#sometimes though people literally are just passing through and they all shake their heads

[anotherpapercut]

is there a non combative way to tell my coworkers that I don't fucking give a shit if homeless people hang out behind the building and occasionally walk by our office windows

[babyleostuff]

THE NIGHT WE MET

・❥・ for the 2k followers event

summary: the one where you meet a handsome stranger in the art gallery who is as beautiful as the paintings

[ pairing: idol!minghao x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2k

warnings: a couple of swear words ]

song recommendation: the night we met by lord huron

Your steps echoed through the empty hall, as you entered the last room of the building. It was too early for anyone to be rummaging through the art gallery, even for you. It seemed like the universe wanted you to be here, though. At least that's what you were telling yourself. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that school had been putting you in an emotional spiral for some time now and you wanted to be anywhere but there. 

So, as usual, you ran away to the place you always knew would cheer you up. 

Looking around the room filled with paintings all covered in beautiful pastel colours, depicting people who looked like they didn't have a single care in their lives, you stopped at your favourite, the biggest out of the collection. Every time you looked at it you felt a sense of peace and... carefree? You weren't sure why, but the girl on the swing looked so free, like she could do anything. Like she was truly happy. 

You’d do anything to feel like she did for just a moment.

"Don't you think The Swing is a bit overrated?" You were so lost in thought that you didn't hear someone approaching you. You huffed, shaking your head. If he was going to insult the painting, why did he say anything at all? Jerk.

“I wouldn't say that,” you stated, not looking at the stranger. You could tell it was a guy and he sounded like he was around the same age as you, maybe a little older. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of getting under your skin, so you continued to stare at the painting.

He chuckled lightly, as if he sensed that you were annoyed, which made you dislike him even more. Why did he have to speak at all, couldn't he look at the painting and just walk away like any other normal person?

"What do you like so much about it, then?"

"And what about it bothers you so much?" You muttered. A moment of silence passed and you started to wonder if you weren't being too harsh. "I'm sorry if, um... I offended you in any way. That wasn't my intention, really," he said, and you could tell from his voice that he meant it. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. If this continued, your social interactions would drop to zero.

"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm just not in the mood," you said and turned to the stranger. You were going to smile so you wouldn't look like a total bitch, but instead of doing that, your lips twisted into an 'o' shape.

This stranger, or rather the most beautiful guy you've ever seen, was looking at you with a curious expression.

"I-I'm tired lately and it turns out I'm not very nice to other people either," you wanted to hit yourself because that was literally the stupidest thing you could have said. "And it turns out I'm not very nice to other people either"? Well done. 

However, the stranger didn't look like he cared too much about what you said, he just nodded as if he totally understood what you meant. "I feel the same way sometimes," he admitted, turning his gaze towards the painting. "That's why I'm here now," he added.

You had trouble taking your eyes off his profile without looking like a total creep, but you honestly didn't think guys like that even existed. He looked perfect in every way. And it wasn't like you fell in love with every handsome guy you saw - love at first sight was overrated, but there was something about him that made you unable to take your eyes off him. 

"I'm guessing you're not from around here?" You asked. For a second, surprise crossed his face and his eyebrows furrowed, and you began to wonder if maybe you shouldn't have asked. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have,” you said, and with every second he didn't say anything, you became more and more convinced that he was the one pissed now. 

"No no. It’s okay" he said and looked back at you. His dark eyes, hidden behind glasses that you were sure were fake, landed on you. "It's just not often that I meet people who don't know who I am," he smiled and adjusted the sleeve of his white cardigan that had slipped off his shoulder. You gulped as your eyes landed on his sculpted arm, his white sleeveless shirt doing nothing to cover it. 

"Should I know who you are then?" You asked, taking a quick breath to calm yourself down. You were sure you had never seen him in your life, though, not even on the internet. Was he some sort of influencer? Maybe a YouTuber?

He chuckled, ruffling his black hair as if you had said something funny. "God, that sounded so pretentious. No, of course you don't need to know who I am."

But now you wanted, no - needed to know who this handsome stranger was, the one who decided to talk to you, a random person in the art gallery. Although it wasn't like he had much of a choice considering you were completely alone here. 

"Let's say I'm an artist."

"That doesn't tell me much. What type of artist?" You asked curiously. He looked at you, amused. "I create art on stage."

"Can't you just tell me who you are?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Now you were the one who couldn't stop from laughing. You guessed you wouldn't get more than that from him. "But it's not like Magic Mike, with you getting naked on stage and all?" Where the fuck did you get that from?

Great, it was your official self-embarrassment day. “Not that there's anything wrong with that,” you cleared your throat sheepishly.

You expected him to give you some sort of sarcastic remark, but instead his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he looked just as embarrassed as you were. "No, but I dance too."

“Ah, that's where the painted nails and earrings come from,” you pointed to his ears and he touched them as if to make sure his gold jewellery was still there. “Yeah.” 

For the first time, a comfortable silence fell between you and you honestly didn't want it to end. You no longer cared whether he liked the painting or not, but you didn't want him to leave. You felt a certain comfort in his presence that you couldn't quite explain.

"I like this painting because when I look at it I feel calm. Like I don't have any worries and the world is covered in nothing but pink colours, making everything more beautiful," you said, getting lost in your thoughts again. "I wish life was sometimes just about swinging on a swing.” You felt his eyes on you, but he didn't say anything, as if he was thinking about what you just said.

"I never looked at it that way," he said, tilting his head. 

“Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective,” you smiled. For some reason you couldn't stop it when he was next to you.

“I'm Xu Minghao,” he extended his hand towards you, which you shook lightly. It was a miracle that you even managed to say your name without fainting, his hand still in yours. "So assuming you're not from here, how long will you be staying in town?” You asked, finally letting go of his hand, no matter how much you wanted to keep holding it.

But then… Why did he seem to hesitate when he let go of yours, too? Your stomach seemed to do somersaults and your heart was beating twice as fast.

"I’m leaving tomorrow," he admitted, though you couldn't tell from his voice whether he was happy or sad about it. Looking at him, his thoughtful face that didn't look as content as yours when you looked at The Swing, you had a sudden urge to hug him.

He had a comforting presence, but for some reason you felt that he himself needed some comfort. 

“Um, would you like to maybe,” you held out one of your headphones towards him. "We can listen to something,” you proposed. He nodded, so you walked up to him, heart beating like crazy, with the headphone still in your hand. “Do you have a specific request, Minghao?” You asked.

“Let’s listen to the last song you listened to.” 

Your hands touched again as you handed him the earbud, and you could have sworn Minghao let out a nervous breath then. It turned out the wire was too short for you to keep a big distance, so you stood side by side, shoulders brushing. You unlocked your phone and played your most recent song, rewinding it to the beginning. 

The night we met.

“How ironic,” you muttered, as the first rays of rising sun poured through the gallery windows. Minghao smiled gently, looking down at you, with the softest gaze anyone has ever looked at you.

You felt like the whole world stopped at that moment - it was just you, Minghao, and the paintings, which for the first time weren't the most beautiful thing in the room. 

I had all and then most of you,

Some and now none of you,

Take me back to the night we met.

You wondered how long it would take you to forget Minghao and he would become just a memory of the handsome stranger, like a ghost that wouldn’t stop haunting you. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to do,

Haunted by the ghost of you.

“You have no idea how glad I am that I came here,” he said so quietly you thought you misheard him. "Actually, no one knows I'm here," he snorted. "My friends will kill me when I come back," Minghao shook his head. You felt like you had crossed every line of being a stranger, so you laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

When the night was full of terrors,

And your eyes were filled with tears,

When you had not touched me yet,

Oh, take me back to the night we met.

“I'm sure they'll understand,” you said, just as quietly as he did. “Everyone needs to get away for a while now and then.”

You stood like that for the next three minutes, your head on Minghao’s shoulder, his hand dangerously close to yours, connected by the cable of your headphones, staring at the painting that meant two different things to the both of you. You dragged out the moment when the song had to end, you wanted to stop this moment forever. "When do you have to go back?" 

"I still have one," he looked at his watch. "two hours. Then I have to leave.” You nodded. No matter how much his words hurt you, you decided it was better to use the time you had left. "I know this may be a bit lame, but would you like to go for some tea?" You asked.

His face immediately lit up and his eyes sparkled as if you just gave a new toy to a child.

"You're reading in my mind. Of course I'd like to go," he beamed as he said it. Now he was even more handsome, if that was possible. "Let me guess," you tapped your chin thoughtfully. “You're a green tea type.” He chuckled, causing your shoulders to brush again.

"You are amazing." For a moment, there was no air in your lungs and no words in your mouth. How were you supposed to respond to something like that? 

“Let's go then, Mr. Xu,” he smiled and extended his hand to you and you gladly took it. 

This time, however, you didn't let it go.

Take me back to the night we met.

[...]

You opened Twitter because you knew that if you wanted to find someone, it was there. You clicked on the first video that appeared to you. "I don't understand but I love you" fancam. Interesting.

You sat up more comfortably on the bed, as the first tunes of the song started playing. So he was a singer, right? What did he mean by saying he did dancing too, though? 

But with every second that the video was playing, your eyes were getting bigger and bigger.

"What the fuck?"

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings

[writeyouin]

Idw Optimus and his s/o having a drunken good time? Like just being stupid drunk please?

Optimus Prime X Reader – Drunk Headcanons

A/N – I took a few liberties here making it a bit of a bittersweet request, with a Cybertronian reader.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Optimus Prime… Orion Pax. Right now, Optimus feels like he is both people, and neither.

The war on Cybertron is finally over, and having come back to his home planet, Optimus realises that nobody wants him there.

It’s such a strange and hollow sensation, yet he can’t blame any of the so-called NAILS for wanting him gone.

But without the war, who is he and where can he even go?

He knows too much. He’s not the archivist anymore. He can’t fathom going back to being who he used to be. Yet, he no longer feels like Optimus Prime.

He’s mulling this over when he spots you. An old flame from a long, long time ago. You and he used to hang out, back in the day. You were the personal assistant to some of the wealthiest bots on Cybertron, though they kept you more like a prize pet.

Optimus remembers how the two of you used to sneak away for stolen moments together, dreaming about the future, one where he was maybe a senator, and you were free to simply be yourself.

Then you both started listening to Megatron’s rallies, believing that you could be more than what the Functionalists decreed and after that… Optimus didn’t know. He had become the leader of the Autobots, and honestly, he thought you were dead.

Optimus followed you through the rowdy crowds of those recently returned to Cybertron.

He tried calling you, but you couldn’t hear him over the noise. Sometimes he lost sight of you and it stressed him out completely, even though it was ridiculous that he should still be attached to you after all these millennia. But he would always spot you again at the last minute, and finally, he was able to catch up with you. When he did, all he managed was a lame “…Hello.”

“Hello,” You echoed back, equally surprised to see him, and that he had followed you.

Optimus tries to explain why he had to catch up with you, but in truth, he doesn’t know why. He has seen a hundred familiar faces of friends he thought had perished, yet you were the only one he had felt the need to chase down.

He tries to ask where you’ve been all these years and how you’ve managed to stay safe, but again, words fail him.

Finally, you smile sympathetically. “Want to get a drink? I’ve got some high-grade on my ship.”

Optimus nods and follows you away.

When you said your ship, he thought you meant the ship you lived on, not literally your ship!

But it is. He asks you about it, but you shake your head and tell him to wait for drinks. You and he pass some crew, but a warning look from you sends them scattering. It’s not that you’re being mean, but rather that you have seen Optimus for the first time since the war began, and it’s clear that he needs something to hold onto. So, for now, you’re going to give him time to just

No leading, no pressures, just two old friends, catching up.

You talk about everything and nothing while you both get started on the high grade, waiting till Optimus is just a little bit tipsy before you explain where you’ve been all these years.

While Optimus was leading the war effort, you became a space Pirate, and Captain of the Good Ship Misery. It’s not an aptly named ship. It’s actually one of the happiest in the nearest 7 quadrants.

Your crew set up supply runs between the few colonies of NAILS that managed to survive. You looked out for the bots who couldn’t take care of themselves, bringing them energon, and medical supplies, or even escorting the occasional bot through Decepticon territory. Meanwhile, you learned how to fight, boarding Decepticon ships and taking what you could from their weapons to their body parts, if there was an innocent bot in need of repair.

You are so far from the meek young bot Optimus once knew. Then again, he’s nothing like he used to be either.

Yet, the way you tell it, that isn’t a bad thing.

Soon, you get onto the harder stories. Friends lost, traitors found, enemies made, that kind of thing. Optimus has a whole trove of such stories too. So, you both drink more and more, until it’s not as sad anymore.

Then, you’re both laughing. After that, you’re crying, but given even more high-grade, it’s back to the good times.

Finally, it’s getting early into the next cycle, and you’re sitting at the bar, head resting lopsidedly in your palm, staring at Optimus.

“Why did you follow me, Optimus?”

He looks at you like a sad puppy who doesn’t have a home to go to and follows the first friendly face it finds.

“I don’t know,” He replies, fear lacing his answer.

You lean forward to kiss his cheek-plate, only lingering for a few seconds.

“When you figure it out, tell me. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here, but I’ve got to get my crew together. We’ve still got work to do.”

You leave Optimus at the ship’s bar, giving him time to figure out what he wants now. It’s nice to see him again, even if you’re not sure that he’s going to stay.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 5)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Warning: this chapter contains mentions of the horrors Snow inflicts on ‘desirable’ victors, nothing graphic but could still be upsetting to some readers. Proceed with caution.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Damn it,” Haymitch curses, taking a long swig from his glass.

Katniss is inches away from literally becoming the girl on fire. Sprinting through the raging flames as foliage and trees block her way.

“Why are they doing that?” Y/N tugs anxiously at the sleeve of his jacket.

“She’s too close to the edge.” They need to turn her around, but the fire balls are for show.

“Not now.” The gamemakers have chased her well back into the tree line. “Why aren’t they stopping?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch huffs, “I have as much control over this as you do.”

“We need a sponsor.”

“To send her what exactly? A fire extinguisher?”

Remember who the real enemy is.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N shakes her head, “it’s fine.” Haymitch is direct and abrasive, he does not sugarcoat. There are times when she wants that, needs it even.

“I was dismissive.” For all she was his protégé, she is now his equal. Old habits die hard, the places where they are joined bleed into one another.

“No, you were right.”

Things in the arena have calmed down, Katniss nursing a burn to her thigh. Stumbling back to the river, finding a moment’s relief before the careers and Peeta spot her.

“I’ll keep an eye on things here if you wanna go work the crowd,” if they’re gonna kill Katniss, Haymitch doesn’t want her to watch.

“I’ll wait till it’s done.”

You stubborn thing, let me spare you; just once.

Despite her injury, Katniss scales her way to the top of a tree which the careers can’t seem to shake her from.

“Let’s just wait her out,” Peeta suggests, “she has to come down sometime. It’s that or starve to death. We’ll kill her then.”

Cato contemplates for a moment, “ok.” He shrugs, “somebody make a fire.”

“Now go,” Haymitch insists, “she needs something for that burn. I’ll man the fort. Go, be great.” He pecks her cheek in parting.

Y/N stands, dragging sweaty palms down the front of her dress. Passing the betting pool on her right. They smile and wave. The victor forces her best grin, spotting one of the more generous patrons and locking eyes.

The man shakes his head at the whistling of those beside him. He’s been chosen.

“How’ve you been?” Y/N plucks two champagne flutes off the serving tray as it passes. Their contents a dark blue.

