.”

Your hand went to your mouth, stifling a sob, and he knew that you were dealing with the same emotions that he had been days ago. Guilt. Fear. Heartbreak. Some more guilt.

“Where is she?”

“She’s a few rooms down, but—”

You tried to get up, but he held out his arm to stop you. “Hey, no. You can’t get up. You have to be careful.”

“Steve,” you uttered, “I need to see her, please.”

Steve stared at you in exasperation, before finally conceding. “Just let me grab something.” He ducked out of the room, finding a spare set of crutches leaning against the desk outside. He took them before anyone could tell him not to.

By the time he got back to your room, you were already standing on one leg, grasping at your other in pain.

“I told you to wait there!”

You made grabby hands at the crutches. “You were taking too long.”

+

Steve sighed, even as he helped you to position the crutches beneath your arms. “Be careful,” he warned as you took your first step. He was hovering right behind you, ready to catch you if you fell.

You couldn’t put any weight on your injured leg, but slowly, you made your way out of your room and down the hall, Steve’s hands ghosting over you every couple of seconds when he thought you might lose your balance.

When Steve opened the door to Max’s room, you began to cry as you saw her in the full body cast, her eyes closed. She was so still that she could have been dead.

“Y/N?” Lucas jumped up from where he was sitting at the edge of her bed.

“Hey, buddy,” you replied, and he was hugging you before Steve could tell him not to. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, and you felt him tremble against you.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said as he pulled away, and Erica was right there beside him. You hugged her, too.

“So am I.” There was another girl in the room, one that you didn’t spot straight away. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” she said from beside Max.

“This is El,” Steve explained from behind you.

“El with the superpowers?” you asked, and El suddenly became bashful. “It’s nice to meet you, El. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She smiled at you, and her hand left Max’s. “I have heard about you, too. From Mike. And now Lucas and Dustin.” She pronounced every single syllable as she spoke, something that was a little jarring to hear for the first time. As Steve had explained previously, she was learning as she was going.

You gave her what you hoped was a joyful smile. “All good things, I hope.”

She nodded, the joke you had made going over her head. You grinned at her anyway.

Your gaze went back to Max, and your smile faded. Steve came around to the side of you, his hand resting on your back to stabilize you, in more ways than one. She would be OK, you told yourself. This was little Max Mayfield you were talking about. If anyone could get through something like this, it was her.

“We should get you back to your bed,” he said to you, and you nodded.

You said your good-byes before heading out of the room and into the corridor.

Steve’s hand was planted firmly on your back, which you were grateful for when you almost slipped over by putting your crutches a little too far forward. You shot him a sheepish smile.

“What the hell?” came a voice from in front of you, and you froze as Eddie came stomping over to you. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he seethed. “You can’t just get up and leave your room without telling anyone. No one knew where you were. I couldn’t find you. You can’t—”

You cut him off when you hobbled forward and hugged him, leaving Steve grappling with the crutches you dropped.

He froze, but then his arms where wrapping around you and pulling you close. He was careful of your leg, and you could feel his tears hit the crease of your neck. “It’s OK, Eddie.”

“Don’t do that again,” he muttered as he pulled away. “Don’t…Don’t ever do that again.”

You shook your head. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

He scoffed, looking over at Steve. “Don’t worry she says. Can you believe that?”

“Believe it or not, I can,” he replied in a dry tone.

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “I don’t know if I like this whole buddy-buddy thing you two have going on. You’re teaming up against me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as Steve made you take the crutches and start moving. “You’re the one who wanted us to get along.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you mumbled.

Steve helped you into bed, carefully lifting your leg up and placing it down. “Too late. We’re already best friends now. We even talk about The Rings Lord.”

“The Lord of the Rings,” Eddie corrected.

“Yeah, that.”

You stared at them both, and despite the sour look you were giving them, your heart was fuller than it had been in a long time.

“Where is everyone else?” you asked.

Eddie gestured vaguely to the window. “They’re volunteering with making food and sorting stuff for the displaced.”

You nodded.

There was that, you supposed. You had no idea how Hawkins was going to rebuild after this. You didn’t even know if it was all over. Judging from El’s face earlier, it wasn’t. And you had a long road to recovery in order to be able to walk again.

But even with all of that, you were hopeful. You guys would get through it. You had no choice.

You would fight the next monster that came your way, whether it was physical or mental, because there was no other alternative. Not if you wanted to spend the rest of your life living.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 2: The Change

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 6.1k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl leaves her old life on a whim

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

2

His hair is so soft. Messy, thick, longer and curlier at the top, barely trimmed at the sides and in his nape. Untamed. Still easy to slip her fingers into.

She inhales deeply, takes in his scent. Mostly soap at this point, still a hint of alcohol on his breath, a little sweat. A masculine smell. Surprisingly nice. Almost comforting.

Like his weight on her. He's really fallen asleep on her, pressing her into the bed, his head resting between her breasts, his beard teasing at her soft skin, his deep breaths tickling her nipple, making it hard. His arms are snaked around her shoulders, hands folded under her head, like a warm pillow, a comfortable, unexpected embrace. Her own arms are lightly wrapped around his neck, hands on his head, fingers massaging his scalp.

The way he lies on her, his wide hips encircling her legs, his thighs on either side of hers, caging her in. She feels his weight, but it feels good. Just like how his cock rests on her lower thigh, almost between her knees, hot and heavy, harder than she expected.

He kept his word. He didn't do anything to her.

And she curses herself for wanting it, so badly, wanting to feel that big hard hot thing inside of her, wanting to know how it feels, if it'll hurt, if she'll be sore after, what pleasure really feels like...

She takes another deep breath, one of her hands rubbing over his broad shoulders, along his back. He is so warm, and heavy, and big. She's never had a man lie on her like this, she only knew the space between their legs, in front of them, on her knees, mouth and throat stuffed, lips strained. Uncomfortable, but doable, because that was her job...

But this feels nice. Surprisingly so.

When he has first barged into the room, she has been shocked. Ben is a tall man, he has to duck his head slightly to walk through the door, and he is wide and strong looking, but not too bulky. Even a little agile, lean, yet his full beard and his big hands and long burly legs make him look like more.

It was the attire too, the belt on his hips with the drooping holster, the handle of his pistol peeking out. The heavy high boots, those little spurs at the heels. The smell of alcohol has been sickening at first, but it has mixed with his own scent, with the smell of horse and sweat and the cool night air, maybe a little gunpowder and smoke. He has an air around him, demanding, authoritative, intimidating. Mainly because he is so much taller than her.

She barely scratches five foot, he must be way past six. The idea of this mountain of a man doing the things he supposedly wanted to do with her, how eager he has entered, how ready he has been to take the edge off, it has scared her. But that has all deflated when his eyes have met hers.

