#so sorry it took forever for an update

[recalled11]

Journeys Pt 2!

Part 1

Part three coming soon!

[philicheesecake]

Support my comics!

Early access to unreleased comic pages for my Patreon supporters! Your support helps me continue to create this series!

[psychologicalwarclaire]

It's finally here!

Chapter 24: Baby (Blue) Steps is live!

WOOOOOOOOO

In which we finally get to see Splinter's side of things. Pride, pain, and Papa, this chapter has it all!

[volivolition]

Any updates on all wip fics? and what is your ao3 username if you have one?

if you don't want to share any info, it's all good

i hope you know how hard i am YIPPEE-ing after getting this ask, I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY FIC WIPS!!!! YEAHGKJH!!!! <33 my AO3 is also volivolition, but i dont have anything posted there yet :]

TL;DR: I have 4+ WIPs im working on simultaneously: Unstoppable Force Kisses Immovable Object - A Voli/Echem enemies -> enemies with benefits -> friends with benefits -> lovers fic that started as PWP but whoops its not just smut anymore lmao? Meet the Parts that Make You - A "Kim introduced to the Skills" fic! Let's Make It (a) Home - A Skills fic showing the aftermath of the amnesia wiping out Harry's mindspace, with the Skills working together to rebuild it into a home during the Hanged Man case. Mostly domestic fluff. Swept Up in the Feeling - An Empathy-centric fic, originally an excuse to do Skill character studies. Empathy understanding each skill while they do activities together <3 (gained a plot. suddenly.)

ANYWAY!! more info, snippets and musings under the cut!

Unstoppable Forces Kisses Immovable Object Word Count: 18722 Rating: Explicit Okay, so technically this document isn't just one story. It's my catch-all "any Volistry writing goes HERE" containment zone. Like I said, this wasn't supposed to be anything big, I just wanted to write a bunch of drabbles and practice writing smut because I've never done that before. But then the drabbles started connecting to each other and Voli and Echem started falling in love without asking me and so it's like. A whole thing now lmao?

they bring me so much joy. they're so fun to write, because volition will say something so normal and echem will find some way to misconstrue it and volition will bicker and echem will flirt back and volition will sigh and they're so fucking funny to me. they just keep talking, their back-and-forth banter is so natural to write, which is why this fic is so long hkgjh

they learn to balance each other out!! i want them to be soft and witty with each other and i'll. cry about them. if you catch me at the right time i will wax poetic about their relationship but right now they're just being incoherently rotated in my brain.

anyway here's a snippet, i have so much written for this damn fic that i had trouble choosing lmao. it's like. mildly suggestive? but truly nothing blatant, just cutesy shit lmao

Meet the Parts that Make You Word Count: 3886 Rating: Mature This fic is the closest of the four to being abandoned lmao? Or at least I want to finish Swept Up before writing this one, because as it stands I feel like I can't grasp everyone's characters right without doing some character study beforehand. It might also be because I'm currently more obsessed with the Skills instead of the humans, though i still love them.

but yes! Meet the Parts that Make You is a fic after Martinaise, established relationship for KimHarry, where Kim is casually introduced to the skills over dinner, and they document their findings in Kim's notebook over the course of about a week. it's a lot of skills banter and silly moments!! harry can honestly say that every single part of him loves Kim.

here's where they're trying to show off each of their different specialties, featuring Reaction Speed and Hand/Eye Coordination who are my sillies.

Let's Make It (a) Home Word Count: 1896 Rating: Teen+ I think if I want to finish any fic first, I want it to be this one, because it really sets the scene for the rest of the universe of all my other fics. The main gist is that Perception can pull in anything that Harry's looking at into the mindspace, and once they figure this out, most of the skills go "Hey we should bring in more things so we can decorate!"

volition my friend and perpetual spoilsport :3 anyway, different skills affect the object's properties! Perception can pull things in, Interfacing can give it texture, Conceptualization can make it different colors and Reaction Speed can duplicate it. Empathy makes it so the object has the correct feelings attached to it (Dora's letter, for example) and Half Light can immediately destroy the object (Dora's letter, for example).

this fic is basically The Hanged Man case, but from the perspective of the Skills. i think it focuses on some specific skills, but maybe not all of them because I'd die if i had to give each one of them an individual chapter. maybe i'll smoosh some skills together? i love all of them and i want all of them to get some screen time, but it would wreck me lmao

i have a whole Volition scene written out and i think its so fucking gorgeous bro... i love writing. it's like... rebuilding after death, the skills have a kind of blank slate too, you know? they're learning to work together again, regaining memories, making new ones, making a home together. the way different skills need to work together to make an object in the mindspace real. I WANT THEM TO BE A HAPPY FAMILY. AUHG.