He smirks, accepting the offering. “I know your game, little minx. Tell me what you want.”

“Something for my tribute’s burn.”

“You’d think the girl on fire would be used to it.”

Y/N huffs a laugh.

“How much is this going to cost me?” That’s the real question, isn’t it?

“Two thousand.” Play money for someone like him.

“Greedy, greedy.” He tuts, fishing for his wallet.

“You’ll make double that if you bet on her.”

The Capitol man cocks his head of green curls. Y/N is beautiful, not in the way his wife is. Understated, but never overlooked and though she dresses the part, she will never fit in. Standing out like a neon sign among the masses. A humming live wire. “You seem confident.”

“She’s demonstrated better survival skills than half the tributes from one and two. Besides, you’ve always been generous.”

“Because I like you. Dare I say, we’re friends.”

“We are friends.” You’ve been good to me, kind even.

“Most people here are looking for a bit more than friendship from someone like you. A few of my colleagues would so love to meet you.” It’s not meant to be an insult, but it stings all the same. “Do be careful, little minx. Take my money and run.”

————————————————————————

When Katniss receives the parachute with a note that reads ‘apply generously and stay alive. -Y/N & Haymitch,’ she wonders how far away the arena is from the tribute center. Is it just beyond reach, separated by a dome of tech?

What would her mentors say now, without all of Panem to see? If only she could talk to them, just one more time. To be comforted by Y/N, scolded by Haymitch even. Scooping a bit of goop from the container onto her wound, it soothes the ache. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

Nights are the hardest, in and out of the arena. If a tribute needs something after hours, they’d have to wait until the viewing room opens the next day. Y/N insists the games stay on, the feed streaming to district twelve, broadcast over the exterior wall of their room in the tribute center.

“You gonna fill me in on what the hell’s going on?” Haymitch asks, keeping his distance for now.

“The kids are sleeping, no cannon for a while now.”

“I didn’t mean the games.”

She knows that. “Haymitch.” His name is choked, so different from the way he’s used to hearing it.

His tumbler clunks down on the bedside table. “Come here,” he clambers onto the bed, still fully clothed from the day. “Come here.”

She worms her way into his open arms and sobs. Wracking both of them with the force of it.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, trying to absorb some of her pain.

She cries herself to sleep, even as Haymitch hushes her. Breath hitching in her throat, the terrible way that turns his stomach. When she stills, the front of his shirt caught in her fist, Haymitch dozes off. Waking to the sound of her screams, pushing at him, desperate to free herself.

“It’s me,” he pulls back enough for her to see with her own eyes. “It’s just me.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I love you.

She tells him of her conversation with Cashmere and the sponsor. How afraid she is that pay per views aren’t going to keep these people entertained forever. Eventually they will get tired of watching them, they’ll want to be with them; and neither she nor Haymitch will be able to say no. “If Katniss lives, they’d do it to her too.” Just like Finnick and Gloss and Cashmere, all the others before them. “They’ll do it to her too.”

Haymitch gentles her with pretty lies. ‘He’ll sort this out.’ They will have to pry you from my cold, dead, hands.

————————————————————————

Little Rue, from district eleven, is also quite the climber. Making her way to the tree closest Katniss and drawing her attention to a tracker jacker nest a few feet up. If she’s able to drop it down on the careers, she might take out one or two. At the very least, cause enough of a distraction to get away.

Y/N watches on bated breath as Katniss begins sawing through the branch with her knife. People of the viewing room hiss each time Katniss is stung. Letting out a collective cheer when the hive falls, sending the careers and Peeta scattering. All but Glimmer, who catches the brunt of their stings.

Haymitch shifts. I’ll be damned, you might actually make it out alive, sweetheart.

Peeta circles around, after the cannon sounds, leaving Katniss with the bow and arrow. “Katniss, go! Run! Get out of here. What are you doing?”

She blinks at him slowly, effects of the tracker jacker venom dulling her senses. Putting enough distance between herself and the tree with the body underneath before falling into the brush. Plagued by images of days gone by.

Part 6

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902

[urrameshi]

A Shot of Espresso

takami keigo x f!reader ≧◡≦

authors note: okay hiiii been writing for a long time, but never really posted before but i’m gonna try! didn’t proof read this ok xoxo also this is a repost from my old blog lolololol

Being in a secret relationship with one of the most famous heroes in the world, really boosted your ego. That meant sneaking into your place outside of the city after late patrols or pretending to ‘save you’ only to sneak you away somewhere hidden for a quick lunch or a quickie.

Was it ideal? Fuck no, you wanted to be shown off. Keigo wanted to show you off like a shining diamond. You were amazing, strong, and just stunning but he was also terrified. The city was just getting more dangerous and while he knew you could handle your own, he couldn’t help but be protective of you.

This morning was different, he told his sidekicks to amp up patrols today, that he would be out of town for a bit. Nothing major, but just long enough he wouldn’t be able to do anything heroic that morning. He had stayed the night with you a few times before, but he would always leave before the crack of dawn.

Early bird gets the worm, or whatever.

He was yours. For the first time, since the start of your relationship he was yours. You weren’t the most romantic person, But this was something you needed. You didn’t wanna have to share him all the time. You were both heroes, you both had busy

You felt his body move next to you. He was trying to be sneaky, was he really trying to sneak out like a teenager?

“Keigo? It’s too early for you to leave. You’re mine this morning, not the world’s.”

“Oh little bird, I’m sorry I know I said I would stay but you know I have a huge day, and that big interview tonight!. Still gotta keep the Commission happy.” You rolled your eyes, rolling over as he threw the covers off. Not before sneaking a peak at his ass you loved so much.

Best of both worlds came with Kegio Takami. He was your world but he belonged to the world. There was never truly enough of him to go around and he knew that. Didn’t stop him from trying to make it work though.

You weren’t anything special enough you guessed for the commission for you both to be seen together. You questioned when the news would break and both of your worlds would be shaken up. Maybe he needed some shaking in that area of his life. You weren’t one to be insecure about anything but with somebody like Keigo, it was hard not to get in your head sometimes.

-

The rest of the afternoon passed without seeing Keigo, “he was such busy, busy bird.” you thought to yourself a bit sarcastically. You wouldn’t see him till much later tonight after he would sneak into your place, and get something to snack on and depending the time, just get in bed and wrap himself around you.

After the rest of your day was much less eventful, you decided to turn in early and watch this interview with ‘The Number 2 Hero, Hawks!!’ Social media was busy, you couldn’t wait.

“Ha! I know him more than you do.” you held the last syllable on the do, stringing it out longer to sing. Joking with yourself out loud and in replies to tweets you were scrolling through helped you feel bad. you swore it did.

The interview was finally starting.

“Tonight everybody we’re here with the best up and comer we’ve had in awhile! Hawks!” The cute host gestured to the entrance where Takami walked out, and the crowd went insane. Everybody loved the flying hero! You couldn’t even lie to yourself, feeling your whole body grow hotter as you watched him on your screen.

You laughed it off, ‘God! You’re acting like a teenage fangirl! he was literally in your bed this morning!’

“Thank you so much for having me tonight! I remember watching my favorite heroes on the show when I was younger!”

“Oh Hawks, you’re always the people’s hero! So you know me, let’s get the cat out of the bag! A lot of rumors are around lately, who’s the lucky girl?”

Oh no! the moment your anxiety had been dreading, he wouldn't say a word to just keep up appearances and it would honestly crush you. maybe you just didn’t know what it was like, but pro hero or not. It shouldn’t have mattered.

Takami threw his head back laughing. “Wow! Really coming in hot, huh?”

“You know, i always come in blazing!”

“It’s funny actually, and i’m gonna get some flack for this but yeah i am seeing somebody actually.” Your mouth dropped! The crowd cheered and screamed, the energy in that studio must have been off the charts!

“That’s how we start a show, ladies and gentlemen! With news you don’t get anywhere else! Tell us about them, Hawks, pretty please?”

You were hugging a couch pillow close to your chest now, “Yes hawks, tell us about her.”

It took him a moment to reply, getting himself more comfortable in his chair. “Well you know, i’m protective so I'm not actually gonna say who it is.” He told her, getting a bit of whining from the crowd. “but I can tell you, they’re like a shot of espresso. it’s like feeling sunshine for the first time. it’s really something special i don’t know if i’ve ever had for myself before, if i’m being honest.”

A Shot. of. Espresso.

It was official you were acting like a teenage fangirl, absolutely swooned by Takami. What a cheesy way to explain it! Every doubt of your relationship had melted away almost immediately.

You were prepared to return the affection when he snuck in after the show. Dealing with everything that could come from this would have to wait till tomorrow. When Takami was here with you, its the only world that mattered.

[writer-of-various]

ꜰᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ

War isn't simple, people aren't simple, nothing is simple. There's always hidden secrets, hidden feelings, hidden meanings, and hidden solutions.

[William Pierson/Robert Zussman]

Things couldn't be simple. War wasn't simple, and even if it started out simple, some dumbass would turn it into a puzzle only the smartest man in the world can solve, and that guy is dead. Zussman heard the stories about the Pacific Theater, he even had comrades and patients that fought some battles on land and sea and air, and how they thought Europe would be a better choice. Both theaters sucked and they couldn't wait for the war to end. Sometimes, though, Zussman doubted the war would end.

He may not know how many American men were being imprisoned by the enemy, but he knows the pain and the emotional rollercoaster all too well and when he was given a chance to be the medic on a top secret mission to liberate a prison camp on some small island no one knew about until yesterday, he signed up quicker than he did when the war started. He couldn't let another soul go through months of pain, of the fear of never being found or being forgotten or abandoned– because the lies that the enemy tells you seem to become real every passing day. They get under your skin, sometime literally with a dirty blade, and they sneer and cackle and are just fucking bullies. And Zussman hates bullies.

While his leadership were wary, especially since he's only five months off bedrest and the rumors of what he went through as a POW in Europe, he had an unexpected protector and louder voice that got him whatever he wanted. The relationship between him and Pierson got better, especially after that one night, and after being reunited Pierson rarely let him out of his sight. It's a partial reason why Pierson stayed in the Army, and vice versa with Zussman. He always wanted to be a real medic, not some assigned position in a platoon; so during his two months on bedrest, he studied and became certified and after those two months, Pierson swooped him in and took him as his second and his personal medic. The whole Army and the whole military simply stepped out of the way and let them, because you just have to give the Bloody First some lookaways with how they did a great job in Europe.

Speaking of Europe, no matter how hard it got, and no matter how many times things were far from simple, things got done efficiently. Here, in the Pacific...well your plan Z needs a backup and you just have to resort to numbering the plans.

They made it to the island in the darkness of midnight, undetected thankfully, but having a long and hazardous trip through jungle and mountains before they reached the camp. It's an estimated 32 hour walk that needs to be done before dawn. While some complained, Zussman knew he could handle himself well. Death marches were a common activity, especially since he had to switch from one camp to another to another. If hungry and near dropping dead soldiers can do the march, so can anyone else. It's midnight, leadership reasoned, it's a higher chance of being undetected.

How fucking wrong they were.

The Japs set up wire and traps and had scouts in the trees and bushes and they were ambushed 15 minutes into the mission. It was raining like hell and freezing cold from a storm crossing.

Zussman was targeted mainly, like they had a grudge against him, and a soldier ran over to his cover and pointed at his head and arm.

"Your medic insignia! Remove it, they go for you guys first!" The soldier yelled over the gunfire and Zussman quickly threw off his helmet and ripped the patch off his arm. No head protection, but it increases his chances of survival slightly since he won't be target number one. As if reading his thoughts, Pierson appears behind him suddenly and a heavy weight is put on his head, the metal cold and dripping wet. He turns his head to see Pierson giving him a firm look and he shakes his head, his features settling into a fierce glare.

"Take your helmet back, sir!" He shouts, about to remove the other man's equipment from his head when Pierson leans closer and grabs his wrist in a tight but not bruising grip, his eyes warning him to be quiet. Zussman takes it and pushes himself away from his...whatever their relationship was, and continues to shoot at the enemy that seems to keep coming and coming.

"Fuck!" A soldier yelps and Zussman watches as the man falls on his back, his hands trying to apply pressure to his abdomen. Zussman curses under his breath, laying completely on the muddy ground and dragging himself over to the soldier, trying to ignore the gunfire and the yells and the overall situation he was in. He had one focus and that was getting his boy out of this hell, alive.

His arms ache by the time he reaches the soldier but adrenaline is pumping through his body so he starts to drag the soldier to a better cover before performing his miracle. He grabs his kit and injects morphine into the soldier, getting the man to relax before grabbing his tool kit and getting to work.

"Cover me!" He shouts, and he feels Pierson's presence beside him as their guys advance forward, suddenly gaining an advantage as the enemy begins to fall back.

"I-is it bad, doc?" The soldier mumbles shakily, trying to give a smile but it comes out a wince and Zussman gives the soldier the best fake grin he can muster up. The wound won't stop bleeding and he only has limited supplies.

"You're going to be fine, Haddon. Pierson, put your hands over his wound like this." He guides the older man in the task and when he deems it good enough, he takes off his equipment before removing his blouse, ripping a strip off and using it as a bigger gauze to help stop the bleeding. The weather is both cold and mucky, an unpleasant feeling, the sweat coating his body cold and his gut churning he feels like he is going to pass out. His heart beats echoed in his ears and it threatened to beat out of his chest, but his hands never once shook and his demeanor never once faltered. The soldier is stable for now and Zussman wraps his blouse around his waist and puts his equipment back on before rejoining the fight. They advance forward with ease, and Zussman nudges Pierson and shakes his head.

"Somethin' isn't right. Why the hell are they running away?"

Pierson looks conflicted and he squints into the darkness, his breath held as he holds up a hand, halting everyone's movement. It was silent, just the sound of heavy rainfall and the clashing of trees from the gust.

"Watch your backs, they know this terrain better than we do. Advance slowly." Pierson orders and everyone nods, forming pairs that watch the front and back. Zussman inspected everything they walked by, trying to will his paranoia down whenever he thought a shadow moved or there were eyes glinting at him. He glances down at the ground, and it suddenly felt like slow motion when he sees something shining on the floor, right in front of a soldier, and he held up his hand and his mouth fell open but it was too late. A loud explosion rang in their ears, and the soldiers flinched and stood still, heads ducked down, faced away from the horrid scene Zussman was forced to watch with wide eyes.

Blood mixed with rain, body parts shattered and chopped up and torn apart and flying in different directions. The soldier, a young man, only 23 years old, a fine Marine. Jason Gilberts.

"Shit– Zussman!" He can hear Pierson shouting his name but it sounded muffled. He can feel Pierson trying to shake him out of this fucked up trance but the effort wasn't enough. He stood there, jaw dropped and eyes wide, his face splattered with blood since he was the only one not to duck, and he was the one to see the whole ordeal. He would have to report it, he would have to recall every single nanosecond. He walked forward, passing his men as he looked at the ground and the tree branches and he couldn't muster up the feeling to be sick. Shock hit him like a train as he bent down to pick up a bloody piece of clothing and he heard someone gag behind him.

"Zussman," Pierson called out, and the younger man forced himself to drop the piece of wet and sticky cloth and back away, putting on an empty expression to hide the whirlpool of emotions he felt. He returned to his place right beside Pierson and nodded, gun trained as he remained silent. He made a silent vow to come back and collect the remains of the soldier.