It may have been the darkness of the room, but his eyes have been almost black, endless voids, warm, inviting, there was barely a sliver of deep brown, noticeable only in the glow of the fire, but they still sucked her in, those deep eyes, staring right into her soul. They matched the rest of him, the dark messy hair, the tanned, weathered face, the almost black beard, trimmed but also a little wild, those heavy eyebrows.

The sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms, lined with veins and twitching muscles and a few scars, a thin carpet of dark hair reaching to his wrists. And those hands... She sighs softly, her breath moves a lock of his hair. He is breathing deeply on top of her, looks so relaxed, calm, younger than he looks when he's awake, with all those creases deepening.

She feels his chest rising and falling against her stomach, skin on skin, so warm and comforting. Her eyelids grow heavy, her hands ease their movement in his hair and on his back, resting there, trying to give the same comfort as he's giving her. It must be very late, she's tired. The noises of the house have died down. Business seems to be over now.

She has to think back to his words, spoken with this deep voice that vibrates through her very core, that makes her legs tremble and goosebumps ripple over her skin. “I'm gonna take you with me,” he has said, in complete earnest, and first she has been afraid. He is a stranger (even though he once loved her mother, probably only sees her in the daughter she's abandoned), but somehow he also feels... like a chance.

His warning still echoes in her head, about what she has to do now that she's of age. The other girls never say anything about that, about how they feel after they've done their job. They only share stories to make fun of men, make light of their situation, pretend that it's normal and okay to service these strangers that roll through the town frequently. Service them... pleasure them.

It's been two years now since the Madam has enlisted her for customer service. Before that she has been a maid, ordered to clean the rooms and the mess others have made, keep the house in order, wash clothes, all of that. And she's done it because she felt like she had to. Madam Claire has raised her, after all, after her mother has left her. She has to be grateful for that.

And pleasuring random strangers every night seemed like just another part of the job. She doesn't like thinking back to the beginning, though. How her jaw has hurt, how raw her lips have been, how sore her throat has become. How afraid she has been of being choked. The tears she has shed, tears and saliva and bile, until she has learned to control her gag reflex a little bit better. Some men still ask her to gag around them, and she does. The customer is king, after all.

The bitter taste of cum was still something she had to get used to, though, how it filled her mouth, dripped down her throat, was warm and sticky on her tongue (or her cheeks and lips and chin if the man pulled out too early). But ultimately she has told herself that it was the reward for doing this: if she could make a man cum down her throat, she has done a good job. And a happy, satisfied customer meant more tips for her, more money for the Madam and more men coming into the house because the word of her doing a good job spread like wildfire.

She hasn't thought about what else she would have to do once she turned eighteen. (It wasn't like she celebrated her birthday anyway. It feels wrong without the person who actually birthed her.) She knows, of course, what is expected of her, what the other girls do, but she couldn't think about it, imagining herself on a bed, with her legs wide open and a man crawling over her, sinking his thick –

The first time she's actually thought about it was tonight, when this tall, muscular man has stumbled into the room, drunk as hell, but so kind and almost... hesitant, unlike any man she has ever had the (dis)pleasure of meeting. She's often serviced drunk men, but in her experience, the more drunk they were, the rougher they got, forcing her head down on them, choking her, gagging her with force, ripping at her hair.

Ben has not been like that at all.

He is a gentle giant, she thinks, a soft smile grazing her lips as she continues moving her fingers through his thick hair. And she can't help imagining doing those other things with him. She's seen his cock, feels it on her leg, hard and heavy and big and hot, and the thought of him burying himself inside of her isn't as scary anymore, only a little, but mostly it's exciting.

But he doesn't want to soil her innocence. He's made that clear. At least not here. Not now. Despite his gruff exterior, he seems like a patient man, and the warmth he creates inside her settles right between her legs.

However: he knows Keira, knew her, loved her, sees her in herself. And he's old, at least double her age, maybe a little more than that. Then again, he's experienced, has seen the world (“I travel a lot,” he has said, with his gun holster and those cowboy boots and the scars on his skin. He smells like horse, camp fire, freedom.), wants to take her with him, show her that same world she has never even hoped to see.

It feels too good to be true.

She sighs deeply, feeling her chest moving against his face, but he doesn't stir. Her fingers move to his forehead, pushing a lock of hair away, down along his temple, trailing his cheek until she feels the rough scratch of his beard against her soft fingertip. She wants to stay in this moment forever, it's so warm and comforting and perfect.

The quiet squeak of the door startles her, her eyes darting away from the man on top of her. She sees a head of blonde curls looking into the dimly-lit room, an almost silent “Psst!” wafting towards her. Turning her head a little more, she sees Mary peeking in, her eyebrows raised at the sight in front of her. It's quite uncommon for any customer to stay this long. But she knows Ben has paid good money for her, for this room, for the bath.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a quiet whisper-hiss.

Nebbia nods. “Yes.”

“Is he –”

“Sleeping,” she whispers, hoping their hushed voices won't wake him.

“Uh, is he still... inside?” Mary asks, and she blushes, laughs softly.

“No.”

“Are you hurting? Do you need help?”

“No, Mary, I'm good,” she whispers back, urging the other girl to leave. “Really.”

The blonde looks at her a little puzzled, but then nods, and waves at her. She waves back and watches the door close again. Her hand returns to his hair, slipping between his thick locks, messing it up even more. He shifts slightly on top of her, a little grunt escaping him that vibrates through her body.

She closes her eyes and relaxes beneath him.

Something warm against her cheek wakes her again. A breath over her skin, a gentle pressure, a heavy hand on her arm. She rolls onto her side, hidden under the covers, and slowly opens her tired eyes. It's still dark, she doesn't know where to look.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she hears his deep voice, her mind springing into action immediately.

She inhales deeply, unable to force the yawn down, before she sits up, feeling the covers slipping off her bare shoulder. A little squeak escapes her as she stretches her arms above her head, then notices the tall man standing next to the bed, looking down at her.

A mountain of a man, backlit by the glowing embers in the fireplace. He is fully dressed, his head tilted, a little smirk on his lips.

She shifts on the bed, shrugging the blankets off, not caring how exposed she is. It's been only a few hours, but she feels safe with him, and it may be very naive and gullible, but there's no fear inside her, only comfort, excitement, trust. A chance.

He hands her a pile of folded clothes, and she frowns in surprise as she holds up the dress, nothing fancy, a normal multilayered dark brown dress with a beige apron and a bow in the back, it's actually one she's seen Mary wear a lot. Where did he get this? “I robbed the laundry room,” he gives her the explanation, and she frowns even more. He's snooped through the house?

She stands, still so tiny in front of him, and grabs the chemise and bloomers he's provided as well. Without any care, she dresses while he's watching her, and it's only a little throb between her legs and a tiny blush on her cheeks as she feels his eyes on her.

“Do you need to grab anything else?” he asks quietly, his voice low, a hum in the quiet air.