Swept Up in the Feeling Word Count: 5103 Rating: This is Mature. Except the Echem chapter. Which is Explicit.

EMPATHY MY FAVORITE SKILL. OUGH. EMPATHY. MY FRIEND. this fic is about Empathy getting roped into a bunch of shenanigans with the other skills, and goes along with it all while better understanding each of them.

so remember when i said I'd die if i had to give each one of them an individual chapter? yeah. that's because THIS is the story where i give each one of them an individual chapter.

24 chapters, one per each skill. Including, but not limited to:

Exercising with Physical Instrument!

Art time with Conceptualization!

Performance with Drama!

Listening to Encyclopedia infodump!

Reminiscing with Volition!! (THEY ARE CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS!!!)

Staying up late with Endurance

"Overstimulated Skills Support Group" with Perception

Talking about understanding people vs understanding machines with Interfacing

Talking about understanding people vs understanding specific people with Esprit de Corps

Apologizing to Composure about making their life harder with UNNECESSARY FEELINGS ("as if we don't deal with enough of our own, you bring in other people's emotions for me to hide?" "why do we always need to hide them?" "BECAUSE... :| Just because.")

A Talk with Half Light.

Y'know... with Electrochemistry (there's more to it than just that though lmao)

This fic will be the death of me, with all the skills, but I really really want to do skill character studies. I need to research their lines on Fayde and understand each of them so I can write all of them better.

This is also so I can be obsessed with each of them. Currently I have a lot of faves, but I don't care about all of them yet when i WANT TO!! i want to know each of them intrinsically!! I wrote a bit of the Endurance chapter and I didn't use to care for him very much, but then I wrote the lines

"Endurance is not tired; he can't afford to be. Not when everyone else is. He would stand before any of them, from the first intellect to the last motoric, in order to take a blow meant for someone frailer, less capable of surviving it. He will endure it instead."

and now I'm sympathetic to him. like, ough. If I understand them, then I learn to love them, and that's also why I'm writing it from Empathy's perspective! Empathy feels what other the other skills feel and does bonding activities with them with similar feelings, does that make sense? i really want to learn characterization for each of them, this fic truly is just an excuse for me to do character studies so i know all their character motivations.

BUT. it also has backstory plot now that im invested in lmao? based off of character design that i have. I STILL NEED TO POST MY SKILL REFS. RAUGH. but yeah all of my stories get too big for me really, i always bite off more than i can chew for projects like this lmao.

Other Fics: Skill Body Swap Fic! its shoved into Unstoppable Force's document for the time being, since this is mostly an excuse for Volition/Echem swap (Echem's body is ~sensitive~ if you're not used to it and i love putting voli through Situations. meanwhile Volition's body has the morale health pool in it that echem has to take care of), and ive only written that specific swap, but i think it'd be cool if i swapped EVERY SKILL.

Logic and Drama would be funny hkjgh Drama would 1) immediately slot into the new role and be extremely good at pretending nothing is wrong. What do you mean, he hasn't switched bodies with anyone? That's highly improbable. 2) love saying lies as if they were appropriate conclusions, and actual Logic would be like "That's literally wrong. Stop that."

Empathy and Composure would be interesting! Empathy's body is constantly picking up on everyone's emotions, and also is always on the brink of tears. Composure's body is not made to experience the same emotions, much less the emotions of others. Empathy's cut off from feeling and Composure is struggling not to fucking cry, poor guy.

Shivers and anyone? I just think Shivers should be small and worried about her connection to Revachol. and some other skill is just like "WHY IS THIS SO OVERWHELMING. HELLO??"

i dont know, theres a lot of ways i could go with this, i'll figure it out lmao. if anyone has suggestions for interesting/funny swaps and is even reading this far, let me know

The Sunrise Momentum. I SWEAR TO GOD IF I DONT WRITE THIS FIC. I NEED TO FUCKING WRITE THIS. Volition's vow with Harry that i cry about once per day. VOLITION IS TO HARRY AS HARRY IS TO REVACHOL. AUGH. "I will do everything in my power to keep you alive. I will keep you on this earth." my knight in lavender armor i am OBSESSED WITH YOUUUU!! *vibrates at high velocity*

okay that's about it, thanks for reading my RAMBLES!!

[theaceofarrows]

Sneakpeek of a few lines from a one shot I'm working on⬇

---

"Awesome~" Nimona said "what can you turn into? A bunny? No, wait! A dog! Do you shift into a dog? You give me dog vibes" Nimona questioned rapidly.