"Let's get this mission over with." He mutters and Pierson nods and gives the command. They march forward again, Pierson trying to look ahead but his gaze always ends back on Zussman, concerned for the younger man. But this is war, and nothing is simple.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." the brigadier general gawked at the bloody mess of what are his soldiers, their uniforms not even distinctive, blood and grim coated their faces, and they were beyond exhausted. "You boys are heroes. Saved those guys, got back an hour before dawn."

"Save us the praise, Kendal." Pierson spats, and the general nods and backs away, letting the soldiers walk past so they can go clean up, eat, and get some much needed sleep.

"Sir, we need to send a team back. We have one KIA; Corporal Jason Gilberts." Zussman speaks for the first time in all those horrific hours and Pierson gives him a look before watching the general's reaction.

"No can do, kid, our mission was to get our boys and leave that island for good. We got our boys, we left the island, that's a mission complete." Kendal says and Zussman scoffs, throwing Pierson's helmet down on the ground before Kendal's feet.

"Respectfully, fuck you." He growls, storming off. Pierson glares at the general one more time, a final threat, before following his second in command, grimacing at the bloody footprints they left behind. He barely gets through the door in time before it would have slammed right in his face, shutting it gently and watching with furrowed brows as Zussman behaved like a tornado. He ripped the sheets of his bed, he kicked the nightstand and flung books and clothes and an extra pair of boots; he got his hands on anything he can destroy. When he made a move to slam his gun against the window, Pierson rushed over and grabbed his wrists, dragging him away from the glass.

"Hey– hey, calm the fuck down, Robert. You can break anything else, just not this." Zussman slid himself out of Pierson's stronghold and glared up at him, although the tears brimming against his burning eyelids were so obvious that he couldn't keep up the strong stare.

"Why aren't they sending a team to retrieve that guy? Gilberts, he was only 23 years old! He didn't deserve any of this. Will, it's not fair." Zussman whispers at last, and Pierson sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Rob, I know. But I didn't exactly follow orders when I went to look for you. None of us did, they disobeyed orders to look for you, to save you. And it sucks now, Robert, because we are already on a thin fucking edge with our superiors. We can't go back, and it's going to hurt you more than it hurts any of us. I'm sorry." Almost three months ago, no one would expect such kindness and sympathy from William Pierson, but his and Zussman's relationship was different. They were different. And right now, his best man needed him. So he embraced Zussman tightly and let the younger man sob into his chest, because war wasn't easy or fair or simple. It just wasn't.

—

The end of war called for celebration, but the way war ends affects that celebration. Should people really be hugging and kissing and drinking, when a new and dangerous weapon was dropped on a mainly civilian island that belonged to a country that put another country into war? Or, was it worth another year or five or twenty, and the millions and millions of lives of American soldiers, to island hop and pray for the best?

Maybe it was neither, maybe there was a better way to solve this far from simple puzzle. But that smart guy that can solve the puzzle is dead and the governments of the world are tired and just want the violence to end. By promoting more violence? Yes. But at what cost? Saving the lives of every person out there, regardless if they are American or Japanese or some hidden Native population that is thrown into the mix just for fucking kicks. Who fucking cares. World War II is over, and while everyone is out celebrating or crying, Zussman locked himself in his room of his brand new fucking home that Pierson decided to buy after having a near mental breakdown.

But soldiers (men) don't get shellshock, they don't get emotional, they shouldn't be so upset about the war ending.

Fuck you. Men had to see their buddies be murdered in the most horrific way. Men had to be thrown in labor camps or prisoner of war camps, and had to face atrocities that the enemy inflicted because they couldn't give two shits about the Geneva Conventions. Men were forced to do unspeakable acts because war is all about men and...

"Man, fuck this." Zussman mutters, tossing his pen aside and rubbing his hands against his face aggressively, the tears that so desperately wanted to fall refusing to. He couldn't cry. He couldn't celebrate. He couldn't let go of what happened to him. War was far from simple, and he was once a simple boy, barely a man. The things he had to see, the things he had to do, it fucked him up. And no matter how much Daniels writes to him, no matter how much Stiles or hell even Aiello tries to arrange a get together, Zussman doesn't want to. Sometimes all he can see are the faces of the guys he was supposed to save, his brothers, and how that human light in their eyes would be snuffed out so quickly it left him paranoid for days. A loud noise, such as a door slamming shut, left him jumping up and trying to locate his rifle. Someone accidentally brushing up against him had him reeling back and wanting to curl up in a ball and die. He unconsciously rationed his food and water, and his belongings were all sacred items that he would get defensive whenever Pierson would touch one of his shoes or a shirt. He was losing it and there seemed to be no one that could help and it was unfair.

With a defeated sigh, Zussman slammed his journal shut and hid it under the floorboard under his nightstand. He decides to leave the comfort of his room and walks down the small hallway of this house that would take a while to be called a home. Zussman never had a real home, he and his mom always had to jump from apartment to room to house, and sometimes the streets. He missed his mom dearly, a beautiful and smart woman who did everything she could to protect him. Someone who died too young and someone he lost way too young.

"Glad to see you moving about. Staying locked up in there isn't the way to go, Robert." Pierson's voice knocks him out of his thoughts and he can't help but smile at the older man, because God, who would have thought that they would have a romantic relationship together, nonetheless live together. Maybe all of the good things in his life are dreams and he's going to wake up and be sleeping in a frozen trench, with Aiello to his left and Daniels snuggling close to his right.

"Such wise words from an amazing first lieutenant." Zussman smirks at the rank and Pierson gives him a pointed look, although there is a gleam of pride in his eyes. Finally Pierson got the recognition he needed. Maybe Zussman did too when they gave him the rank of First Sergeant before he left. "What are you cooking?"

"Dinner, but it's burned and going to taste like shit. Nothing new, right?" Pierson throws him that charming smile, his lips quirked up on one side and his eyes darkening in a teasing manner that made Zussman melt.

"Sounds like good ol' trench food. Remember that time Stiles tripped and all his food fell over you?" Zussman leans against the kitchen counter as Pierson gives out an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, damn kid was fucking clumsy."

Zussman chuckled, "That's the most scared I've seen that boy be. Turner had to swoop in and make sure you didn't punch him." He looks away at the mention of his second most favorite deceased person in the world.

Pierson deflated the slightest, but upon noticing the faraway look in Zussman's eyes, he straightened his posture and tried to think of something else to say. He's lost and about to say the most random shit he can muster when Zussman looks back at him and smiles. The smile is reserved for him and him alone, it's like staring into heaven with how bright it is, or eating a chocolate in the summer with how warm it is, or how it would feel like to be on a cloud with how soft it is. It's perfect in the eyes of Pierson.

"Maybe tonight...we can...you know." Zussman blushes furiously at his sudden lack of confidence, but ever since that one night a year ago, he and Pierson never engaged in sexual activity. Kissing or intense late night make out sessions didn't count, and Zussman was scared that the longer he put off sex, the sooner Pierson was going to give up on him and leave. He wouldn't be able to handle Pierson leaving, it would hurt him more that the butt of a gun slamming against his temple or the intrusive way–

"Yeah, I'll love that." Pierson smiles at him and Zussman shakes away those thoughts because while it's going to be scary to have sex with someone who is caring and gentle and knows he has the consent of the other person, old memories keep bubbling up and he's worried he won't be able to handle it. He has to though, for Pierson.

"Do you wanna head out to that diner? This food is just going to kill the mood," Pierson grimaces to make a point and Zussman laughs, leaning close to peck his lover on the cheek.

"Sure. You're paying though." He quickly walks away before Pierson can complain, but it would have been playful banter. Pierson loved to spoil his strong little soldier.

—

Dinner was amazing, and despite being in such a cozy place with strangers and loud noises, Zussman had fun. It felt nice to eat out and just be out of the house, and when he and Pierson raced each other to the house, he felt free. Once the door shut, Zussman was already on top of Pierson, their lips slamming against one another's in a beautiful rhythm. Pierson ran his large and calloused hands down Zussman's waist and hips and cupped at his ass, pulling him impossibly closer and grinding against his front with ferocious want.

"Bedroom? Or are we still barbarians?" Zussman says teasingly and Pierson gives the kitchen table a good look before shaking his head, nuzzling his face against the pale column of Zussman's neck and biting at the soft skin there.

"I'll just break it. Bedroom is the safer option, babe." He growls out, picking up Zussman and carrying him to their room. Zussman moans softly at that, kissing Pierson's neck and purposely rubbing his cheek against Pierson's stubble, loving the feeling of it.

"So confident, huh? You better do some heavy work, sir" Zussman whispers hotly against Pierson's ear and he has to suppress a noise of surprise when he's thrown on the bed, his lover immediately crawling on top of him and pinning him down with one strong hand. The other hand got to work ripping the button off his shirt and tearing his trousers off, the cool air sending thousands of little goosebumps spreading across his naked skin.

"It's only you that can make that title sound so dirty yet so innocent." Pierson says as he strips Zussman naked, finally letting go of his wrists so he can undress himself. Zussman smirks and places his hands on the buckle of Pierson's belt, tugging at it teasingly as he slowly starts to go on his knees. He leans up and nibbles lightly on Pierson's earlobe, letting his hands swiftly remove the belt and start getting the other man's trousers off.

"I don't want to think about anything else, baby. I want you to make me forget. I don't even want to walk." Zussman hisses into his ear and that's all the reassurance Pierson needs to slam him right back on the bed and capture his lips in a rough, dominating way. Zussman gasps into the kiss when he feels a finger caressing his hole, his legs defensively bending to push Pierson away and the older man pauses, looking down at him with concern. Zussman forces a smile, letting his shaky legs fall back down and leaning up to kiss Pierson again, tapping his arm to communicate silently. He doesn't trust his words right now, but he wants this. He doesn't want to remember anything else but him and Pierson.

The finger returns and it slowly presses into him, his jaw immediately dropping as a near silent whimper escapes him from the intrusion, the pain stinging him and he's about to jump away when Pierson leans down and sucks on his nipples. Pleasure and pain start to mingle together and the pain becomes a good kind of pain. It leaves Zussman wanting more and he rolls his hips, getting the finger to slip in deeper and deeper.

"Fuck," Pierson growls against his left pec, hickeys left along his wake as he tries to control his libido but holy shit was Zussman hot and tight and practically begging for him. He slips in his middle finger and Zussman moans loudly, a hand almost as quickly reaching up to slap over his mouth. His whole body starts to redden as he freezes up and Pierson chuckles, gently easing the hand away and kissing Zussman softly.

"Be loud, Rob. I need you to be loud." Zussman relaxes at this and nods, his body finally succumbing to the pleasure as Pierson works him open, adding a third finger for good measure. It's not long before the older man slides his fingers out and grabs his impressive erection, about to spit when Zussman hurriedly goes on his knees and guides Pierson further onto the bed, laying him down and crawling on top of him. Pierson lets him, watching with hungry, dark eyes as Zussman lowers his mouth on the standing erection, his hot breath making the older vet shiver and clutch at the thin sheets beneath him. Zussman licks at the head, lathering around the precum dribbling out as he uses his right hand to cup around Pierson's balls, caressing them with his thumb as he licks lower and lower, kissing the sac before licking up and taking half of the hard dick in his mouth. Pierson lets out a breathy moan, grabbing Zussman's hair instead and gently tugging at the short curly strands.

"You're so good at this, baby, taking me so perfectly. This is what you're good for, huh?" Pierson speaks in a lower tone and Zussman moans around his cock, taking more of it in his mouth as he deep throats it, loving how it felt against the walls of his throat. Anyone else would have him freaking out, but he knows Pierson. He loves Pierson and he trusts that he would never hurt him.

Pierson touches anywhere he can on Zussman's body, taking in the soft skin with battle scars that were either soft or hard, the younger man's skin working miracles in preserving as much of Zussman's youth as it can. He reaches as low as he can to grab at his nice ass and leave his other hand pressing into his wide hip, intending on leaving his mark.

Zussman finally lets the dick slide out of his mouth as he gets some much needed hair, drool trailing down his chin as his eyes are half lidded and dark with want and lust and Pierson lays him down and goes back to his original position on top of him.

"You still want this, Robbie?" Pierson lets the endearing nickname slip and Zussman smiles softly at it, nodding his head. "I need words, sweetheart."

"Yes, Will. Please." Zussman whispers and Pierson nods, getting himself positioned right at Zussman's entrance and after one more silent confirmation, he presses the head in and they both moan together in a beautiful melody. He presses in more and more and it's a while until he's buried at the hilt, grunting at how tight his lover is and he needs more of it. He wants to chase it and cherish it.

"You can move, Will." Zussman mumbles, already feeling so full and so close, his hand jerking himself off as he peers up at Pierson and the older man loses control. He slides out before slamming right back in and Zussman yelps, noises becoming stuck in his throat as Pierson fucks him like an animal. The pleasure is suffocating him, it's making his eyes roll back and his toes curl and clench and it's making his stomach feel warm and hot and tight. He comes without a second thought, shivering when Pierson encloses his hand around his and pumps his cock, getting every last bit of his cum out. It's dirty and hot and crazy and both vets cannot get enough of it.

"Fuck, getting close–" Pierson growls, sliding out and moaning lowly as the nice tight warmth disappears. Zussman makes a choked noise of confusion, his eyes widening when Pierson lifts him up and sets him on top of him once he lays down. "Ride me."

Zussman's face goes a bright red as he stutters, "W-what?"

"That was an order, First Sergeant. Ride me, now." Is all Pierson spats out and Zussman is fucking lying if he said that commanding voice didn't turn him on. But he's a cheeky, sly bastard and he leans down, looking at his lover through his eyelashes and he whispers the words innocently, but the tone underneath was far from innocent.

"Yes Lieutenant Pierson." He slid down completely on Pierson's dick once the rank left his mouth and the hands that grasped at his hips made him smirk and lean up, placing his hands flat down on the hard chest and steadying himself as he started to bounce up and down. Pierson throws his head back and moans, watching Zussman fuck himself on his dick making him inch closer to the edge. He holds the younger male by his hips, thrusting his own to meet the steady yet fast pace Zussman is picking up on, and soon he's a full on animal in heat, pleasuring himself so beautifully as he throws his head back and moans like a whore. Pierson's dick hitting his sweet little bundle of pleasure shocking nerves is getting him drunk, he needs that sweet feeling and he chases after it, his legs shaking and turning to jelly when he comes again. His walls clenched tight around Pierson and the man below comes in him with a moan, catching Zussman when he almost topples over to his side. They lay together in comfortable silence, catching their breaths as they try to think of what to say or what to do. Zussman's coming down from a sex high mind speaks first.

"I love you, Will." He says it with so much emotion it almost hurts and Pierson smiles, that smile that Zussman found so endearing and gorgeous.

"I love you too, Robbie. Get some sleep, okay?" It's not meant to be an order, but Zussman follows it like it was one. He cuddles close to his lover's chest and melts when Pierson throws a blanket over them and wraps his strong arms around him, protecting him.

Nothing is simple. They were far from simple.

But that's okay, because if things were simple, Zussman would have never found true happiness.

[thealleydog]

LONG LONG LONG STORYTIME ABOUT HOW MY LIFE GOT FLIP TURNED UPSIDE DOWN THIS PAST WEEKEND (tldr at the bottom)

Guest starring @wint3r-h3art ~! 💖💖💖

This is chisme. Gossip. Personal life stuff. But I am, still, very much unemployed.

This wasn't on my 2023 bingo card. I didn't know this was gonna happen when I ate those grapes under the table of a New York dive bar. But sometimes you gotta get your heart broke before you can shake some shit up.