Pulling up the bloomers over her legs, finally covering herself, she looks up at him. “I don't own anything,” she whispers.

“Really? Nothing? A book maybe? Some photographs? Any memorabilia?”

She shakes her head. “Can't even read,” she says under her breath, focusing on slipping the dress over her head. She feels his hands on her sides as he helps her adjust the many layers. His long fingers fidget with the bow in the back, tightening it slightly to fit better around her tiny waist.

“What about money? Didn't you save anything?” he keeps asking once she's done dressing, pulling the long sleeves over her arms.

“We're not allowed to keep anything for ourselves,” she says quietly. “It all goes into the house.”

She sees his eyes darkening, his eyebrows furrow almost angrily. He huffs a grunt and turns away, one hand on his hip as he adjusts the belt on it. For a moment he just stands there, his back turned to her, tall and intimidating, quiet in the dimly-lit room. Then he turns back, his eyes warm, glowing like amber in the light of the dying fire.

“I'll ask you one last time,” he whispers softly, leaning down a little, probably tempted to put his hands on his knees and bend over more, talk to her as if she is a child (which, stature-wise, she kind of is). “Do you really want to come with me?”

She looks up at him, her hands folded in front of her apron. Her answer comes quick because she spent the entire night thinking about it, knowing what she wants. “Yes,” she says with a shy smile. “I'd love to come with you.”

He smiles back, looking at her for a long moment in his bent form, then he takes a step closer to her as if he wants to pull her into his arms, and she waits for it, wants it, but he stops mid-motion, quickly straightening up again, clearing his throat. A little sigh escapes her as she exhales her held breath.

“Is there a back door?” he asks, turning towards the exit.

“Yes, past the laundry room,” she replies, hesitantly stepping next to him. He looks down at her as she enters his field of vision, nodding.

“Show me,” he whispers and holds out his hand to her, palm up, so big, inviting, and she puts her own into it, letting him swallow it as he curls his fingers around her smaller hand.

The warmth is overwhelming for a moment, but then she inhales deeply and pulls him along, carefully opening the door. Most girls should be asleep by now, and the Madam has her room downstairs near the bar. She throws a glance over her shoulder, sees the tall man behind her, and nods. Together they slip into the dark hallway and make their way through the house, down the stairs, into the back, as quiet as a tall man in clinking cowboy boots can be.

He notices the noise too and looks down, then stops in the middle of the hallway, close to the laundry room. “Your shoes,” he hisses and nods towards her bare feet. She hasn't even noticed that she isn't wearing any footwear. She usually doesn't need it inside the house. On her knees, sucking –

Without another word, she pulls him into the laundry room and looks around. Aside from washing sheets and clothes, she has also done a lot of mending. There's a sewing station in the corner, and next to it a pile of old boots and heels and spats with broken laces, rubbed off leather and other damages. She lets go of Ben's hand (reluctantly) and kneels down to rummage through the pile before she finds a pair of ankle boots, hoping they'll fit.

Slipping into them, she purses her lips, but decides they'll do for now. He watches her curiously, leaning against the wall next to the door, a mountain of a man, a shadow in the darkness. She returns to him and looks up with a smile. “Let's go.”

This time he just grabs her hand and leads her out of the laundry room, following the rest of the hallway towards the door leading outside. She only ever goes outside when she hangs up the large sheets and dresses and skirts, the rest of the clothes they dry inside the house, usually in the kitchen because of the heat from the oven. Also because Madam Claire doesn't want to show off their underwear or lingerie to the neighboring houses. (She said it got stolen quite a lot and getting new ones is too expensive in the long run.)

Inhaling the brisk night air, Nebbia looks around, her small hand held by Ben's larger one, before he pulls her along the side of the house. It's dark, she can't see much, but when they round the corner, she can make out the dim glow of the oil lanterns on the main road, a few people standing in front of buildings, talking, others walking, stumbling, through the night, slurring and hiccoughing. Luckily nobody pays them much mind.

Bound to the poles in front of some shops and establishments, there are horses, still except for the occasional hoof stomp or neighing breath, and that is where Ben leads her. Until now she has been excited about leaving her former life, leaving everything behind (not that she has given it much thought, to be perfectly honest), but once he pulls her towards a very large black steed that she cannot even look over, she feels a sudden sting of fear.

Of the unknown, of leaving the other girls, of disappointing the Madam, of being ungrateful. Of riding on a giant horse with a giant man she has just met a few hours ago. She must be out of her mind, agreeing to this. But he has made it clear she doesn't have a choice, so she just blames him for the idea, for giving her the hope of freedom.

Suddenly his hands are on her waist, almost completely encircling her body, as he picks her up without any effort, lifting her into the air and sitting her sideways onto the large saddle. She lets out a surprised yelp and grips the horn with her hands white-knuckling. She is so high up, she can look down at Ben now, but the moment only lasts so long before he puts one booted foot into the stirrup and hoists himself up, swinging his other leg over the horse's back and settles behind her, his arms moving around her as he grabs the reins.

The saddle is slightly sloped, causing her to slip back between Ben's legs, and she feels his warmth, his hard muscles (his hardness), but tries to ignore it as she leans her shoulder against his chest. He wraps one arm around her middle, pulling her towards him, while guiding the horse into motion with his other hand around the reins. The giant animal starts moving, a swaying ship in the night, and she grips the horn tighter before she grabs onto his forearm, a sudden wave of vertigo crashing through her.

“Are you afraid of heights, little one?” he asks softly, leaning down, his breath ghosting her ear.

She shivers, trying to breathe normally as she turns her head towards him, looking up into his smirking face. “I suppose... I never knew I was...” she stammers, holding onto him even tighter when the horse falls into a slow trot, then a slightly faster canter, before the town flies by and they soon leave its illuminated main road, riding into the black starless night, into the unknown. A deep laugh rumbles through his chest.

Her heart is thundering inside her own, because he is so close, so warm, because she just left her old life, left everything, because she's sitting on a horse for the very first time, because she followed this man on a whim, because he was nice to her, because he tempted (threatened?) her with a better life.

Oh what has she done?

They ride for quite a while, through pitch black darkness, and she wonders how he knows where to go, how the horse knows where it's safe to tread, but they seem both confident in finding their way, so eventually she relaxes on the thundering beast, her legs swinging slightly in the rhythmic movements, safe in Ben's embrace. He doesn't talk much, if at all, but his presence is comfort enough, his warmth in the chill of the night a reminder, a promise, of better times.

Or so she hopes.

She has no idea what she's supposed to expect. She doesn't know this man, doesn't know anything about him, doesn't know what he does for a living. “I travel a lot,” he has said. Whatever that means. He's a cowboy, she thinks, but most men in this part of the world are. And to find the line between good guy and bad guy is really difficult, as well.

She remembers a particularly rude and rough customer who has left her with bruises and a bloody lip after her service – who turned out to be the sheriff of the neighboring town. Good guys, bad guys, it doesn't matter. All men seem like they should be avoided – well, most of them, apparently.