"Heh, no. I can't turn into a dog; sadly" Lloyd answered the pink shapeshifter with a laugh.

Though Nimona and Hunter both looked a little disappointed by that, Hunter still asked "So not a dog. What is it then?".

"An oni... a golden one- but still an oni. Four arms, horns and all" Lloyd said somewhat reluctantly.

"I'm not sure what that is" Hunter shook his head.

"Me either. But four arms? Super helpful AND looks sick" Nimona offered "You're SO going to have to show us later. I bet I could be a pink onion" Nimona said confidently.

"Oni" Lloyd said distractedly "and uh, yeah, maybe later".

---

[Still a work in progress]

[fiepige]

WOOO chapter 3 is up!!!

Summary:

“HOLY SH-” Miles and Gwen simultaneously turned to cover Pav’s mouth so as to not alert the creature in the middle of the carnage below them. The creature either didn’t hear him or it was too preoccupied with whatever it was doing. To his regret Miles soon realized what that was, as another wet snapping noise broke the silence once more. The creature was crouched down on all fours over what Miles assumed was the body of an officer, though it was so mutilated that it was hard to tell for sure. Its head was buried into the chest of the body beneath it, another wet snapping noise emerging as it pulled out a couple of ribs between its bloodied jaws... Or The Spider-Gang goes looking for Hobie. They don’t like what they find.

Chapter 3 of my Venom!Hobie fic is here! 💜💜💜

[ask-av-agents]

We have the physical description for Captain.

But what about 4, 8, and Neo?

alright everyone! huddle up for a group photo! *she's holding the camera* *snap!* 4 is shown with a cool ponytail look going on along with what most people use as her hairstyle, she is rockin an olive skin-colour, with her ink colour is a vibrant orange-ish yellow-ish colour, with glitter scattered all throughout it (courtesy of callie), and the one shown in the most promotional material, you know the one, she has a grin on her face, one of her eyes are winking, the LED eye slightly visible through the thin in comparison eyelid, while her other eye seems perfectly organic, she has her hero-armour on, going for an open-vest look, with a black sports bra on underneath, one side's over her arm, while the other's clipped to her side, due to the lack of an arm to put through the hole, she has cargo shorts on, with a ton of pockets, and is rockin some leather shoes that look quite nice on her. on one end of her head, 8 has her hair down, curling at the end's, with one side tied backwards into a wave onto the side of her head, with a hot pink ink colour, she's smiling, her eyes wide and shining with that wonder she always has, her skin is tanned, and she still has her old metro outfit on, albight modified to be more comfortable to move around with, and yellow highlights, she's rocking her octo-shot on her hip, now more silver then black and pink from the years of punishment its endured, and she's throwing double peace signs at the camera. and lastly, neo has her tentacles just kind of lying on the sides of her head, her ink colour is yellow with purple highlights, and she has pale skin, and she has a small blue newsie cap on, minus the brim, and she has a face that fills up, the entirety of her face, if that makes sense, and black eyes, she has a dark blue coat on, somewhat reminiscent of a union army officer's frock coat, it has gold highlights on it, and has matching blue trousers on, her hands are slightly raised above her hip, gripping eachother and she's leaning forward, smiling at the camera, albight it being a small smile.

[the-warmesthello]

barb

putting a tw at the beginning of this because i probably should. tw for religious trauma (including some mormon terminology), mention of fungi, homophobia (including derogatory use of the word queer), dysfunctional parenting, grief/mourning, alcoholism, bad mental health times all round, some tough parts of the therapeutic process

really i didn't expect this to get heavy part way through so if you want to skip the worst bit (aftermath of the banana incident), it's most of the next rb. :)

(btw i am nevermo, correct me if i got something wrong)

born on the 21st of december, 1934 in provo, utah

was raised in the latter day saints

had a keen interest in chemistry from the time she could express it, but because sciences were discouraged for the girls in her family, learned mostly about the science in domestic work

amazing baker, had the exact ratios for each ingredient memorised by the time she started school

became fascinated by fermentation and saw the scoby and starters as her pets, watching them make bubbles for hours on end

learned the old burning-things-with-a-magnifying-glass trick, but only used it for leaves because the ants didn't deserve that

one time when she was 6, she made chloroform out of cleaning chemicals, put it in a glass bottle, and smashed it in front of her bullies to see what would happen

(she got in trouble for that)

(worth it)

just before school started, her parents noticed that she would always hold books very close to her face, amongst other things, and when they took her to the doctor she became the proud owner of some incredibly nifty glasses, if she did say so herself

only had one friend in school, alma merrill, who she thought was kind and funny and beautiful and...