My mentor and close friend owns the tattoo shop we work(ed) at. He taught us how to tattoo on top of some real-life lessons. And if people were to ask me, I'll always credit him for getting me to where I am now. But this bitch is a severely traumatized, unmedicated bipolar who ends up taking it out on the people closest to him. Amazing man who wants to be a good person to his people. But - untreated and refuses therapy.

And while he can be a good man, he will put your ass THROUGH IT. I'm telling you, my homie, Fabian, and I literally had almost quit our apprenticeships because we were helping him build that shop, and it was STRESSFUL. But it made us tough. Instead, I settled for a full mental breakdown along the shore and stared at the lake for an hour or so.

(Side note, why does crying clear up the face and make you look beautiful??? That's no makeup right there?!?!)

We two and our other homie, Primo, have been there for the beginning. I'm talking as soon as quarantine was lifted enough that shops in the city were allowed to reopen and could cut our hair again. (I got a shaggy mullet.) So that's three years of our lives to give to this shop and him. Everyone else that came in and was with us to the end are literally amazing people. Like the social circle we had there was something we don't wanna let go of. And he was almost like our dad in a way.

Anyways! So this summer hasn't been the best and in an effort to get new blood and clients into the shop, four of us decided to work a booth at Anime Magic and represent the shop. There was a whole row just for tattoo artists and we knew a handful of them from other shops. (The community is surprisingly small.) We spent about a month worrying and preparing and buying supplies. It's mine and Mari's first con, but Fabian and David knew what to do and we passed inspection.

All's good, right? I'm excited. I booked @wint3r-h3art and her husband! They came all the way from Boston to get stabbed by me. (Which oh my god I'm still humbled someone would do that!)

So I'm tattooing my first internet friend I get to meet in real life...

Then Mari stopped tattooing and showed me the mass text we got from him.

Bro.

My heart fell into my ass and I felt the world crumble. It was so embarrassing. Had to pull up my big girl panties and knock out these tattoos though. I ain't no punk.

At the end of the night, Fabian and I try to call him, trying to see where his headspace is at and if he's okay. He didn't answer at first, but he called back. I didn't say anything because I was sitting all quiet, full of disappointment and crying a bit. Fabian tried to tell him we are here for him and we love him - only for him to hang up on us.

So we head to the shop to check on every still there. The mood is just...

Everyone is heart broken and disappointed and scared even. But the kicker is the lady who does the office paperwork felt safe enough to tell us how he was acting lately. How he'd talk shit about us and vent his frustrations to her. But he'd act more than okay with us. Even when we would talk to him, he never showed his feelings about anything he vented to her. His mental health was definitely getting worst and with four of us at the convention, all he wanted was for something to go wrong that Friday.

And it did. One of the artists has to go back to her home country for surgery because of a numbness that has been bothering her for three years. She told us she was gonna put her two weeks in and work a little at other places until she had to leave. So when she holds his hands and begins to tell him "I have to leave -"

"Okay then go. Pack your stuff immediately."

Didn't give her a chance to explain or talk even when she begged him to listen. Had to pack her stuff into garbage bags.

Then he sent that massive text that morning we were at the convention.

Mind you, we are a crew of nine people, including two baby apprentices. We think we ain't got jobs. I was able to not think about it the rest of the night because Linda and her hubs were so awesome, and I got to eat and drink something for the first time since 8 or 9 am. (But for real, you guys are the highlight of my story so far!) Anxiety? Betrayal? The streets??? On an empty stomach, good Lord. ⚰️

Day 2 and Day 3 go by. We're still tattooing. But now people are starting to ask questions. So we tell them our situation. It's like blood in the water.

"Come work with us!"

"We got spots!"

"You should come by and talk to the owner of our shop."

Apparently our shop has a GOOD reputation. And all the artists do good work so people want us to work for them.

The now Refuge Gang decided on Sunday night to go to shop and just clean out our equipment, which would leave the owner with a very empty shop on Monday. We just didn't want to deal with him anymore considering he was being very manic with his texting and how he was responding to people in the shop. Gave no illusion that he would change his mind.

That night I felt empty and lost. I felt terrible about that this had to happen with him. He really saved me by teaching me. But this was abusive. With a heavy heart, I was the last to leave my key in the office. Wasn't expecting to cry.

We ended the night with Korean BBQ, plum wine, and several shots of shochu.

I think everything is gonna be alright. He tried to call me twice during this whole thing. But I ignored it because I'm not going back and I need space from him for a long time. Still love him, but that was something I won't tolerate anymore is people abusing me in any shape or form. Even cherished friends.

I have a job lined up not too far from my place and I'll be apprenticing one of the babies from the old shop as part of the deal! Even though she's like my age, but Dani's awesome as fuck. Gotta step my pussy up and guide her and myself on this wild unknown road!

Fingers crossed I just need to meet the boss this Friday to iron out the details. But this one is set up where I could actually... have a life. I can be an artist again. A real, piece of shit, beautifully grotesque, smut artist that I've been! (Check out my Instagram and scroll down, you'll see what I mean.) The Refuge Gang have started a group chat to support and look out for each other. We're making sure everyone will be working again and stable. Someone us even got into some real Chicago staple shops! I'm proud of all these talented hoes.

AND and, HOPEFULLY, because we liked each other so much and we're all incredibly talented - Fabian has spearheaded an idea and is in the works of starting an artist collective! Working on getting funding, investors, a building, THE WORKS. That way we can be artists AND tattoo artists. We'll be our own bosses. If everything goes well, we should have everything organized by the spring. It takes fucking forever for shit to happen in Chicago, but we'll be having meetings to talk and work together on this project.

TLDR: My homie got me and the Refuge Gang fucked up but we're wily. Tattooing isn't for punk bitches.

[aria-lotus]

So I figured I would post stuff here as well as on my AO3. These should only be posted on this page and my AO3 Aria_Lotus. Hope you all enjoy!

Dazai sits on the couch and stares at the ceiling in silence, the wind ruffling his hair. You walk into the room and pass by him. He turns his face to you gently and speaks calmly.

"Hey. How are you doing today?" He asks and smiles at you slightly, though it doesn't really reach his eyes. You sigh, sitting on the couch next to him, exhaustion setting in. You look over at him with a smile that mirrors his.

"Probably about the same as you, I would assume..." You mumble out softly, leaning into his side and resting your head on his shoulder. There is a moment of silence before you speak again. "I don't know how you do it Osamu... I really don't."

Dazai chuckles softly and strokes your hair gently. "I have a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?"

Relaxing, you chuckle giving a slight nod. "I promise. Let's hear it."

His expression becomes serious again as he leans closer to you. "Well... let's see if I can explain this one properly." He opens his mouth but pauses. For a moment his facade falls completely. He quickly snaps out of it, pulling a fake smile onto his face. "The truth is... I'm actually quite good at reading people. So much so that sometimes even other Port Mafia members trust me enough to share their secrets with me."

You poke his cheek, cuddling closer into his side and getting comfortable. You pretend not to notice the cracks forming in the mask he's worn for years. Knowing already what the secret was, you smile at him with an exhausted but genuine smile. "I already know that Osamu. You may fool everybody else but you don't fool me. I can see right through your mask."

Dazai laughs quietly before hugging you tightly against himself. "That sounds like something only someone close to me could say." He pauses again, thinking over the years. "Thank you for always being here." It comes out barely above a whisper. His tone tells you how far away his mind really is right now. The chasm between both of you widens with every second that passes despite literally being pressed against each other.

"Now then," he says, snapping back to the present and speaking as if words could change the future you both know is coming. "What should we talk about instead? Do you want some tea or coffee? Or maybe something stronger?"

You watch the gears turning behind his eyes as you both sit on the couch in the abandoned building. "Can we just stay like this for a while? I already know what you're planning. I just want to remember this..."

Dazai smiles softly at how content you look sitting there cuddled up to him. His heart aches, knowing what comes next. He decides to stay quiet for now, enjoying the peaceful moment between the two of you. You sit there like that for a long time, soaking up as much of his presence as you can.

After several minutes Dazai finally speaks up once more. "I'm sorry..." He sighs deeply before continuing. "It feels nice having someone here with me tonight. It makes everything seem brighter somehow. Even though things may be tough, sometimes having someone by my side helps keep me grounded."

Opening your eyes, you sigh silently. "We are too young to be feeling this kind of tired..."

Dazai laughs brokenly at your comment, feeling your exhaustion through the bond you share. "Ah but maybe the tiredness we feel now is the kind that comes from living life to its fullest..." He trails off, his own emotions threatening to swallow him whole.

You shake your head knowing he is trying to convince you both that his statement is true. "No Osamu... It's not... We both know it... It's the kind of tiredness you feel when you've hit rock bottom only to realize that there is still deeper to fall... We are the bad kind of tired... You and I both know that..."

He frowns slightly at your comment, understanding the bitterness that underlies your words. "You're right. We are certainly not the type to rest easy. Regardless of our circumstances... I'm glad we're here together. I don't know what I'd do without you... What I would have done without you..."

You nod, already knowing. The bitter cold seeped into your bones as the end drew closer. "I will always be in your corner, Osamu. No matter what." You know the message came across loud and clear when he looked at you sadly, then looked back up at the ceiling.

His face softens again and he smiles warmly at you with a genuine, broken smile. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you." He closes his eyes and rests against you for a moment before opening them again. "...You know, I was thinking about something earlier... And I wanted to ask you..."

"Hmmm?" You hum in question not having the heart to speak.He sighs quietly as he continues speaking. "Do you ever wish you could have more than one person by your side? More than just one close friend or family member? Or maybe even lovers? Because sometimes I wonder how wonderful it would be to experience such things," he says looking down at you so lovingly but also so sad.

You think about it for a moment. His mind is on Chuuya. You nod, returning his look of love and loss, understanding entirely in that moment. "It would be nice, wouldn't it?"

He nods, eyes going blank. "I think so. To have people who love and understand you completely. Who are there for you through the good and the bad. Who would laugh with you and cry with you and hold you tight whenever you need it..."

You nod, your response coming out softly. "It's a beautiful thing..." Your mind drifts a bit to the memories the three of you shared.

"Is there someone in particular you're thinking of?" He asks already knowing.

You smile softly, eyes clouding over to seek comfort in your memories. "You... Chuuya..." You look up at him softly, tears welling up in your eyes as you continue. "It will always be you guys. Forever."

He gently caresses your cheek understanding. "That makes me happy. We've been together for so long now. Many memories together." A small tear rolls down his eye as he looks away. "Sorry it had to end this way. I'm so sorry."

He is silent but you can feel the sobs wracking his body. "Can I kiss you? One last time. Please?" His voice shakes as a sob wretches from his throat.

You nod quitely and he leans forward, gently kissing you on the lips. The feeling of his lips pressing against yours sends shivers down your spine. As he pulls back he stares deeply into your eyes.

His eyes are blank yet the light that is now glimmering in them is unmistakable and completely new. It grows as he speaks "Thank you. For everything."

You nod a single tear rolling down your cheek. "You're... leaving tonight... aren't you?" The question rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You already know the answer. You knew from the moment Oda died that this was coming.

"Yes. I am. I apologize for not telling you sooner but I didn't want to burden you with my problems." You shake your head. "I've known for a while. Since Oda... I just thought we would have a bit more time... that's all..." His expression turns sad again but that light in his eyes doesn't fade. "No matter what happens next know that I'll never forget. And... if ever you need anything from me... don't hesitate to ask..." He hesitates before looking you in the eyes. "Promise me". He holds out his hand expectantly, pinky out. "Swear to whatever god watches over wretched souls like ours."

You speak softly, your response barely above a whisper. "I swear." You push his hand aside and hug him tightly to your heavy chest. "Be safe Osamu. Please always be safe."

He nods his voice just as quiet as yours. "Thank you. I promise."

You wanted to tell him so much but you know you're out of time so you stay quiet hugging him tightly.

He hugs you back, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Don't cry for me, okay? Just live your own life and be happy. That's all I ask." He stands with that last statement and turns toward the door.

You watch him leave, knowing you won't see him again any time soon. Your chest aches, but deep down you know it is for the best. Osamu Dazia is no longer Port Mafia material. "I will always love you, Osamu." You whisper into the dark, now empty room, looking at the spot he used to stand.

Osamu now stands outside the abandoned building that holds you. He looks back one last time before disappearing into the trees and night around him.

The hinged door finally closes and the lights go off. The room remains silent, save for the sound of the rain outside. You sigh, sitting in the dark alone for hours. Your phone starts ringing and you check the screen. Hundreds of missed texts and calls from Chuuya and Ryunosuke. You set it down and watch your phone as it sits on the table in front of you and finally, for the first time in years, cry. Everything is too much right now.

Osamu materializes in the room, standing behind you. He places a hand on your shoulder trying to comfort you. Feeling pressure on your shoulder and smelling Dazai's scent, you shoot up, turning around to see nothing. You swear that it was Dazai who was just there but there is nobody.

You grab your phone looking at all the texts from Chuuya and Ryunosuke, stopping on one in particular from Chuuya.

'Dazai is gone.'

You knew that already.

I'm still here. I'll always be here. Dazai appears directly in front of you, tears streaming down his face. He grabs both of your hands and looks into your eyes. You'll never be alone okay? I'll always be here watching over you.

You look at the ghost of Dazai and laugh tears streaming down your face. "I am being haunted by the ghost of a man who is still alive. What fucking irony."

You watch the Osamu in front of you fade slowly out of existence, knowing that this him isn't real. The real Osamu is in hiding. The real Dazai is not here. The real Osamu Dazai is long gone. He has been since Oda died.

His voice becomes softer and gentler as if speaking to someone precious as he slowly fades. It's alright...you're safe now... Then suddenly he fades away completely, leaving only silence in the room.

You grab your phone, leaving the abandoned building. Turning, you light a match and flick it into the building and watch as it burns to the ground, covering his tracks. This is the last time you'll be covering his tracks for him. The revelation leaves you spiraling as you turn, walking away to your apartment knowing that Chuuya and Ryunosuke need you right now.

The fire spreads quickly, engulfing everything within seconds. As soon as the last bit of smoke clears, there is nothing left except ash and cinders. All traces of Dazai have vanished. There are no witnesses or evidence left behind. It seems like every single thing has been erased from existence.

"I will keep your silence for you, Osamu." You whisper into the night.

Slowly, you make your way to your apartment. You see Chuuya and Ryunosuke both sitting outside, looking just as broken and defeated.

"Hey..." You barely recognize your own voice when you croak out a greeting. It's barely above a whisper, heavy and tired, dripping with sorrow.

Chuuya and Ryunosuke slowly rise up to their feet when they hear you speak. They immediately embrace you tightly. Their bodies shake violently as they cry uncontrollably. You hug them both, pulling them close. This is not fair to them, but you already know that. You knew it never would be. This would scar their hearts just as much as it did yours.

You pull them into your apartment, locking the door behind you as you all collapse on the floor sobbing; broken souls seeking refuge in each other. You hold each other tightly, feeling the warmth and safety of each other's presence. It feels like the only thing holding you together. Time seems to stand still as you cry into each other's shoulders. Your tears mix with each other's, creating a river of sorrow that seems to flow endlessly.

You know things will eventually be alright. Time, after all, heals all wounds to some extent. It would just take time. That's what you keep telling yourself anyway. After what feels like hours, but was probably less than 10 minutes, you finally calm down enough to talk again.