So seeing one of them so kind and nice, who despite being drunk and very aroused has not taken advantage of her innocence (despite having paid for her and therefore being entitled to do so), was like a dream she's never had, but she's glad to have experienced it now.

Ben is different. She doesn't know how yet, what he is really like, but he has treated her so well in those hours they've been together, he can't be a bad guy, right?

They are still riding through the night, the horse having settled on a quicker trot as it flies through the darkness. She can see shapes of trees rush by, hears the sounds of the night despite the loud stomping of hooves: owls hooting, insects chirping, maybe even the cries of coyotes in the distance.

Her rear hurts from her awkward sideways position on the sloped saddle and between his hard legs. She feels when he spurs the horse on, every twitch of his muscles, and she even suspects a certain hardness pressing against her hip, but she tries to ignore it. At least he's warm, his arm still tight around her midriff, holding her against him.

His hand with the reins rests on her thighs, hot and heavy and relaxed, like a little furnace, and she's glad it's there. The little up and down movements from the horse's steps has a lulling effect on her (after she's battled the slight vertigo she's never experienced before), and she leans her head against his chest, closing her eyes, inhaling deeply. His arm tightens around her, her hands curling around it, the hand of that arm wrapping around her side, hot on her stomach.

He's so warm. Despite the whirring thoughts and doubts and fears in her mind, despite the awkward position and bouncing motions, despite the whole fucking thing, she somehow falls asleep in his hold.

Nebbia wakes up to the sound of voices, muffled through a wall, angry hisses, deep and low, a constant drone interrupted by a slightly different type of drone. She can't make out any words. It's men, who are talking, she thinks with her head heavy and her eyelids even heavier. She turns onto her side, realizing she is buried under blankets, with her dress tangled around her limbs.

It's so hot.

She kicks the warm layers off with a groan, then sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes, before she finally takes a look around. She is in a room, so much she can say, it's a small rectangle, there's three windows, in an L-shape, one of them is broken and lets in warm air. What time is it? The sun seems already high in the sky. And where the hell am I?

She gets up slowly, noticing her shoes are standing at the foot of the bed. The room, despite its small size, is filled with furniture. The bed in one corner, next to a dresser and a large bookshelf on the wall between two of the three windows. There's another dresser, half covering the broken window. The walls look old, very old, pieces of pale pink paint chipping off them, there's even holes and scratches in them. And they are green with moss where the broken window is.

What is this place?

The dresser is laden with a bunch of things she cannot quite name, looks like gun stuff, bullets, cleaning utensils, other stuff. There's a bowl of water next to a small mirror and few gadgets that look like razors, a pair of scissors, a comb, some pomade boxes. More labeled paper boxes on the shelf, some cigarette packs and a couple of lighters, next to a bunch of books that look as if they've seen better days too. Clothes, a bunch of button-downs or button-ups, pants, belts and ties, hang from hangers clipped to the edges of the bookshelf.

Is this Ben's room?

She ignores the interior for now and slips into her ankle boots, smooths the messy waves of her hair, then moves to the door, her hand on the knob, when she freezes, hearing those voices again. They still sound muffled, as if several rooms over. She stands there and listens, her heart beating faster.

“What were you thinking?” A deep male voice, angry.

“She's –” Ben's voice, low and somewhat patient, with a sigh in his tone.

“I know! Does it make a difference? You don't even know her!”

“I don't need to know her to know that she couldn't stay there!” His voice gets louder, more passionate.

In turn, the other voice grows quieter, dangerously low. “You know who owns that fucking brothel?”

Silence.

“You're in big trouble... and if you bring any of those people here, if you bring trouble to us, you're banned from this camp, Ben! I swear to fucking Christ!”

Door hinges moan before footsteps stomp past the door she's leaning against, and she flinches away, gasping, quickly putting a hand to her mouth. Slower footsteps follow, then stop, while the others disappear into the distance. When the doorknob is rattling, she backs away, tumbling into the dresser. Another gasp escapes her while the door opens and Ben enters the room, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“You're up,” he says, sounding a little surprised, closing the door behind him, his eyes wandering over her body. And hers do the same. He's wearing a blue shirt today, and black suspenders that span over his muscled torso, holding up the same tight dark jeans he wore last night. And the same cowboy boots, belt askew on his hips, gun holster dipping down.

“Where am I?” she asks, gathering herself and sitting down on the edge of the bed, quickly regretting it as she has to tilt her chin up quite a bit to look at him. He walks past her and sits down next to her, though, still taller than her but not as much while he's sitting.

“A safe place,” he replies quietly, and she sees him biting his bottom lip, a gesture she isn't sure how to read. “And –”

“I'm not welcome here, right?” she interrupts him with a whisper, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she watches him closely. He turns his head fully to her, exhaling loudly.

“Well, it was all a little easier in my head, you know?” he says with a crooked smirk. “I haven't actually thought this whole thing through properly... I mean, I didn't even know you existed! And I was drunk out of my mind. How should I have planned this? How should I have known... who you work for...” His voice quietens towards the end, his eyes looking away.

She frowns. “Who do I work for?” she asks, genuinely confused. “You mean Madam Claire?”

He shakes his head, sighs. “Forget it,” he waves it off and stands again, towering over her. He looks different in the sunlight pouring through the windows, even more intimidating somehow. But his eyes are warmer, a deep brown, and when he looks down at her, he smiles slightly, holding out his hand for her to grab, and she spots a dimple on his cheek, a little cleft in his beard.

She has more questions, but for now she settles by putting her hand into his bigger one and lets him pull her to her feet. The room is small, forcing her to stand very close to him, and somehow, in the bright light, this feels a little awkward (despite how intimate they have been last night), too close, as if she can't breathe, he's so big, taking up the entire space. Tilting her chin up, she looks at him, and he looks down at her, his eyes wandering over her face.

“Let me show you around,” he then breaks the silence between them and steps aside, still holding her hand, so he just pulls her along.

The heels of her boots click over the old floorboards that creak dangerously under their steps as he leads her out of the room and onto a dusty hallway, no window, several other doors, no decor, no lights. The place looks even more run-down than his room. But she doesn't say anything, just follows him as he takes her towards a small staircase.

He lets go of her hand and puts his big palm on her lower back, gently nudging her to go ahead first. She gives him a short glance, unsure if she should, but then descends the stairs, feeling him following close-by. They reach a larger hall, with archways leading off into different sections of the house, but most rooms she can see are empty except for bedrolls in the corners, boarded-up windows and large fireplaces that don't look safe to use.

Ben grabs her hand again and leads her outside through a set of double doors, down a few steps, under the dazzling sun. Her eyes need a moment to adjust before she can look around. It's a camp. There are tents, a large fire-pit with logs around them, some wagons in a half-circle, behind them a bunch of horses grazing on a large meadow. It's all surrounded by trees, as far as the eye can see, and a bright blue sky, no clouds, just blazing sun.