just the greatest

even though she didn't understand what barb meant when she talked about exothermic reactions, she'd still sit there and nod along, and she had so many exciting things to say in return even though it wasn't what barb usually liked

when she grew up, she wanted her husband to be just like alma

when they were 13, alma was told to stay away from her because she was 'queer, and not only in the loony way' (neither barb nor alma could figure out what that meant)

after that, she focused most of her time on her studies, which her parents were now suddenly encouraging of

("at least it'll keep her away from sin," she heard her parents whisper when they thought she wasn't there)

graduated high school at 15, youngest ever at her school

brigham young university wouldn't let her in until she was 16, so she took a gap year

she was told to stay on the property except for church, but as long as she did her chores and continued to learn household management, she was allowed to do whatever she wanted

she took this opportunity to study mechanical engineering, watching her father teach her brothers how to fix the mower then reading about engine torque

she knew that her ideas on how to make it go faster wouldn't be listened to, so she told her younger brother, isaiah, what to say and let him take the credit

he needed the praise, but it still hurt

but it was overshadowed by how good it felt to be right when her idea worked

at university, she was a bit too young to participate in the whole courtship thing that made up the backbone of social life there

she couldn't understand why her peers would choose to do all that for just some guy, but maybe she just wasn't old enough yet

graduated an accelerated course, a bs in applied physics with a minor in biochemistry, in 1954 at 19 years old

immediately applied for work in the military for the travel benefits

worked her way up very quickly since the need for chemical and nuclear weapons was increasing and they needed an innovative mind

at first it was weird, the way things were so different outside the church, but eventually she came around to the office culture of relaxed chatting over coffee while on break

and huh, come to think of it, the people she met were all different, and most of them seemed like pretty decent people to her

there wasn't an exact moment that cracked her belief, more just an increasing awareness of her own cognitive dissonance

and when she was invited to come back to provo for her endowment, she didn't respond

in late 1955, she got an offer from the a.s.s. to join their equipment development program for field agents where she would get full reign over what she did, and how could she say no to that?

and, ok, so there's this one guy, right? he's a field agent, his name is curt, and he's infuriating, but very conventionally attractive, and you know, theoretically, it wouldn't be awful to date him

is this what a crush is?

she thinks this is probably what a crush is

it takes a lot of work to feel this way, but she's pretty sure that she could be, no, is attracted to him

and she gets to be the one to supervise him on missions!!

but the issue is that curt has this friend and they're always together

if she wants to date this guy, she has to find some alone time, so she has to get rid of the friend

however... this guy, curt's friend, he's shockingly competent at his job, and he stops curt from dying constantly

plus, he's nice to barb, even if it's in that weird stiff british way all the mi6 guys seem to be

and one day, when she's briefing them on a tool neither of them have ever used before (of course they haven't, barb invented it herself), this friend, who's been staring behind her the entire time, says 'why don't you make the handle smaller? that way it's not as bulky and makes it easier to press the buttons on the right in a combat situation'

and oh.

the answer was that simple.

from then on, he stops being known as 'curt's friend (british)' and starts being 'owen (my best friend)'

they become each others' sounding boards, each of them dumping all their ideas out and talking through it with each other

barb knows how all the technical stuff for how her inventions work, but owen is detached enough to not overthink it and just state the obvious that she forgot

owen is continually formulating arguments and debates; why he should get a raise, why his partner (who barb still hasn't met yet, she hopes she'll get to meet her some day) should consider his point of view in conversation before going off on a tangent about something that wasn't even what he suggested, why whatever politics going on in england actually does affect his siblings, etc.

picking apart his arguments and playing the devil's advocate is one of barb's favourite things

curt is an unwilling participant in this little club of theirs, and often provides what she assumes he thinks is comedic relief

and for the first time, barb is content with how things are going for her

[recalled11]

Lost Pt. 2

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3 coming soon!

[shycard]

+730 gifs added to hwang minhyun's my lovely liar gif pack !

[danggirlronpa]

Thanks to the delightful and Much Appreciated donation of a ton of sprite edits by @severalsmallwizards, the number of ships I don't have visuals for is a very reasonable 14 ships!! Which is WAY DOWN from the 55 I thought I'd have to do, and perfectly possible to get done!

If people get back to me about permissions I'll trade their art in, and if anyone wants to take a crack at the remaining ships without visuals noted here, they are more than welcome to. But I'd say we're more or less ready!! So keep an eye out at around 6:30-ish EST on the 2nd (today, lmao) for the full schedule!!