You look at Chuuya and Ryunosuke, who are also calming down now. The three of you sit silently, staring off into space, lost in thought. Eventually you break the silence, speaking first. "He's gone..." You whisper, knowing immediately that these were the wrong words as you all breakdown again. It will probably be years before any of you are alright.

Ryunosuke breaks down completely, falling onto the ground and crying loudly, clutching his already bad lungs. Chuuya holds him closely, trying to comfort him while also trying to comfort himself. After several moments of this Chuuya speaks trying to be strong. "I'm so sorry!"

You break hearing him speak between whimpers and deep breaths. "I couldn't make him stay." You cry out, falling into yourself. Shaking sobs leaving your throat loudly as you ugly cry, completely crumbling.

Chuuya looks over at you and sees how much pain you're going through. Seeing your suffering makes him feel even worse for having caused it. He reaches out and grabs your hand gently pulling you closer. "It's okay. It's okay." He whispers softly on repeat, trying to convince himself. His voice sounds weak and tired like he is seconds away from breaking.

You cling to the two men, all of you broken. A week, maybe two is all the time you will have off. You all know. The Port Mafia is a very consuming organization.

The three of you spend your days together recovering from your grief. Most of the free time is spent talking about Dazai or reminiscing about happier times.

"We should get something to eat..." Chuuya says after a long night of talking. "Starving ourselves won't do anything..."

"Yeah." Ryunosuke agrees quietly.

Chuuya walks towards the kitchen to start cooking some dinner. Ryunosuke sits on the couch, staring blankly ahead and not really caring what happens next.

As the days go on, you all slowly get better. The three of you return to work and fall back into routine. Ryunosuke eventually goes back home to his apartment with his sister instead of staying at your place every night for comfort. Chuuya takes longer, but he also eventually returns to his penthouse instead of spending nights at your place.

Chuuya sits on the couch in his penthouse, flipping through channels on the TV. He hadn't really slept much the past few days since returning home, feeling restless and empty.

You sit in your own home, alone. The walls feel like they are closing in around you. You haven't slept in days and hardly eat but you keep moving forward on autopilot. Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. Months turn to years. Before you even realize it, 3 years have passed since Osamu Dazai left the Port Mafia.

Chuuya and Ryunosuke have both healed as much as they are going to. Both of them are bitter and angry. Dazai's presence is felt whenever someone speaks about him.

His absence weighs heavily on all of your hearts and every word about him is tainted with a bittersweet nostalgia. The three of you have grown stronger and wiser, but deep inside all three of you is a part of your hearts that will always be in mourning for Osamu Dazai.

You are walking home from the store when you see him for the first time since that day. Osamu Dazai is walking down the street, talking with a silver haired boy and a blond man with glasses. Your eyes focus on him immediately, assessing him. He looks good. Happier. He is smiling and laughing and there is an aura around him that exudes an energy of content. You freeze, the air expelled from your lungs as you watch him with the two other men.

Dazai turns around and sees you. You can see him freeze, his heart probably racing with a mix of emotions. He hesitates to approach you, not sure what to expect. He hasn't seen you in 3 years and he wonders what you might have to say. Do you hate him now? Are you upset? Do you even want to see him? You can read him like an open book. Just like back then. Nothing has changed.

Smiling softly at him, you give him a small wave and a thumbs up. He was alright. He had found some peace after Oda died. A kind of peace he would never have been able to achieve in the Port Mafia.

His face lights up upon seeing your gesture and he smiles widely with relief flooding his eyes and demeanor before approaching.

"It's been too long!" He exclaims happily reaching out to give you a hug. "How've you been?" he asks while holding onto you tightly, tears forming in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

You hug him without answering, breathing in his scent deeply. Even that had changed. He no longer smelled of blood, gunpowder, and liquor. He smelled of coffee, hazelnut, and amber. It suited this new him.

His two friends had stopped walking and were watching the two of you, confused.

You cry into him, feeling like your soul has finally returned home. As soon as you start crying, he speaks softly. "Shhh..." he whispers, gently rubbing your back soothingly. "There there..." he says quietly, trying to comfort you by letting go of you so that he could wipe away your tears. "Everything will be fine now."

You laugh softly, inhaling his scent and smiling up at him. "You smell different. Its nice. Coffee, hazelnut, and amber. It suits you much more." Sniffle you try to compose yourself.

Dazai chuckles lightly and looks down at you with a warm smile on his face. "Thanks for noticing. You're always so observant." He replies teasingly.

"What do you think about me? Do you still hate me?" He asks teasingly, but the undertone tells you he is anything but joking.

You hug him tighter. "I could never hate you Osamu. I didn't back then and I don't now." You whisper to him. His friends watch you, still confused. "I'm always in your corner Osamu. No matter what."

You give him the same promise from the day he left. You know he recognizes the promise when you feel him shake slightly, hugging you tighter. He nods his head in acknowledgement of your statement, holding you tightly. "I know. And that means everything to me. I know I am not an easy person to love but... Thank you for loving me anyway." He whispers to you with a small smile playing on his lips.

You smile, pulling him closer. "I will always love you, Osamu."

His two friends are in shock, probably never having seen Dazai so vulnerable that he would tear up or cry. Dazai smiles at you warmly, his cheeks still lightly glistening from the tears that had fallen. He knew without a doubt that he still loved you, even after all this time. You were someone who could see past all of his flaws and still love him with all of your heart.

"Thank you. For loving me despite everything." You smile at him with tears in your eyes. "Until the sun dies." The statement falls from your lips as easily as breathing. The promise you had been making to each other since the beginning. You both knew what it meant.

His smile brightens as he looks up at you. He is both amazed and humbled by your love and commitment. He is shaken to his core that you would remember that promise, especially after the past three years; the hell he had left you to erode in while he was freed.

"Until the sun dies," he says softly, his heart splintering from emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. You see tears fill his eyes and pull him close, holding him as he cries. He sniffles and hugs you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He can't believe that someone could love him so much. He knew he was broken and flawed more than most, and yet here you were. "I love you... so much."

"I know Osamu. I love you, too. So so so much."

You hold him, allowing him to cry all he needs and he continues crying quietly as he holds onto you. You can feel his body shaking as he cries out loud, having no idea how to process this new revelation.

"...I'm sorry..." he finally manages to say between sobs.

"I know, love. It's alright. I forgave you before you even left. Just let it out. I'm here." You comfort him for the first time in years.

Both of you can feel the clouds in your hearts dissipating as the light finally breaks through. His friends approach you both slowly, unsure of the situation. He clings onto you tightly, finally being able to fully express the weight of his emotions. He had never felt this safe and loved before. He cries for a long time, letting it all out as you hold him, comforting him. Soft whispers fall from your lips as you caress his back and hair, keeping him safe and grounded in his moment of weakness. You allow him to feel what he needs to feel.

His two friends seem like they want to speak, but don't. After several minutes of sobbing, Dazai calms down enough to look around again. The two friends of his are still staring awkwardly while trying not to stare too hard. They're clearly uncomfortable with seeing Dazai break down like this, neither of them ever seeing Dazai genuinely show an emotional reaction like this. Neither one of them dare interrupt or ask any questions.

"Feel a bit better, love?" You wipe away his tears gently, moving slowly to not startle him. You recognize the fragile state he is in, having seen it before. You smile softly at him, keeping him safe.

"Yeah... Yeah I do..." He looks up at you. Your kindness makes him feel more comfortable. Your soft touch on his face makes him sigh contently.

You have always been such a kind person. He smiles at you, feeling less scared and vulnerable now that he knows you won't judge him. You haven't changed, he notes a small, genuine, soft smile falling onto his face as he feels the sun rise in his soul for the first time in years. He has you back. His sun. His soul. You are after all still the sun in his eyes. "Until the sun dies." He whispers the promise again, a desperate prayer set deep in his soul. One reaching out to any that would listen to a broken damaged soul. A plea. May the sun never die.

[doubtingthomasin]

kinktober: hellcheer edition

prompt 3: threesome (feat. lonely, touch-starved steve)

word count: 6.2k (nope, not a typo. whoops.)

MINORS DNI

(a whole damn mini-novella. this was so fucking fun but also i'm broken.)

@viharker

-------

It’s the summer of 1986, the most well-earned and hard-fought summer Eddie’s ever had. He’d finally graduated thanks not only to Chrissy’s thorough tutoring, but also to the fact that he didn’t want to fail out while his girlfriend passed with flying colors.

His girlfriend.

He knows he’ll never tire of that word.

Along with graduating, they’d all survived horrors the likes of which Hawkins at large still didn’t know about. And while he’s eternally grateful that Chrissy didn’t die in front of him that night in his trailer, the mental scars are still ever-present for them both. They don’t really talk about that though. They’d rather get caught up in each other, metaphorically and literally, spending the hottest hours of the day touching and tasting to their hearts’ content.

That’s what Eddie had been hoping they’d do that day, too, but she wants to go to the fair that’s only in town for the weekend. He sighs because he usually hates things like this, mostly because of the wholesome, American-values crowd they tend to attract. The very people that hate his existence.

And none of them know. Not a one knows how Eleven finally vanquished Vecna, how he and Chrissy and Dustin killed the bats swarming the trailer park, how Steve, Robin, and Nancy destroyed Vecna’s physical form in order to make it all possible. None of them know they’re heroes.

They still think he’s just a freak.

It’s these thoughts that circle his brain as Chrissy’s pulling him by the hand through the crowd, the cutest smile on her face as her ice cream cone drips onto her other hand. She licks at it quickly and he has to look away, lest he get a hard-on in public.

“I think the line’s finally shorter at the ferris wheel.” It looks the same length to him, but he doesn’t say so.

“Sounds good to me,” is all he imparts encouragingly, letting himself be pulled along in her wake as he’s always wanted.

The trip on the ferris wheel is fine, if you like that sort of thing. Eddie learns that he does actually, especially once Chrissy turns his face toward her to kiss him deeply. They make out the entire time, and he doesn’t even mind the rocking of the cart they’re in or the fact that he has to really focus so he doesn’t get a boner. She pulls away and they smile, his arm tightening around her as she giggles.

"Thank you for coming with me," she says sincerely, her brow a bit furrowed. "I know this isn't your sort of thing."

He shakes his head dismissively. "Apparently, it is my sort of thing as long as you're here." 

God, she's reduced him to such a moony-eyed lovestruck boy. He's not complaining, mind.

They're walking down the main thoroughfare, Chrissy talking about splitting a pretzel, when their day takes a drastic turn.

No sooner has he opened his mouth to respond than he feels a sudden rush of ice cold liquid surging over his head, drenching his hair and face. He stops in his tracks, mouth agape from shock, and hears laughter close by moving past him. His eyes stay closed, but he doesn’t need to see. He already has a good idea who it is.

“Thought you’d wanna cool off, Munson,” Jason snarks as he and his band of bitch-boys walk by. “What with all that hellfire in your blood.” He catches sight of his ex’s stunned, horrified face and scoffs, letting the empty cup roll off his hand and onto the ground as he turns away.

Even with his eyes still closed the liquid seeps in, stinging slightly, because it’s not even water.

It’s a fucking slushie.

Sometimes, he wishes that just Jason had died. This is one of those times.

You’re not gonna kill him in front of Chrissy. You’re not gonna kill him in front of Chrissy. But he’s already seething, his pulse racing and his hands clenched in fists as he finally opens his eyes to advance–only to see Chrissy walking up to the group.

She doesn’t let herself think. She marches up to Jason’s back, taps him on the shoulder, and decks him in the nose as soon as he turns around. The other jocks whip around as Jason howls in pain. “What the fuck?!” His nose is broken, bleeding almost instantly through the gaps between his fingers.

“Apologize, right now!” she barks, the other guys at a loss as to how best defend their leader against a girl. All they can seem to do is yell a mix of “What the hell, Chrissy?!” and “Goddamn!” and “What is wrong with you?!” None of it phases her; she’s stared down pure, true evil before and it looks nothing like a bunch of trust-fund momma’s-boys.

Jason finally stands straight, recovering just enough to glare daggers at her. “You’re…gonna regret that.”

She leans forward, leg muscles as taut as her nerves. “No. I don’t think I will.”

He rears back to smack her and as she involuntarily flinches–

“Hey, Jason! The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The slap never comes, and she turns to see Steve rushing up to them.

Steve Harrington. One of the many boys she'd had a crush on in high school, but she definitely wasn't alone in that club, no. Steve had quite the devoted following. Even after his fall from grace, his name still freely echoed off the walls of the girl's locker room in hushed, almost reverent tones. And if the rumors weren’t enough, she now knows firsthand just how brave and selfless he really is.

And now he's standing in front of her, glowering, tensed, coiling like a rattlesnake in defense against her ex.

For her and for Eddie.

That last part repeats in her mind a few times, tantalizingly.

“This is none of your business, Harrington.”

“Yeah? Then why are you doing it out in public?” Chrissy can hear footsteps behind her and knows it’s Eddie. She reaches a hand back and he takes it gently in his own. “Probably not a good idea to assault or harass someone whose dad is a paralegal, Carver. Or her boyfriend.”

“You call that a relationship?” His lip twitches, enraged. “I call it a day at the zoo.”

Eddie moves forward with a growl, but Chrissy's whole body stops him. “He’s not worth it, Eddie.”

Steve turns to him briefly, catches his eye. “She’s right.” His eyes return to Jason, icy and heartless. “This is the last time you mess with them. If I see it happen again or even hear about it, I’ll get Hopper involved myself. I don’t think your dad would like that very much, do you?”

Jason, whose dad was on city council with Jim Hopper, knew he wouldn’t like that at all. His eyes flutter a bit, struggling to find a comeback, but in the end he settles with scowling at Steve. “Come on, boys.” And they walk away, letterman jackets hunched in defeat.

Chrissy immediately turns to Eddie. “Are you okay?”

“Well, my pride would be absolutely shattered,” he begins, “if I had any.” She groans miserably and wraps him in a hug, only to back away with a soft eugh as the sticky drink transfers to her arms. “Yeah. I think it’s strawberry.”

Steve huffs, amazed at Eddie’s sense of humor even after being publicly humiliated. “C’mon, man, let’s get you back to your place.”

Steve insists on driving the van, Chrissy taking his car, and it turns out to be a good thing, too. The slushie’s still dripping from Eddie's bangs and into his eyes, and he has to alternate blinking away the stinging red dye and wiping at his face with a mercifully dry part of his shirt. It’s also a good thing they took his van for the same reason. The two ride in silence for the most part, Steve sadly glancing over at Eddie every so often.

The fact that nobody in Hawkins knows what had truly happened that past spring haunts no one as much as Steve. They’d lost so much even if everyone who fought had survived. Over the past three years, Steve knew at least he and Robin had permanently lost their sense of security. They talked about it sometimes during downtime at work, over drinks at Steve’s, crying on each other’s shoulders when the memories were too much. Steve woke up alone in cold sweats most nights, Vecna’s voice echoing through his ears, and he had to talk himself down by repeating that he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead…

He can’t imagine what Eddie possibly goes through, having watched Chrissy almost die in front of him that first night Vecna attacked.

But at least they have each other.

Steve just has an empty house.

They make it to Eddie’s trailer and his uncle isn’t there, thankfully.

“I’ve gotta clean this out,” Chrissy says to herself of the van, drips of red covering the upholstery where Eddie was sitting.

“Baby, it was already a lost cause,” he jokes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t do cheer for nine years without learning how to get rid of stains,” she states proudly. They all walk into the trailer, but Chrissy leaves again with some wet and dry washcloths and cleaning implements. He wishes she’d leave it; he could really use some kisses right about now.