Her hand sweats in his larger one, but he doesn't let go, and the long-sleeved dress with its many layers feels much too warm for this sunny day. She tries to ignore it and looks back to the house, gasps softly. It's one of those old mansions she has seen pictures of, yet it's in complete disrepair, the windows boarded up or broken, shutters hanging off their hinges or missing entirely, the white paint is flaking off, exposing broken wood and old bricks underneath. Moss and vines cover the walls. Still there's a charm to the old house, with its large pillars in the front and the steps leading up to a wraparound porch.

She looks back up at Ben who is throwing her a side-glance, squeezing her hand slightly, as they walk towards a group of men and women sitting around a large table on various stools and chairs and crates. Three women, two men, all of them look up when they approach. Nebbia immediately feels like she doesn't belong here.

It doesn't help that she feels like a child next to the mountain of a man that is Ben. Or that two of the women eye her suspiciously, they are dressed like the men next to them, shirts tucked into pants, their boots sporting the same spurs as Ben's, their dark hair in wild buns on their heads. They look almost identical if it wasn't for the hue of their skin and the sizes of their noses. The other woman wears a dress and a corset that makes her big breasts pop, her red hair in carefully groomed curls framing her pale, freckled face.

She's the only one who smiles at the girl.

“This is Nebbia,” Ben introduces her, gently pulling her in front of him, his large hands on her slim shoulders, warm and heavy, and she looks at the group of people nervously, a shy smile grazing her lips. The men don't react at all, one of them spits his chewing tobacco on the ground, staring at her darkly, the other takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke straight ahead, his eyes boring into hers. The two women give her a synchronized one over, judging stares, one of them raises an eyebrow.

“You're Keira's daughter!” the woman in the dress exclaims with an even wider smile and stands up. She is almost as short as she is, a little rounder and definitely better equipped in the curve department. Her boobs jiggle in their squished-up state as she walks towards her, and she can't help but gasp a little when she pulls her into a surprisingly strong embrace, pushing her right against her cushioned cleavage. “You look just like her!” she adds as she leans back, holding her upper arms and watching her closely, her amber eyes shining in the sun. “I'm Genevieve,” she says happily. “But you can call me Ginny!”

“Nice to meet you,” Nebbia whispers timidly, cheeks bright red from that unusual welcome. “All of you,” she adds as the woman named Genevieve walks back to the table and her eyes wander over the other members of the camp. She seems by far the youngest among them. “And I... I am sorry if my... presence is inconveniencing you in any way, I don't want to impose...”

“Nonsense!” Ben says and steps back behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders again. She looks up at him, blushing slightly. “It's on me,” he says, meeting her gaze before his dark eyes wander towards one of the men, the smoking one.

There's a strange tension between the two men, the silence is as overwhelming as the sun blaring down at her. She feels sweat trickling down her spine, then the first beads on her temple.

“She'll do her part, like we all do, understood?” the smoking man then grunts, his voice deep and menacing, his short black hair graying at the sides, deep creases on his weathered face. The mustache on top of his upper lip is impressive, but his whole demeanor is quite intimidating. “No slacking. Did she bring any money?”

Ben tightens his grip on her shoulders slightly, causing her to wince. “No, she'll make some, don't worry,” he says, and she looks back at him in surprise, feeling her heart sink. He meets her wide eyes and shoots her a smirk. “Not like you think, sweetheart,” he adds with a wink.

She frowns at that, blinking slowly as she looks down, fidgeting with the long sleeves of her dress.

“But before you do anything, I think she needs a change of wardrobe,” Genevieve chimes in and gets up again, her dress billowing around her, and Nebbia notices how the skirt is hitched up, revealing one pale thigh and the lower part of a leg of her bloomers. “Come on, honey, let's find you some better clothes, hm?”

She steps forwards and grabs the girl's hands, but Nebbia looks back at Ben. He nods and lets go of her with a warm smile. Then she is whisked away towards one of the wagons, stumbling over the uneven dirt ground.

She still has no idea what she is doing here, where she is even, who these people are, who Ben is, why he lives like this, but it feels like a new adventure, a chance, and she is willing to take it, no matter what.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

END NOTES: Now that we've breached horse territory, let me just say: I have no idea. This is still fiction, I researched horses and horseback riding and saddles and bridles and whatnot, but I feel it's still all a little off. Please just imagine that two (more or less) grown people can sit comfortably on a western saddle together (even if it doesn't look like it). It adds to the tension, okay? And let's not dive deeper into western fashion... I tried.

Also, a little easter egg for those who've read my fanfictions, I included another oc/mc in this: Genevieve, just a little older, helping poor little Nebbia along.

Ben's camp is inspired by RDR2's Shady Belle settlement.

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[fun-mxtx-polls]

Mingguang vs. Xuan Su

Mingguang propaganda:

Let's make some noise for Mingguang!

This sword is SO gay. It's named after the shipname of its wielder and his "best friend" because they were so close. When said wielder was betrayed by his king, he broke Mingguang rather than his principles, and ascended to godhod. Mingguang is understandably salty about this even about 800 years later, and has joined up with the jealous vengeful spirit of that former best friend to take its wielder down. Power move or what? (@thecrimsonrainthatseekstheflower)

Xuan Su propaganda:

Xuan Su means "Dark and solemn". Yue Qingyuan's sword, vitality important to his backstory. Its so strong that few cultivators can even stand when he pulls it out, even by a sliver. It drain's yqy's lifeforce in exchange for incredible amounts of power! It wasn't even drawn fully during the sealing of Tianlang-jun, and was instrumental to his defeat. Even pidw Bingge couldn't defeat him one-on-one!

i haven't been able to get 'Xuan Su is YQY's erectile dysfunction' out of my head for multiple days and I have one thing to say about it: it's SO funny, please let Xuan Su win so that this extremely powerful, OP, life ending sword can instead be known as YQY's limp dick. (submitted by @valiantbarnes)

Xuan Su is quite possibly the strongest sword on this list. It is so powerful that when Yue Qingyuan first got it, he was forced (via many broken bones) into secluded meditation in a cave for YEARS to prevent a deadly qi deviation, preventing him from saving Shen Jiu, destroying their relationship. And even once YQY grew to be the most powerful cultivator in the world (Bingge couldn't even kill him without an ambush) he still couldn't draw it without it sapping years off of his life every time. YQY had to carry two swords for his entire life because his first sword could and would kill him if given the chance.