[girls-and-honey]

my boss just said ‘manifesting this for us’ in the group chat and she’s being 100% serious

[alphatalecomic]

Alphatale Arc 1- Chapter 3, Page 26

NEXT (Blood and Violence Warning) PREVIOUS FIRST

FIRST PAGE / Chapter 1 Arc Cover Chapter Cover

Time Taken: 19:45 hours

DeviantArt Art Tumblr Instagram Twitter AO3 Discord: NightfuryNova#4112

The Artwork belongs to Me Alphatale belongs to Me Undertale belongs to Toby Fox

[kiyoors]

hehe I saw ur tags and I agree so hard!! getting asks is literally so nice, im single handedly trying to bring them back in my tumblr circles bc I miss the ask era, when everyone was just sending people asks all the timeee

AHHH I KNOW!!

asks are the tumblr equivalent to a hand written letter sealed with a kiss 💌

[nouearth]

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal. 

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited. 

“Thanks—” 

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in. 

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed. 

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket. 

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other. 

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late. 

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.” 

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen. 

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus. 

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it. 

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat. 

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.” 

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit. 

Something commanded you to let those words slip out. 

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace. 

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold. 

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.” 

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed. 

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help. 

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you. 

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated. 

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed. 

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes. 

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost. 

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on. 

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower. 

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling. 

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires. 

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having. 

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure. 

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough. 

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest;  it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you. 

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you. 

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper. 

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place. 

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself. 

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer. 

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about. 

“Never.” 

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now. 

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him?  His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[stevesbipanic]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 27: "I thought we agreed it was over."

Eddie saw Steve's beemer pull up outside the trailer before he heard the knock at the door. The words were already leaving his lips as he opened it, "I thought we agreed it was over."

It had hurt, the break up, but Eddie had been expecting it. He knew Steve would never be his forever no matter how much he wanted him to be. It was all too easy for him to push back the tears and agreed when Steve said things like it was for the best and that they'd never work.

He had tried not to think about all the times Steve had said how much he loved how they were different, that it meant they got to share things with the other person. How Steve whispered love confessions when he thought Eddie was asleep weeks before he was brave enough to voice them in the daylight.

It was over, and that was that, so why was Steve here?

The sentence fizzled out though when he took in Steve's features. A quickly blackening swollen eye, a split lip, knuckles bruised and bleeding. Steve was trying to hold his side while also tightly gripping the backpack on his other shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Eddie hadn't heard from Steve in months besides the occasional update from the kids or a glance at him from hellfire pick ups. The sound of those words made him realise how much he had missed Steve's voice despite how broken it now sounded.

All the hurt he'd felt melted away, stored for a later time when Steve wasn't swaying so much, when his face wasn't so pale. Eddie gently guided him inside, taking the backpack and placing it on the couch before leading Steve to the bathroom.

He methodically cleaned up his cuts and checked his ribs and tried not to think about the fact that the doctor said Steve shouldn't risk another concussion. He got Steve a change of clothes and sat him upright on the bed.

"Can't sleep yet, sweetheart, got to make sure your heads ok for awhile, alright?"

Steve's eyes became misty again, "Didn't think I'd ever hear you call me that again, Eds. I'm so sorry."

Eddie took Steve's less injured hand in his, gently stroking the back of it, "What happened, Steve?"

The question didn't help the tears that now seemed to flow freely down Steve's cheeks, "I thought if I broke up with you I could keep you safe, keep the both of us safe."

Eddie's grip tightened slightly, "Stevie."

"I was stupid I should've given the box of stuff from you to Robin or someone but I wanted to keep a piece of you close, and he, he found a picture of the two of us, the one Jonathan took at your birthday party."

Eddie knew the picture, it was his favourite, he still kept it tacked to his wall, didn't have the heart to take it down and put it with every other part of Steve that now sat in a box under his bed. Jonathan had caught the exact moment Steve kissed him while he cut his cake, they looked so happy, they were happy.

Eddie could infer the rest, "Your dad did this then?"

Steve nodded, "Kicked me out too, I'm sorry I would've gone to Dustin's but he's at his grandparents and Robin is at college and I just." Eddie pulls Steve closer, "I'm glad you came here, baby, you're safe here." Steve seems to finally relax at those words, like he'd been holding his breath since the day they'd parted.

"I didn't mean anything I said, Eddie," Steve cried.

Eddie gave Steve a sad smile. "I know, let's talk about all that later, just rest now I'll wake you up in a little bit to check your head again," Eddie said pushing Steve softly down onto the bed. They had a lot to discuss, a lot of hearts to mend but for now Eddie just needed Steve to be ok.

"Will you stay?"

"As long as you need me."