“Let’s get those eyes flushed out,” Steve says, taking Eddie’s elbow and leading him to the bathroom. “God knows what’s in slushie dye.”

“Thanks, man,” Eddie says sarcastically. “That makes me feel better.”

“Sorry.” But Steve laughs over the word.

“Hey, you’re not the one I’ll be sending the medical bills to if I go blind.” Steve chuckles again, and Eddie wonders how long he can keep that going.

Eddie tilts his head under the sink, a feat of strength due to his height and the faucet’s low setting. Steve holds his hair as the cold water runs over Eddie’s eyes, and the younger man’s fingertips brush the back of his neck whenever he moves his head, sending little chills down Eddie’s spine.

He can’t tell when it started, his admiration of Steve, but it was long before they’d fought monsters together. Of that, at least, he was sure because he’d sometimes come home from school and literally hit himself in the forehead repeatedly over it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a reset button. So as soon as he realized Steve was caught up in the same mess he and Chrissy were, as soon as that first little moment where Eddie flirted with him and Steve’s face became unreadable, he knew he was in trouble. Especially when he continued, and Steve never got angry over it.

After thirty seconds, Eddie was sure the sugary liquid was completely out of his eyes, or so he decided in order to get Steve’s fingers off his neck. Just be normal, just this once, it won’t kill you.

But while his head was underwater, Steve had grabbed a washcloth and wetted it, wiping at Eddie’s face as soon as he’s standing upright again. And then Eddie’s heart tugs when he realizes how close Steve is and now his whole ass hand is on the back of his neck and why is he even doing this? He’s undoubtedly getting his own hand sticky and Eddie just needs–

“I just need to take a shower, man.” Goddamn his voice for being shaky. Fuck.

Steve stops and he’s kicking himself for saying anything. But he just smiles softly, placing the cloth on the sink. “Yeah, probably.” Then the smile melts away, replaced with a heartbreakingly sympathetic look that makes Eddie glance toward the wall. He can’t stand it. “You know they’re fucking idiots, right?”

There’s something about the way Chrissy says “fuck” that goes straight to Eddie’s groin. Nice to know the same applies to Harrington. It’s all he can do to nod in agreement. But Steve guides his chin until he has no choice but to meet his eye again and his brain stops working. That look is still there, but Steve is outright staring at his lips. 

His brain suddenly kicks into overdrive because there is absolutely no way this is real. He died in the car on the way home and this is the start of his torture in Hell. He really has completely lost it and is currently hallucinating. He took a drug at some point during the day that he doesn’t remember and is currently hallucinating. It could be any number of things but there is no way it could be what it looks like because Steve’s straight as an arrow.

He looks down at Steve’s lips in turn because he himself is not straight as an arrow so why even pretend? And that’s the last thought to cross his racing mind as Steve’s lips firmly close over his.

Eddie groans as Steve’s free hand cups his jaw, slowly sliding into his sticky hair. His back gently hits the wall as Steve delves into his mouth, and he loves Chrissy, he truly loves her but holy shit.

Steve moves back a fraction, licks at Eddie’s lip as they both sigh. “It’s cherry.”

Eddie’s eyelids feel so heavy, but they open at Steve’s whisper. “Huh?”

“You thought the slushie was strawberry. It’s cherry.”

Before Eddie can even begin to think of how to respond to that, Steve’s kissing him again with added enthusiasm. Eddie has no clue what to do with his hands and settles for resting them on Steve’s biceps. He’d heard the rumors in school about Steve’s many talents, not really giving them much thought so that he wouldn’t go insane. Christ, he was regretting that now as Steve’s lips left his to trail down his neck, licking and sucking.

“Fuck, Steve.” His voice sounds unfamiliar, broken, and the son of a bitch just laughs.

“Keep it down, she’ll think we’re having sex in here,” Steve croons, both of them moaning at the same time as he cleans the sticky off Eddie’s neck. His eyes roll back in his head, and he’s slightly conscious of the fact that Steve’s body is pressed tightly against his, including his obvious erection.

Steve stretches his shirt collar a little to expose more skin, lapping at his skin and the mix of salty and sweet, his own face getting sticky from Eddie’s wet hair draping across it. But that didn’t matter at all. Steve is willing to get messy if it means he can be closer to him, not to mention quell the loneliness that settles a little heavier in his bones each day. 

The hand he replaced with his lips had just found Eddie’s hipbone, about to snake up under his shirt, when they hear the screen door to the trailer open and slam shut. Steve pulls away, thinking it’s Chrissy.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Wayne’s voice booms. “Chrissy told me what happened. That little sonuvabitch has another thing comin’ if he thinks I’m gonna stand for you being treated that way.”

The whole time Wayne’s talking, they stare into each other’s eyes, Eddie finally able to breathe again and Steve smirking proudly at his swollen, red lips and his big brown eyes. He raises his eyebrows at him, and Eddie realizes he should respond to his uncle or he might come searching for him.

“Uh, I’m in the shower, man, I can barely hear you!” The lie comes out easily but still shaky, Steve letting go to straighten Eddie’s shirt. The door slams again, undoubtedly Wayne going out to have a smoke. 

A smile spreads across Steve’s face as he moves some of Eddie’s hair off his shoulder, patting him there as he steps toward the door. “You taste good, Munson.” And he says it so casually.

Eddie’s mind goes blank again as Steve leaves, slowly realizing that the explanation for what the fuck just occurred is simple. Eddie had egged him on severely the past few months, apparently driving poor Steve closer to the edge. For all intents and purposes, Steve is simply calling his bluff. At least, he probably thinks it’s still a bluff.

Yeah. He decides he deserves that for the whole “big boy” thing, at least.

------

“He what?” Chrissy's sitting cross-legged on Eddie's bed, aghast by his confession. And he tells her right away, knowing that the guilt he feels will only multiply if he doesn't.

“Yeah. I’m still asking myself that.” He's still dazed from it, the intensity of how Steve had finally snapped. How he'd been planning to go further, if his hand on Eddie's hip had been any indication.

Chrissy's eyebrows are somewhere under her bangs as she contemplates her own feelings. She's so grateful that Eddie's not the kind of person to keep things like this a secret, and she knows she should be mad at Steve. But after everything they'd all been through, anger seemed stupid. 

However, she's honestly curious in one aspect. “Did you like it?” she asks quietly. If he didn't, she'll punch Steve in the nose, too. But as his face turns a little more red, she knows the answer before he even nods in the affirmative, looking down at his feet. Then she finds another question begging to be asked, resting her chin on her curled hands. “What was he like?”

Eddie's so focused on thinking that she's going to leave him, that now he's too much of a freak, that he's completely blindsided. “What?”

“Well, I’ve always heard he was good, but I was never one of the lucky ones. Then Steve graduated and I was with Jason.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Talk about a waste of time.”

Eddie understands casual sex, and he’d even had some hookups before Chrissy came along. But he still can’t comprehend how both she and Steve seem so goddamn casual about their current situation. Not a bit of this feels that way to him. “You mean, you’re not mad at me?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Just that you got into the Harrington Club before me."

"The what?" This conversation is starting to feel just as unreal as Steve’s tongue down his throat.

"It's just what the cheer squad used to call it when someone got to any base with him. And it definitely wasn't seen as a bad thing.” His head is tilted back as he pinches the bridge of his nose because maybe that’ll stop his brain from exploding. “It’s not like you’re the one who kissed first.”

He supposes that logic is unassailable, if such a thing as logic even exists anymore. “Maybe it was a moment of temporary insanity?”

Chrissy stands and moves towards him with a sweet smile. “No baby, it’s you,” she says, taking both his hands. He scoffs a little, smiles, and she can tell he’s grateful for the compliment. “I really had no idea he was…is it 'bisexual'?

"Yeah," he confirms, but she’s already pointing a thousand-yard-stare at his bedroom wall. “What?”

And there was that thought again, winding its way through her mind. For me and for Eddie.

She bites her lip before giving him a slightly wicked grin. “I think I’m having a moment of temporary insanity right now.”

He mirrors her expression, tightening his hold on her hands. “By all means, do share.”

------

It’s the next day and Eddie still can’t really believe that yesterday happened here on planet Earth and to him, no less. Chrissy’s proposition closely rivals the bathroom incident with Steve in regards to total raging insanity, both of which could spell out disastrous consequences for all three of them.

Or, alternatively, the best night of their lives.

Steve comes by after his closing shift at the video store, knocking on Eddie’s door around ten. Chrissy had called him earlier in the day, simply telling Steve to come by the trailer in a neutral, unassuming voice. Apparently, Steve had asked why and Chrissy simply hung up, because her cackle once the handset rejoined the stand was purely maniacal.

So when Eddie answers the knock, he’s greeted with the saddest kicked-puppy look he’s ever seen on Steve’s face, and Eddie’s heart is just racing. He nods and lets Steve in almost silently, the latter’s chest constricting when he notices Chrissy on the couch. The two get the pleasantries out of the way, an automated reflex of being a well-to-do kid, and Steve sits on one end of the couch as Chrissy and Eddie huddle at the other.

In reality, Steve’s guilt over the whole idea had started the moment he was behind the wheel of his car. What if Eddie hadn’t liked it? What if he made him feel pressured, like he had no choice? He felt sick instead of victorious as he drove away from Forest Hills, with no idea of how to apologize for it. So when he does try to make amends, it turns wordy and rambly rather quickly, Steve flailing his hands a little because it’s occurring to him as he talks that he might lose them both as his friends. Until Chrissy says his name and grabs his hand out of the air.

“Relax,” she says. “We don’t want an apology. That’s not why I called you here.”

A pause, and Steve’s forehead smooths a bit. “It’s not?”

She takes over, becoming kind of rambly herself because she’s honestly not sure how to politely offer a threesome. Yet as soon as the concept is spoken, she sees the same stunned look on Steve’s face that Eddie’s bore the day before. Now she’s starting to feel crazy.

“W-...With both of you?” Steve points back and forth, his brain doing the record scratch sound repeatedly.

“That is why they call it a threesome, Steve.” It’s the first thing Eddie has said since the conversation began, uncharacteristically quiet since most of his brain power is diverted to creating fantasy scenarios. Their eyes meet, and Steve’s already look a little needy.

“Do you like girls?” She feels silly asking, but rumors are always possibly lies until proven otherwise.

Steve laughs a little, nodding. “Uh, yeah.”

And Chrissy’s on the move. She’d warned Eddie ahead of time what kind of things she might do to get Steve going, but the poor guy is defenseless as she places herself on his lap, facing him. He’s not sure where to look or touch so she puts his hands on her waist, leaning in close.

“What about me?” She’s using that sweet, innocent voice that drives Eddie crazy, and his pants are already a little tighter.

Steve’s mouth parts, nodding soundlessly as he closes the distance. Eddie just watches in awe for a moment as they make out, Steve's hands pulling her in flush against him. He wastes no time in moving his lips down to her neck, and she moans as she looks over at Eddie. 

She smiles, her hands sliding into Steve's hair, and Eddie finally moves to touch him, running a hand gently over the hair by his ear. Steve lifts his head to look at him with pleading eyes, giving Eddie the perfect opportunity to kiss him. One hand on the back of his neck, one on his chest, he consumes him as Chrissy turns her attention to the skin just below Steve's jaw.

Steve breaks away to try and catch his breath, and though that doesn't work, he does catch sight of the sheer hunger in Eddie's eyes.

"Maybe we should move this to the bedroom," Eddie suggests, his voice devastatingly deep, his thumb pressing at Steve's lower lip. "Would you like that, Stevie?"

Steve shudders, Chrissy's hand running slowly up and down his arm, caressing. He's had so many hookups over the years, but none of them were as soft with him as Chrissy and Eddie already were. He feels like he could cry, but he still nods yes.

"We need words, sweetie," Chrissy mutters in his ear.

Steve swallows, but his voice still cracks. "Yeah. I'd like that a lot."

The next few minutes are a blur as they hurry to the bedroom, Steve already peeling off his shirt as Eddie locks the door behind them. As soon as Eddie’s shirt joins Steve’s in the corner, Chrissy jumps on him with an enthused squeal and he catches her, hands gripping her ass as they fall back onto the bed. They laugh as they kiss and Steve stands lost for a moment, until Chrissy frees Eddie and he catches him around the waist, bringing him down on top of him. Steve brushes some loose strands of hair off his beaming face before kissing him, Eddie’s hands inching slowly down his back until they’re squeezing his rear, grinding him against his hard-on.

Steve moans, breaking away and panting already. “Too many clothes.”

“Easy fix,” Eddie croons, a hand sliding around to the zippered front of Steve’s jeans, and Steve gasps so loudly at being palmed that Eddie worries he might change his mind. “Relax, Steve.” The words come out gently as he undoes his jeans and slides his hand down Steve’s length through his boxers, who keens even louder but finally relaxes into his hands, into Eddie’s body. “Is this okay?” Steve can’t even form words in his head, let alone speak. He nods emphatically. “Good boy.”

The praise goes straight to Steve’s dick as Eddie continues, sucking at his neck and glancing over at Chrissy to find that she’s already disposed of her panties, her skirt pulled up to her waist, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she touches herself to the scene in front of her. But Eddie’s already decided he wants both of them coming by his hands tonight. “Come here, baby.”

She crawls over to him with a crooked grin, dipping her head down to kiss him, but he pulls back a little just to see her pout. “Other lips, sweetheart.” And she laughs as she climbs over to straddle his shoulders, his thumb finding her clit immediately. He’s had plenty of practice with her. Her face goes a little slack and he realizes she’s already close when he feels Steve lift off his other hand. He sees it coming before it happens, a wide grin splitting his face as Steve’s hands creep around Chrissy’s waist and up to cup her breasts through her shirt.

She sighs as her head falls back onto his shoulder, Eddie’s fingers bringing her closer to the edge. They help her remove her shirt, her bra, and Steve’s big, warm hands massage her tits until she’s writhing against them both.

And of course Eddie’s watching her, but he can’t help but stare at Steve’s expression of quiet reverence. He knows he looked the same way the first time he was with her, but he wonders if Steve’s always wanted her like she wanted him. “She’s a sensitive little thing, Stevie. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy whines, Steve’s fingertips wildly circling her nipples as he moans into her neck. Yet his eyes are now on Eddie, who tries to convey a look that states that, oh, he’s gonna get his.

Apparently it works, if Steve’s next words are any indication. “Ladies first, right, Eddie?”

“Absolutely,” he groans, his fingers leaving her soft skin. Her lack of a reaction at the loss of contact confirms what he’d already suspected. “You want someone inside you?”

“B-Both,” she stutters, her hands resting on her chest over Steve's, whose mind is flooded with images of what he wants to do to her. He'd always thought she was hot, but for some reason assumed she was too pure, too innocent. Obviously, Eddie had taken care of that.

"Who goes first?" Eddie asks quietly, his hand rubbing over both of theirs.

"Please, Steve?" She's so breathy that Steve rolls one of her nipples between his fingers to hear it again. "Please."

"You don't have to beg with me," he whispers, already unzipping his jeans and pushing them and his boxers down to his thighs. Eddie hands him a condom from his pocket, and Steve doesn't even ask why he'd stashed some there, just unwraps it and rolls it firmly over his length. "Though you sound gorgeous when you do."