Also, in PIDW, after Bingge killed YQY and Xuan Su shattered, Bingge used the shards to taunt Shen Qingqiu and SQQ swallows the shards to kill himself. Imagine swallowing the shards of a sword that belonged to your beloved childhood friend turned kind-of boss who missed you so much even when you were right there and for whom you feel so much bitterness and longing and yet cared for so much that news of his death is the only thing that could have broken you, even after years of horrific torture. The drama of that alone should win it some points, I think. (submitted by @slythavakna)

[manias-wordcount]

Hello if I am correct about requests being open and the type of stuff you allowed to asked in requests could you write something for Daruk x reader smut? If you don’t want to or cannot that is fine, no pressure!

Big Reward (Daruk x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼! 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁 :)

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝘀𝗲𝘅!!! 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗷𝗼𝗯

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

There’s a warm palm cupping the underside of your chin. Fingers reach out, resting lightly over your jaw before a thumb draws circles on your cheek. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He offers, his voice is nothing more than a hushed whisper, rough and coarse like the rest of his skin. And yet, it’s the way he cradles your face with such giant, caring hands that make it known to you that it’s he, who is the softest. Not that it would be hard to tell considering the sweetest smiles known to all of Hyrule belong to him. Even if they’re hidden behind bulging muscles that scare off enemies everywhere alongside his beard made of clouds. “It’s fine if you don’t.”

  But it’s not fine. Not to you, at least. A moment like this has been occupying your thoughts for the longest time. It snaked its way through your mind every time you saw him. It slivered through your mind every time his name was brought up around you. And it somehow had you making a mess of your pants every time you were close enough to Death Mountain to feel the heat. Ever since you met him, you had been dreaming of an opportunity like this. Anyone would jump at a chance to be with one of the famed heroes of Hyrule, that’s for sure. But while others dreamed of the flights they would take with the Hero Revali and others hoped for the day they got to feel the grand knight Link’s arms around them, you could only hope for a moment exactly like this. 

  A moment where you’re sitting pretty on your knees, hand pumping up and down as you strong the big and strong Daruk’s dick- second before he slides it down your throat. 

  “I want to.” You reaffirm him for what feels like the thousandth time in the last hour. And when he gives you that unsure look that he’s been giving you ever since you initially asked, you can’t help but let a pout cross your face. You appreciate the concern for your safety. You had always figured that his height and build might make him a bit on the bigger side. But what you weren’t expecting was feeling such a large and thick cock grind into your barely-covered core as he placed you on his lap and kissed you like you were the most precious thing on this mountain. And after he had taken such care to see to your needs- filling you up and stretching you out as you helplessly covered your mouth and rode out every orgasm he gave you, you knew you had to return the favor, your jaw be damned. “ Please? I promise I’ll be okay!”

  There was still hesitation lining his eyes, but you never stopped gazing into them with determination. It was a battle he wasn’t going to win. And you both know that. So luckily for you, it doesn't take long for the white flag to finally be waved through the sky. But only it’s not a white flag. It’s that warm, warm hand of his, reaching its fingers to brush against your neck so he can bring your head close to him. 

  “Don’t push yourself, okay? ” He responds gruffly when your smile grows alongside your excitement. The way he’s looking down at you, all regal as he sits before you while your knees rest against the cold floor. It’s exactly the image you had always pictured in your head. The image that you were chasing after all this time. “Just…start whenever you’re ready.”

  The image that you’re now going to make your reality. 

  The second he enters your mouth, it fully hits you just how drastic the size difference between the two of you is. Precum leaks from the tips onto your tongue, but at the present moment, the head of his bulbous cock is all that can fit. Your cheeks puff out as you move carefully to ensure your teeth are tucked out of the way, but there’s little you can do at this point. Still, you wanted this for so long. You’re not quitting so easily. 

  It’s a quick decision, but you decide to run your tongue on the underside of his dick and as far up as you could reach without taking him out of your mouth. Apparently, it’s the right move, because a second later there’s a soft groan pouring from his lips just above you. The sound works to make you more confident in yourself while simultaneously traveling straight down to the growing mess between your thighs. But you can do better than just a measly little groan. You know you can. He just needs to know it too. 

  That’s why your neck move ends with you lightly suckling at the head, working up more saliva in your mouth to make things easier. There’s a salty taste slipping down your throat and a growing ache in your jaw. But that doesn’t stop you from pulling your head back so that practically nothing but the tip is still in your mouth, just to push your head down and to take him deeper in your throat. And the groan you get from that is louder than the first. More honest and more open. But even then, you know you can do better than that. You want to do better than that. And you have a feeling that based on the way that those warm hands of his find a way to grab at your hair, he knows you can too. 

  So your mouth opens wider and wider. And you take him deeper and deeper. And suddenly it’s not just the head that’s sliding in and out of your mouth. It’s now a couple of inches and then some until he’s touching the back of your throat. Just for you to pull it all out with an obscenely wet sound. Just for you to put it back in, reaching heights you never thought you could before. 

  In between the sloppy noises created by the mess you’re slowly making out of him, your hand comes up and circles around the base of his dick once more. And when you decide that that isn’t enough for him, your free hand manages to find a place, cupping at the heavy and neglected pair of balls you had been eying all this time as well. And maybe the pumping and stroking and fondling all done in time with the bobs of your head are good enough to turn his tiny groans into full-blown moans of pleasure. But even then, you’re still not done. You can’t be done. Not now, at least.

  Because right now, blowing him doesn’t feel like the challenge Daruk promised you it would be.  No, right now, blowing him feels like finally reaching the reward you always wanted. The reward that was always dangling in front of you. Teasing and taunting you with a hulking figure and the personality to match. But now?

  It’s the reward that’s just about to pump its seed down your throat.

[seacee16]

when petals fall | bangchan

bang chan x original female character

prev chapter // next chapter

!! FULL STORY ON AO3 !!

ch. 7 ~ when once in love

The sun began lowering itself on the horizon, causing a warm shift between hues. Blue to yellow to orange to pink. All swirling together with the purest of clouds to form a cocktail of sun and sky. It shimmered over them as they sat side by side in the car. The tinted windows caused the outside world to appear as twilight, but the sun before them confirmed that there was still much time left before then. As the ending bass of one song simmered to a fade, the isolated notes of a new song began to flow through the speakers.

“Fun fact, Sunshine is one of my favourite Stray Kids songs,” Sakura told him, acknowledging the light voices that filled the car.

She was seated in the passenger seat, with her back pressed up against the door and her knees pulled up against her chest. Opposite her, Chan’s head was leaned back against the headrest of the driver’s seat, his face angled towards her so that he could see her as she spoke. She found it impossible to look directly at him, not in this setting. The setting sun caused his skin to glow and his eyes to shine, pink lips dusted red in the orange light. The dancing shadows made his jaw look sharper, his neck long and muscular. Heavens forbid her eyes drift lower to where the base of his throat dipped between his collarbones, a sliver of silver peeking out from beneath the bent collar of his black shirt.

“Really?”

She nodded, looking away. “Most of the songs written by Jisung end up being my favourites. They’re usually the ones I feel I relate to the most. The ones that bring me the most comfort.”