He presses her down closer to Eddie's chest, giving him a better angle as he slides just his tip in first. She gasps and Eddie swallows it, along with every other whine and whimper as Steve sinks deeper into her. He exhales with a harsh grunt as he does, expecting Eddie to stop him at any moment because holy shit, he’s having sex with someone else’s girlfriend.

The first few thrusts have Chrissy already sobbing into Eddie’s shoulder. “Is he making you feel good, baby?” He can feel her nod, his hand snaking up to massage her clit again. His other hand guides Steve’s to take hold of her arm and he obeys. Steve grasps them both and pulls her up just enough for Eddie to reach her chest, loosely flicking his tongue at one nipple then the other. 

Steve rails her, one of Eddie’s hands moving to grab his rear and spur him on, his hips slapping into her ass on every thrust and she’s screaming his name. Biting into her lip so hard she thinks it might bleed, she bites back a wail as her body snaps, her orgasm racing through her as Steve lurches forward, caught in the heat of her throbbing cunt.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Chrissy,” he exclaims, breathless. She’s gasping for air as she spasms around him, and he has to pull out before he comes too soon. Once she collapses onto Eddie, he brushes her hair off her face as he laughs, and they can see that she’s smiling. Steve bends low over her, trailing kisses from her temple to her jaw. “You okay?”

“Amazing,” she sighs before Eddie tips her chin up to kiss him. She giggles a little as she turns her head, pulling Steve down to press her lips to his briefly. It’s only brief because she then squirms out from between them, lying on her back to more fully recover.

“You ready to watch?” Eddie asks. Steve wonders how he’s able to make the most common questions sound sexual, how it goes straight to his groin.

“Oh, yeah,” she groans, and then suddenly Steve’s on his back, Eddie momentarily hovering over him before devouring his lips.

He pulls back to speak, his hand tickling the nape of Steve’s neck. “That is, unless you've changed your mind.”

One more out. One more opportunity to call the whole thing off. And do what? Go back to a house empty of both people and love? “Not a chance,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie smiles warmly, kissing him once more before moving his lips down his chest, his stomach, briefly standing to remove Steve’s pants and boxers completely. Eddie drops them, looking in awe at the younger man’s body as he sinks to his knees. “Goddamn, Steve.”

“Nice and big, isn’t he?” Chrissy praises, turning on her side to watch them better.

“No kidding.” Eddie slides his hands up Steve’s thighs, who trembles as he props himself up on his forearms. “Might just have to have you fuck me, too, before the night’s over.”

“God, yeah,” Steve breathes as Eddie’s hand closes around the base of his cock. He lightly strokes, but Steve keeps eye contact until his mouth closes around his weeping tip, and his head falls back with a needy moan.

Being the bastard he is, Eddie takes him fully down his throat without warning, drawing a shout from Steve. One hand finds Eddie’s hair and tugs as way of revenge, only making him whine and send the vibrations through Steve’s whole body. He falls back onto the bed, groaning and pressing up into Eddie’s mouth, holding his head in place as he works his throat around him.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He sounds so broken already, and Eddie pulls off to do it all over again, starting with swirling his tongue around his head. He strokes until he takes him all the way down again, Steve’s vision going white when he starts massaging his balls. His hips stutter, eyes closed, as soft fingers caress his cheek and Chrissy laps at his mouth. He idly hopes she’ll forgive him since he’s beyond reciprocating anything at the moment, only capable of feeling her lips and Eddie’s throat closing around his cock.

But it’s more than enough to send Steve over the edge, his cry catching in his throat as he shoots down the back of Eddie’s mouth, who swallows with enthusiasm. Eddie’s catching his breath, his forehead pressed to Steve’s thigh, and he feels the words tickle his skin. “You taste good, too, Harrington.”

Once Steve’s vision stops swimming and his breathings more even, he responds. “Get. Up. Here.”

“Ooh, yes, sir,” Eddie coos, already moving up his body. He’s about to say more when he catches Steve’s gaze, an almost wounded look. “Steve, are you okay?”

Steve can feel Chrissy’s eyes on him, too, but he says nothing. Instead, without breaking eye contact, he slowly slides his hands down Eddie’s stomach, grabbing his belt. Eddie can see where this is going, moving to straddle Steve’s thighs as he takes him in a bruising kiss. He brushes their lips together softly and Steve trembles. “You don’t have to, you know?”

Steve nods, meeting his eye again. “I know.” They shift to lay more fully on the bed, but Steve presses up on Eddie’s chest until he’s on his knees above him, and he fluidly finishes with his belt and pants. Eddie pushes them down his thighs for Steve to find that he’s actually bigger, and he briefly wonders how Eddie hides it so well in such tight pants.

His hands slide up Eddie’s ass, cupping and squeezing as he gazes at him through long lashes. Steve lets his mouth hang open, his eyes begging. “Please?” And that’s when it really clicks for Eddie.

Oh.

He wants to be used.

God, these jocks are gonna be the death of him.

He huffs in slight disbelief, but is already guiding Steve’s head up off the bed, leaving one firm hand in his hair as Eddie directs his cock into his waiting mouth. He starts slowly, unsure whether or not this is Steve’s first blowjob, finding the point at which he gags and backing off slightly. “Wider, big boy.” Steve obeys, flattening his tongue to make more room, never breaking eye contact. He’s far enough in, not exactly down Steve’s throat but enough to pull out and thrust back in. Steve tenses on the first one before relaxing into Eddie’s hands with a whine.

“Such a good boy, Stevie,” he praises, Chrissy moving Steve’s hair off his forehead and kissing him there. Eddie grabs the back of her neck and pulls her up to him, kissing her hard as his hips keep their steady rhythm. He’s nipping at her neck when she feels Steve’s fingers graze her tender opening, making her gasp.

She guides his hand flat against her, two fingers curling into her soft, wet heat. “God, he really is good.” She groans it, rubbing herself against Steve’s hand as Eddie continues using his mouth. Once Steve starts really sucking, Eddie knows he won’t last long, letting loose a strangled cry toward the ceiling.

Eddie makes it all the way down Steve’s throat, who does his best to replicate what was done to him. And it definitely works for Eddie, his mouth going lax as his own orgasm takes hold. “You’re so good like this, Steve, so fucking good, Jesus…fucking–” And he’s spilling into Steve’s mouth with a yell, leaning forward to rest on Chrissy’s shoulder but she’s still working herself on Steve’s hand. Eddie pulls her in, sucks one tit into his mouth and flicks her other nipple until she comes screaming.

They all collapse on the pillows a moment later, hearts racing as Steve licks Chrissy off his fingers. She lightly laughs as he moans with contentment, Eddie leaning over to take Steve's last wet finger into his mouth. Then they finally settle into the mattress, gently stroking arms and caressing sides as their breathing calms.

Eddie and Chrissy both rest their heads on Steve's shoulders, and the threat of tears returns but he blinks them back. Even as his heart soars, he knows he has to manage his expectations, that they might not feel the same way he does about them. He decides to push such thoughts to the back of his mind as they snuggle into his sides, Eddie's leg draping over his thigh.

Chrissy feels herself drifting to sleep when Eddie exclaims with a growl. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Chrissy."

They both look at him, perplexed. "What?"

"You wanted us both to fuck you," Eddie sighs, acting as if that's a perfectly normal sentence. Of course, it is for them now.

Chrissy just laughs and shakes her head. "There's plenty of time. The night's just getting started." Her eyes drift to Steve with a soft, questioning look. "As long as you still want to stay, Stevie."

He feels Eddie's hand on his chest and finds the same pleading expression on his face and Steve smiles, a warmth spreading in his chest that he'll have to examine later. But for now, he wraps his arms around their shoulders, pulling them in tighter.

"I'm not going anywhere."

[fuwaprince]

Thoughts on friendship, shared experiences, swimming/drowning and my apprehensiveness

When I was kid at the public pool, I enjoyed swimming in the deep ends. There were usually other kids around who couldn't swim as well. Sometimes I would be GRABBED out of nowhere and I'd feel like I'd just been assaulted!!! I'd instinctively want to throw/shake these grabby assholes off of me UNTIL assessing what was happening and realizing that most of these "assholes trying to drown me" were actually just kids like 9/10 times who literally just COULD NOT fucking swim and needed help getting to the edge of the pool. I remember they wouldn't ask bc they were usually already coughing up mouthfuls of water 😭 sometimes a stressed out mom would apologize to me afterwards and try to explain that their kid didn't know how to swim yet and I would just be like omg no I get it!!! it's okay, are they tho?

Sometimes the kid would apologize. Sometimes it was their friend or their sibling. Other times they'd just be too panicked and leave without a word and that was okay too. Even though I was left startled, that was fine compared to how startled I would be to see someone not moving at the bottom of the pool.

My bro couldn't swim well either and sometimes he did the same thing when he was first learning to swim. Didn't say excuse me before just reaching for whoever was closest to him for support to get to the outer edges of the pool. Only focused on shallow, safer ends and clinging to the nearby edge. People got pissed but many of them understood he wasn't trying to harm them. No one punched him in the face.

I've been both that desperate drowning person and the pissed off bystander that gets pulled into someone else's stressful situation.

Today I listened to a pair vent about having to drop a toxic friend for threatening suicide. I listened to them dismiss a crushing amount of real compounding shit someone else was unfortunate enough to be going through in favor of reducing their ex friend's desperate grasping for life as a needless, selfish tantrum and an exhausting, painful emotional burden on them. Idk but to me it just felt like they lacked major compassion and that they weren't willing to tolerate the pain and toxicity, which is fair and good for them. Emotional manipulation IS toxic... And going through shitty things isn't a free pass to be a pain in the ass to all your friends... but if someone/a friend is drowning before your eyes and reaches out to you, regardless of how they did it, wouldn't it make sense for you to try to protect them? How rational could it be to leave them to drown (sometimes it is)? What's the point of escalating the situation for them before leaving?

It's one thing if you aren't able to swim very well. I wouldn't suggest someone unable to support someone else try to if there's a high probability that'll end up with two drowning people. If you can't, you can't. Can't hold that against anybody! But wow imagine cutting off and recharacterizing a friend as a vengeful asshole for something they probably couldn't help either. People go through all kinds of things outside of their control and we only know what drowning looks like on the surface. Some people have these giant weights pulling them down and from the surface others could never be able to tell just how hard they're trying to keep their head above water. It might look like they're choosing not to swim harder ig.

I got the feeling that the friends felt like it was an attack on them too in ways. Like it was a threat not against their friend's life but against their own first and foremost. They basically responded to the possibility of their friend's voluntary death like "why would they do this to me? why would they threaten our whole friendship? why would they threaten MY peace plus everyone else's? that approach is toxic and i know they're manipulating me to try and stay alive. so selfish, we aren't friends anymore".

I hate the implications that it wouldn't be okay to ask the person closest to you for a lifeline. What are we taught in emergencies? You go to the nearest place you think is safe and ask for help, right? That's so common and normally taught early on. It's a survival instinct. Yet

Idk. If I dropped all the people who went to me during stressful times instead of a therapist I'd have like 0 friends. Friends are supposed to be safe spaces you can go to if available... Literally what are friends for? It isn't just laughs and somebody to have lunch with. It's weird to think you'd drop a whole ass friend for that. It's weird you'd go on to talk shit about them and use dumping them as toxic waste as something to be proud of bc being reached out to at all is supposed to be interpreted as a testament to trustworthiness.

It's weird the pair walked up to me in the middle of me crying to say all that then followed it up with "tons of people come to me for support so I'll do my best for you if you tell me what's wrong". Like I started off saying I was apprehensive to talk and they made themselves sound like the most unsafe people as if it would convince me they were so nice that people felt good enough to be vulnerable with them. holy shit. I feel bad for their ex friend for not having their vulnerability protected. I feel like I 100% can't trust those people so I'm glad I didn't open up. I'm not willing to talk to anybody and everybody about what's going on out of desperation anymore.

I'm doggy paddling by myself sometimes and it's better that way. It's hard but it's better than clinging to someone who will treat me badly. Call me leary? I feel bad for people who don't know how to swim. I've been that person before.

[calypso-finale]

Hundred Sixteen. Part 2

I am so done with Juke, and he doesn’t understand that, I refuse to let anyone and him ruin anything I have. I fucking told him to stay away from Imani because the girl is not good, I should know. Rylee even knows that, but he wants to go to her because she has money, that is it really. The boy knows Imani has money, I know he wants Sky but Sky ain’t got shit, that bitch was living off him, well practically me. I can’t support it, I know Rylee was being kind of enough about the apartment thing but no, I can’t do anything. I need to let him make his mistakes “my auntie” Aziel pointed at Imani “let’s pretend you don’t have one” I drove off, they look so fucking stupid there, I told Wadz to pick my car up. This bastard was in my car and picking her up, taking care of her on my dime. I paid for the whole Guyana trip plus the funeral and now he wants to do that, I refuse “why dad?” Aziel asked, “because sometimes you got to ignore people, and this is one of them” he is confused and I don’t blame him “ok” looking at my dashboard and Juke is calling, of course he is but I answered “what?” I said “you’re so embarrassing, how you leaving us here? You asking for us to get killed” he said, putting it on me “is that my problem? No my fault you aren’t liked, you have Imani be with her, not on my dime. Do it on her dime, I don’t care that cheeky bitch had it coming. I am not playing anymore, you chose your bed so lay in it” he huffed out “she is crying to Rylee now so yeah, you deserve that” putting the phone down “piece of shit, both of them” I said to myself “dad is JJ mad?” Aziel asked me “erm we all are but son it’s ok, don’t worry about it. Just adults trying to figure things out” answering the call from Wadz “where you at? I need the key” he asked, “park outside Lee home, I am going there, this cheeky fucker took my car, well he asked which is fine but then picked up Imani” Wadz snorted laughing “what is his plan? To be with her?” I shrugged “I don’t know bro but it’s not on my dime, and then Imani wanted to get cheeky with me and now claim she is a victim, I mean whatever, they are just mad I took the car off them, she is literally pulling a Rylee, and for what? Juke ain’t me, and he won’t fund her, she will need to fund him” it just makes me so mad; nobody listens to me though.

Passing my car key to Wadz “you back with Rylee? I mean like living with her” shaking my head “nah, I mean we are back together but I ain’t like move in, we just spend time together and all that. I don’t want to move in with her just yet, I think you know. I want to just work things out, my dad threw a lot of things sideways so yeah, just going to take it as it is right now” Wadz smiled “mans wants to be a husband, it would be funny to see” I chuckled “trust me, it will be weird to me too. That word alone, I don’t know what a husband do either, shit. I don’t know but yeah, take my car back to the apartment please, and if you see Juke just whack him for me, he is so dumb” Wadz waved at Aziel, but he hid behind me “what is wrong with him, alright. I am going now, speak soon” dapping him “speak soon” moving back “let’s go inside, give me that” taking his backpack from him “dad I am tired” I am not shocked, he has been out since he left school “little man you got school work and then sleep” holding his hand “oh no” I chuckled “I would say oh no too, mom ain’t letting you off either” walking up the drive, Lee opened the gate for me, she needs to give me the password really because why am I having to do that but I will leave it, I think it’s better we take it slow like that but I have the code to the door, I can get into the door but then I would need to get through the gate so at the end of it, I ain’t winning “when we get in I need you to be good and go straight to doing your work” seeing as Imani has called I know Rylee will want to speak to me, I guess we will see if she thinks I did bad, I hope she doesn’t anyways.