Chan wanted to be jealous, but he couldn’t. Because he understood what she meant. Jisung had a talent for writing lyrics that spoke to the heart, soothed the hurt. It felt great to have people find comfort in them, both as individuals and as a group, but it made Chan so much happier knowing that people found comfort in their lyrics as well. That is what made him feel like he was doing things right.

“Another Day has gotten me through a lot of days that I didn’t want to live through. It got me to a year that, a few months ago, I didn’t think I wanted to reach.”

There was something there. Something that pained her to think about. He could see it in the way the muscles in her face twitched, and how her hand reached up to play with the thin gold chain tucked away. When she’s ready, she will, he thought to himself. So, he kept the focus on the topic at hand.

“It’s easier to write about things you know. Issues that you’ve witnessed for yourself. And as much as I wish he didn’t have to, Han has felt a lot of those things. But he’s a strong kid.”

“Is that why you never write love songs?” Sakura asked, head tilted away from the sun. “Because it’s not something you’ve experienced?”

“It’s not that I don’t try. I do. I think most of the time I just purposefully ignore the topic when I write. It’s a concept that I know enough about, but haven’t truly experienced. Love from my family and the members and STAY, that’s one thing. But real, raw love? I was pulled away from any chance to experience that when I left home to pursue music. Ironic how I gave up the concept of love for something I love more than anything. But for that reason, I don’t think I know enough about love to write about it.”

Sakura nodded in understanding.

“What about you? Have you ever been in love?” Chan asked her.

Watching the scenery before her, she nodded gently. “Once.” They fell into a gentle silence, the sun setting slowly before them changing the sky from hues of warm oranges to soft pinks. Sakura tilted her head. “Do you want me to tell you about him?”

“If you’re comfortable with it.”

With a smile as precious as time, she asked him, “You’re not going to use it as inspiration for your next B-side, right?” She was teasing him, and it showed in the crinkles around her glittering eyes.

“Nah, this seems more fitting for a title track.” Sakura rolled her eyes at his response.

“We met in our third year of junior high back in Hokkaido,” the girl began. “Art class, surprisingly. Funny story, his best friend actually had a crush on me in our second year, but we were never had anything more than one awkward date. After that, his friend and I just fell into a comfortable friendship. Anyway, we started talking in that art class, exchanged contacts, and a few months later I was crushing hard.” She had a happy smile on her face, one that radiated nostalgia. Chan envied it, knowing that she was thinking about someone else. She continued, “I eventually decided that I needed to know how he felt. The mixed signals were killing me, to say the least. But when I did, it wasn’t good news. One-sided, like I had expected. He felt terrible about it, but I played it off and the friendship continued as if he had never found out. Not long after that, he confessed to having growing feelings for me, which I was naturally overjoyed to hear. We started dating, for about one and a half years. We ended up going to the same senior high school for first, but things were over between us by the end of that year. And that’s about it, really.”

“Was it a mutual break up?”

Sakura shook her head, the smile still on her bright face. The warm glow of the sky made it look like her eyes were glowing, burning like a dying ember in the dead of night. “He was the one who did it. All romantic feelings had faded on his end and he felt it was wrong to lead me on when he didn’t feel the same way anymore, which is a decision I now respect. And to be honest, I think I saw it coming, I just didn’t want to accept it. Our friend circle did not take the news well. It caused some rifts that I felt really guilty over.”

“I can only imagine. Did they ever forgive him?” Did you, he actually wanted to ask. And his question, both vocal and inner, were answered.

“They did, sometime in the next year. It took a little longer for me, but I got there too. About halfway through our final year. And I’m glad we smoothed things over when we did. I don’t know what I’d do without him as a friend sometimes.”

They’re still friends?

“Sounds…intense.”

Sakura shrugged. “It’s not something we really talk about. If it comes up in conversation, it’s usually just around friends who were there through it. We leave the past in the past, and it’s good that way. Since then, he dated, but I haven’t really found anyone.”

Until now, she wanted to say.

“I technically wasn’t allowed to date though, so it’s probably for the best that it ended,” she laughed off.

“Strict parents?”

“You could say that. I’m technically still not allowed to date, at my big age of 22. They’re pretty…conservative. The ‘date with the intention of marriage or don’t date at all’ type. They’re not that big on drinking too, so like that relationship, it’s something I just have to enjoy without them knowing.”

“Damn, and I thought the company’s rules were intense.”

She laughed. “I can only imagine. Were your parents strict too?”

“Kind of, but you have to remember that I was really young back then, so it was a given. Not that I was some wild child that needed constant supervision, but they had the usual rules, I guess.”

"What would you do, if you hadn't become a trainee all those years ago? If you didn’t have to follow all of those rules?"

"Gosh, you make it sound like I'm so old," Chan commented, scrunching his nose in disgust

"Okay, Mr 24-year-old," she teased. 

"You're literally only 2 years younger than me."

"That's a whole 730 days. One can age a significant amount in that time. You are the prime example of that." Chan shot her a warning look, causing her to raise both hands in mock surrender. She shrugged off the look, and referred back to her original question.

"I'm not sure really. I can’t imagine not having followed the path that I did. I don’t regret it."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Well then what about this: what would you do if you had total freedom over what you could do, despite your idol status? No impossible company rules to obey, no fans crowding every spot you visit, no hate. What would you do?" 

Chan sat in silence for a while, deep in thought as she watched his eyebrows furrow just above his nose, eyes focused on the grass around his sneakers.

"Probably take more trips back home. Go out with the members more, to the places we can't usually enjoy without a crowd forming." He thought for a little longer. He lifted a hand to tug lightly on his burning lobe. "And, uhm, maybe even try to date."

This piqued Sakura's interest. "I thought you said that your dating ban was over. Doesn't that mean you can date?"

"Well yeah, but the company rules aren't the only thing we have to consider. You date a person you truly care for; you wouldn't even want them to be hurt. My career, unfortunately, comes with expectations. If you don't meet them, and sometimes even if you do, you'll be thrown into a sea of hate. And trust me, it can be brutal." The pained expression on Chan's face made her heart drop. 

"I don’t know anything about the life of an idol, so I won’t pretend to understand, but I’m pretty sure that those critics won't just suddenly stop analyzing your every decision. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's a lifetime side effect of the path you chose. Right?"

Chan nodded.

"If that’s the case, you can't be alone forever. Your happiness should matter more than what they say. I know that you'd want to keep your fans happy, but what you don't know is that they want to keep you happy all the same. The real ones, that is. You can't put them first all the time. A day will come when you'll have to realize that you come first in your story."

A laugh left Chan's lips. He said, "I've already come to terms with the fact that I’ll be under the spotlight for a long time."

"Chan-"

"What do you expect me to do, Sakura?" He cut her off, a trace of annoyance and exhaustion in his voice. He sighed. "Hide everything that makes me happy? Have a whole secret life that no one knows about? Gosh, why don't I just have a secret wedding while I'm at it!"

Chan didn't miss the coy grin that began to form on her face. It screamed mischief. 

"What are you-" Sakura shushed him before rummaging through her backpack for a small notebook. She took a clean page out of its centre, cutting off one end to page an imperfect square. She then turned to face her back towards him, hunching over her secret project to prevent him from seeing. 

After a few moments, she turned around, both hands cupped around something small. Sakura leaned over the centre console, Chan's sitting figure watching with curious eyes. Then her smile softened.

"Christopher Bang," she announced in a mock accent. Chan snorted at her attempt. Her twinkling eyes fluttered down to her enclosed hands before drifting back up to his. Something about the way she was looking at him made his heart swell. "Will you marry me?"

He knew that it was a joke, just an innocent gimmick to cheer up the older. So why did his heart skip at her words? Why did his mind jump a scene of her dressed in snow and cloud and smiling back at him under a veil as pure as light? Why did he feel so hopeful? Chan’s eyes dropped to her hands, which were now open and exposing what she had been working on. Right in the centre of cupped palms sat a paper ring. Its edges were bumpy and a little dented from her folds with a very angular and slightly bigger lopsided heart folded into the paper band. The swell in his heart grew. His eyes fell back onto her face, still smiling down at him. 

"Did you just propose?" He asked a little dumbfounded by her actions. She rolled her eyes.

"Geez, no need to sound so excited. Forgive me for wanting to give you one chance at marriage before you die of exhaustion in that tiny studio of yours after waiting so long to marry that no one able to put up with you is around anymore." Her voice with taunting, but the light blush drowning her freckles made it obvious that his response had made her feel embarrassed. 

A laugh slipped from Chan's lips, causing her blush to intensify. Of course, he was laughing at her. He probably got fake proposed to by every girl in the country, and thousands more internationally. She scoffed, "Forget it." She moved to tuck the origami ring into her pocket, but was stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"God, you're an impatient one. Did you expect me to make such a life-changing decision in just seconds? Give a man time to process, petal." He grinned wider as she looked away from him, more embarrassed than ever.

"You're acting like this is a real proposal," she mumbled, just loud enough for him to catch it with the wind.

"Well," he said as he reached for the ring. "Either way, I'd say yes."

Sakura's heart leapt into her throat at his choice of words.

"Just take it," she rushed, desperate to hide her burning face from his gaze. She felt the weight of the ring leave her hand and quickly let her hair form a veil over her face. However, she couldn't help but watch him through obstructed view.

Chan observed the small ring a little closer before smiling to himself and slipping it onto his fourth finger, happy to see that it actually fit. 

"Whose red now?" He openly teased. Both hands shot up to cover her face, her embarrassment catching up with her as the confidence she felt in the moment faded away.

"Awww no, don't hide from your husband." Chan tried to pry her hands away from her face.

"You suck," she pouted, finally allowing him to see her face. 

"Wait, what about you? Surely my bride should have a something too?" Sakura moved to tear another sheet from her notepad but was stopped when Chan's gentle hands grasped her wrist. Too stunned to speak, she watched as the boy slipped one of the sleek black bands off his wrist and slipped it carefully onto her own. It sat loose at the base of her hand, its dark matter contrasting with her pale skin.

Then, in a moment that seemed as slow as the setting sun, Chan lifted her wrist to his mouth and placed a feather-light kiss to the band that now crossed over her veins. The very corner of his lips was felt against her bare skin, burning as she waited to take her next breath.

"There," he whispered as he pulled away, satisfied with his work. His eyes lifted to meet hers, shining all the more bright in the darkness surrounding them. "May I kiss the bride then?" He continued to tease.

Her eyes widened. "And risk being the face of Dispatch on New Years? No thank you." 

The expression on her face made him laugh, his walls dropping almost completely at the light atmosphere. So much so that he didn't notice they mischievous glint return to her eyes.

A lightning-quick pressure was felt on his cheek, followed by a round of giggles. His body froze. Was that what he thought it was? 

She had kissed him.

"I said I wouldn't let you kiss me, Nemo. I said nothing about not kissing you. After all," she said. "I am your wife now, aren't I?" 

He no doubt looked like a deer caught in headlights at her words. Eyes the size of saucers, mouth slightly agape, with flushed skin and a racing heart beneath his sternum. Could she hear the way it was beating for her? 

Sakura leaned forward, her face only centimetres away from his. "Now we're both red," she whispered before dashing out of the parked car, leaving a flustered Chan in her wake.

<3      <3      <3

The city constellations formed a luminous blur around the car as they drove, surrounding them in silvers and blues and hues of other colours from convenience stores and bars still alive with music. So small beneath architectural giants, towering above them as if to shield the sky from eyes full of dream and drive.

Sakura felt her gaze shift to the man behind the wheel. His fingers moved along with every beat of the overplayed radio song that droned on from the speakers. His other arm leaned against the door, resting there comfortably. The slight gap above the window sent ruffles through his hair. Every red light causing his skin to glow warm like a thousand suns. The sight was so mundane, yet the girl couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

Eventually, they pulled up to her building, and Sakura whispered a shy ‘goodbye’ before leaving. The drive back to his own home was as silent as the drive to hers. However, Chan couldn’t help but notice how hollow and void the car suddenly felt without her presence.

When Chan snuck into his dorm in the early hours of that morning, he was surprised to find one of his kids waiting for him.

“You’re still awake, Hyunjin?”

“Should I not be the one to say that, hyung?” Chan tensed a little, but let his shoulders fall when he saw the smile on the youngster’s face. “You were with Sakura-noona again, weren’t you?”

Chan nodded.

“I like her. The other members are pretty mad they weren’t able to meet her the other night. You should tell her to come over again soon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hyunjin.”

“Why not, hyung?”

Chan sat down next to the boy, letting his head fall back to rest against the couch’s cushioned backrest. “No good would come to us or her if people found out.”

“Found out what? That we have friends outside of the industry? A life outside of the industry?”

“You know it’s not that simple, Hyunjin-ah. Things get twisted, and I don’t want to see her getting hurt.” A sigh dropped from his lips as he thought about her. He had noticed. Since that night, there had been moments where she had put more distance between them. Thinking even further back, Sakura had done the same thing during their first few encounters. “I think she has the same idea.”

“But our dating ban is over. And you clearly like her, so-“

“We’re just friends, Hyunjin,” Chan told him, his fingers drumming against his thighs.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed. He looked over the older boy, settling on the way his face had a slight tint and the way the corner of his mouth seemed to want to pull up whenever she was mentioned.

“Are you sure about that, hyung?” Chan looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you watched her leave yesterday. And I saw how she looked back at you before the door closed behind her. Trust me,” he paused. “Friends don’t look at friends that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you never want to look anywhere else.”