Aziel dragged his feet up the steps, he better do his work “come up” Rylee waved me up from the steps and went back up “you had fun with dad, you look tired?” she asked him, walking up the steps “I speak later I got work” I laughed “oh wow, you got business, go for it. I will be in my bedroom so if you need me come there” Aziel acting stressed out “is it because I am here son?” I asked but he shook his head “he about to fall asleep, watch” getting to the top of the steps, Rylee is just stood there “what happened to the meeting? You had one” I shrugged “missed it but YB was there” Rylee hugged me so I held her back “you didn’t need too, I would have picked him up, but I didn’t want to question it, are you ok?” nodding my head “I suppose, you not mad?” I am confused “mad at who?” she moved back from the hug “why would I be mad when I stepped back from Imani, I have realised that I can’t let this girl ruin what I have when we are in the moment of fixing us and she wants to bring her shit into it, she did call me crying” nodding my head “I just thought you may have just been mad that I did what I did, I am just scared it will come between us” I admitted “only if we let it, I am impressed though. Kicking out Juke, I know that took a lot in you to do that because you do love him” I shrugged “I suppose it shows who I want and what is important to me, I am going to end up being lost. Juke don’t care about me like I do him, he likes me for what I give him, which is money. My care is pure, and I know it, but who’s going to love me, not him. So yeah, he pushed it anyways. I am done with him though” Rylee poked her bottom lip out at me “I am sorry Oakley; I hate to see you upset but I guess you’re used to it?” I sighed out laughing “well I mean yeah, I guess. You’re right, I wish that I couldn’t say you aren’t, but you are with everything, but fuck them. I mean yeah maybe you’re upset about Imani so my bad” I need to not talk too much shit “Imani is a bitch, come” she waved me over “let’s go to the bedroom, I am cleaning that is why and I can tell you what she said” so much drama.

Oh Rylee is cleaning “you making space for me?” she laughed “you wish, you’re living out of a suitcase when that happens, but I have so much spare clothing I can giveaway, so I am doing that” sitting on her bed “good view” I grinned, she is bending over “ass in the air, you nasty” I chuckled “anyways, concentrate so she called me crying and said that Oakley attacked her but then she changed it up because I said what, how? Then she said I am in London and then after that I didn’t want to hear it, she said you called her nasty words and she is blaming you for this and I said hold on now, he warned you about Juke, so you tell me what did he do wrong? Nothing, we only care but she didn’t want to hear it at all, the only sound she wanted to hear was her own voice. Then I asked where you going, she said Juke is taking me to his mother, I said you fucking weird trying to retract my footsteps like that, then she got mad and said if dad finds out I am saying it’s me, oh she is so full of shit. I told Ti where she is so she can choke. Imani is so stupid, so what he took your virginity, fucking grow up” she is stupid “she said something about me liking young girls” Rylee groaned out “oh she can shut up, I will beat her ass. Don’t fucking let a bitch like that get to you, I am so serious. She is fucking nothing, I am so mad with her Oakley, just leave her to it, she will be her own downfall remember that” Rylee said but honestly that was fucked up.

“Oakley don’t worry about it; my parents won’t blame you” I had to laugh because he’s my brother “you think? I think they will, they will say he’s my brother, he’s just stupid. It makes it a mess for me” Rylee turned to me “Oakley, no. I got your back so who cares what they think? I know that little rat, I know what she is like so don’t worry about it, fuck my life. Who is that, but listen to me, just don’t worry about it. I hate to see you stressed when they aren’t worth it, I’ll be back” rubbing the side of my face as she walked off, come to think of it she has a lot of clothing, she isn’t wrong with that. I need to stop stressing. Looking around the bedroom, this is literally my side of the bed too. I do miss being here, pulling open the side draw and some of my cancer medication is here still, Rylee does not clean up because why she got this still, closing the drawer. I can hear Rylee talking so let me get up and check on what is happening “daddy I need help” Aziel ran over to me with the paper in hand “you do, I’m here. I’ll see you in a second ok” he nodded his head “I’m playing” he walked off, Aziel is so sassy now, he is getting like his mother really. Walking down the steps “why are you being like this!?” Imani shouted “because I am not your mother, I am your sister. You treat me and Ti like shit and think we will help!?” Imani would be here “you have so many bedrooms and I can’t have one?” She looked at me “oh of course he’s here, he disrespected me Rylee and you have him. He used what I have and called me crazy, he said I should be in an asylum. Rylee stop being a fucking bitch” Lee straight slapped her “don’t you fucking dare ever! Ever! Fucking call me a bitch and think you will get away with it! How dare you! How fucking dare you when we have tried to be nice to you and you think you can manipulate my man! You can blame him for his bastard brother, fuck you!” She is crying now “not having this shit! Mom is going to know; you can stay but out of my way and if you even breath on Oakley I will beat you again. I have had enough of your shit and everyone in this family, this is my time! My time to settle and now you want to come and ruin shit!” She has set Rylee off but Rylee walked away “I hate you” I rushed down knowing she was about to hit Rylee, and I don’t want that, so I grabbed Imani before she did, but she turned to me and slapped me “fuck you” I pushed her to the ground “what the fuck you doing!?” I half shouted, “she was going to hit you just leave it, allow it. I think she knows” I said to Rylee “you’re done!” She half shouted, “get the fuck out of my house, you ain’t staying here you stupid bitch!” moving Rylee into the kitchen.

I shouldn’t have pushed her to the ground, but she did slap me which was wrong “finally mom, finally you fucking pick up the phone. I want you to come to London and sort that little bitch daughter out, I am not having her here. I am not having her come into my house attack my man and then she think she won’t be questioned; you think she is innocent huh. She lost her virginity mother to the worst little boy on earth and now she is here thinking she is in love; you deal with her before I fucking murder her!” Rylee shouted, the line is so silent that I am not sure that her mom is on the phone “Imani is in New York?” she just said “no the bitch is in my house, that unhinged fucking whore. I want you to come here to London and deal with her” Rylee is too irate “relax, it’s hard on your mom too” I said to Rylee, she has it on speakerphone and this must be hard on her “Rylee, I just. What?” Robyn said “mom, you need to come here and deal with it and you know what, tell dad. She needs to know that dad is not the one to play with because he is not nice” Juke will be getting it now “she lost her virginity too? Wow, I feel so upset, wow. Erm, I will come right now, I will tell Amerie, I am coming. Rylee please just keep her at the house” she said “no the bitch goes, fuck her” rubbing my chin “Rylee, look please. She doesn’t deal with things like us, I am telling you to bite your tongue for me. Please, just please I am asking you to just hold her there and I will get her” Rylee rolled her eyes “you better come, I am not having her here being a bitch and getting away with it” she put the phone down “your mom sounds very upset” I said “I mean the baby that wasn’t going far in life just popped her cherry, yes they are upset” walking behind Rylee and the door is open, I guess she is gone. Walking towards the door to see that she is gone “bitch is gone” Rylee stepped outside, looking at the ground, that is the work Aziel wanted me to do, picking it up from the ground “she can’t have gone far, Aziel!?” I spat, jogging up the steps “you think your sister would take Aziel out of spite? Aziel, you here son” walking to his bedroom “Aziel!” I spat looking in his room “what do you mean?” Rylee ran up behind me “no? Aziel” Rylee pushed ahead of me “Aziel, you here baby” holding the paper “this is the work he wanted me to help with, I will call Juke” getting my phone out from my pocket “she is such a fucking bitch!” Rylee screamed out, she can’t do anything bad to him but it’s late “you want nothing to do with me” Juke said “you fucking right dickhead, but where is my son? Is she there” he is driving “dad I am going for ice cream” Aziel said “again!? Juke you bring him back, I am not even playing” he put the phone down on me “they have him!?” Rylee spat “yeah, they will bring him back” Rylee pushed me and walked off “what is she doing with my son” Rylee sobbed out, I know they won’t do anything and are doing it to upset Rylee but still.

[cerseiwexler]

Beatriz + 1, 9, 25, 26, 32, 35, 39, 48, 49, 50

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

beatriz has two dads! they’re polyam w/ her mom before her mom passes away while committing a bank robbery. beatriz loves them both dearly — like no matter what little family conflicts may get stirred up, there’s always an undercurrent of love. during childhood she doesn’t always understand that they did everything they could to protect her mother and she battles some resentful feelings, and then i’ve mentioned before that she has what we now know is a mood disorder and during adolescence when her symptoms are really getting bad for the first time she lashes out a lot. but she admires them both very much, admires their grit and the hard work they do, admires the way they’re able to be so tender with their loved ones despite not exactly being Gr8 People overall.

9. What about political beliefs?

she is a socialist. big supporter of labor unions, big supporter of building community resources, big supporter of mutual aid. those beliefs are only solidified when her husband dies because people really pull together to support her and her daughter and she sees the value of maintaining those community ties firsthand.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

she likes to work with her hands! sewing, embroidery, and crochet are all things she takes to with pride. later in life she does a bit of woodworking too, when her husband is gone — he taught her a little before passing away and she likes to keep in touch with his memory that way. not so much a hobby but she becomes handy at minor home repairs as well.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

she lives in the countryside in a two-story house not far from her daughter’s ranch. it’s dark and cluttered — kind of like the shadowy old house on the outskirts of town that everyone has superstitions about the old lady who lives inside. taste tends to value function over form, though she has a soft spot for lace, embroidery, and yarn work in her clothes and home textiles. wears lots of long skirts even well after the time when they’re fashionable bc that’s what she grew up in. keeps her hair in the same sort of polished styles she wore in the 40s throughout the rest of her life. she has thick dark hair, relatively fair olive skin that tans a few shades darker in the sun, blue eyes, and stands about 5’7”-ish with an unimposing build.

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

she spirals and gets paranoid/anxious for days, weeks at a time depending on the level of the stress. sometimes she also panics and makes snap decisions. sometimes these snap decisions include killing a man! and that’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

her motto, informed by living through the dust bowl and great depression, is to just keep moving. when things go wrong it’s easy for her to start catastrophizing in her mind, but she’s also able to keep her forward momentum and push through the problem. you gotta do what you gotta do yk and she believes that wholly.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

people who can’t admit when they need help. she tries to find solutions to problems as quickly and efficiently as possible (as mentioned above) and sometimes recognizes that includes calling in reinforcements. people get stubborn sometimes and dig in their heels and insist they can do it themselves, and she kind of tuts and shakes her head and sits back and waits for them to fail. and yk in her environment there are a lot of folks who do really physical jobs that can be dangerous, she’s certainly heard tales of people biting off more than they can chew and paying the ultimate price.

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

slow, deliberate, elegant most of the time — she likes to say as much as possible with the subtlest body language. she can become frenetic and even a bit twitchy when manic though, as u do.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

she has a low voice, often quite calming, and speaks very deliberately as well. not slow necessarily, but contemplative. her accent is unique as a result of her heritage + the people she grows up around coming from all different places. there are elements of a cowpoke drawl, elements of a spanish accent, and elements of a mexican accent all present.

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

i hate to reuse a word but “contemplative” is a good one. it isn’t a furrowed brow or a particularly stormy look, but it’s a deep one — a serious one. when she smiles it’s often without teeth; a big grin is rare, though not unheard of.

[jassisass]

Spider Bites

chapter 2

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check ao3 for chapter notes xx

also i noticed the italics don’t paste on here but it takes too long to fix it so if you prefer italics for emphasis and such the ao3 version has those 😊

A few weeks have passed since your initial fight, but you and Miguel have been at each other’s throats. You can hardly be in the same room as him without one of you starting a fight. Well, you’re the one staring most of the fights but it’s only because he keeps making digs at you. Most of the time, they’re just regular arguments with him threatening to kick you off the team again and again. Sometimes they end up being physical. He never really hurts you, but every time he makes it clear that he’s the one in charge and it usually always ends with you being pinned to the wall or floor. Sometimes you put up a fight, but most of the time you don’t bother. Physically, he’s way stronger than you ever could be, and you part of you likes being overpowered because there aren’t many people who can. After almost every fight, you make some excuse to find a secluded enough place to relieve your pent up emotions, but it never quite satisfies you. You’ve almost gotten caught a few times.

Though he tries to restrain himself, you have a way of pressing Miguel’s buttons in a way nobody else can. Stopping just shy of his breaking point. For a second, you wonder if this has anything to do with your pheromones… if your emotions are affecting him as well. Could that be what’s causing you two to fight all the time? Your lack of control? Are you making him lose control with the scent radiating off of you whenever he’s around?

Even right now, you can smell it. Sweet and musky, embarrassingly strong. It’s been getting worse, especially with all the fighting. It’s just the two of you there in an abandoned observatory. You, Miguel and a few other spiders had taken out an alternate Lizard. You lingered back until everyone else left, and now there isn’t anyone to shield you from his wrath. You’re on your stomach. Miguel is holding your forearms against your back with one hand and your head is pressed into the ground by the other. He wants to make it clear that he’s the one in charge, yet you keep pushing back against his authority.

“What did I tell you about following my orders?” Miguel hisses through his mask. Even though you’d removed yours before you started fighting, his remains on.

He’s referring to the fact that you didn’t stay paired up with one of the Peters that came with you. It’s not your fault though, because that Peter pisses you off and not in the hot way Miguel does.

“We took the guy out, didn’t we?” you say. “Aren’t we supposed to be adaptable?”

“It doesn’t matter!” he says. “You could’ve fucked everything up!”

So, maybe it isn’t just that Peter annoys you, because he does. You fucked it up on purpose, but it was a calculated move. One that wouldn’t have caused any issues, but Miguel doesn’t know that.

“It doesn’t matter! It was fine!”

“God, you’re impossible to work with,” he’s beginning to loosen his grip on your arms.

“You keep assigning us missions together when you literally have hundreds of other options,” you say. “You like working with me.”

Miguel seethes because you’re right. He has consistently been picking you on the majority of the missions he goes on.

“Aww, did I hit a nerve?” you taunt. “I bet you’re enjoying this too.”

Miguel starts to chuckle softly, and his mask comes off. You catch a glimpse of his shiny white fangs. He leans in close, and you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Oh my god,” you close your eyes, a shiver going down your spine when his breath “Oh my god. Is he gonna do it?”

“Look at me.”

You look back at him.

“If I have to put you in your place again there are going to be consequences.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, your voice shaking slightly. “Like what? You’ll bite me?”

Miguel adjusts the position of your arms in a way that hurts, and you make a noise that sounds a bit too much like a moan.

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s enjoying this.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. “And what if I do?”

Miguel is caught off guard by your answer, and he doesn’t respond, so you keep talking.

“We always fight like this and you always threaten to kick me off, but you haven’t.”

Miguel growls. “You’re so fucking aggravating.”

“Yeah? So are you.”

For a second there’s just the sound of him breathing. Inhaling in your sweet scent. You can hear his breathing grow slightly heavier, and you wonder if the effects of your pheromones are increasing. You’ve been in close proximity with him before but never this close for this long. You have no idea how it’s going to affect him, or how long it’ll take. You notice he’s sweating slightly.

He groans softly, and you swallow.

“Why does this keep happening?” He lets you go and stands up. You doubt he wants you to try and answer.

You roll over onto your back and stand up. When you look at him, for just a moment his mask slips. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks exhausted. Guilt pangs in your chest as he turns his back to you.

“Miguel—”

“No, just—just go. Please.”

You don’t know what to say to him anyway, so you leave and check out the city. This one is pretty average, except much greener than your city. Lots of trees and plants growing everywhere. The Spider who lives there is nice too. You swing around the city, and eventually you find yourself at the top of a building once again. You take off your mask and take a deep breath. The air smells faintly of flowers.

“I need to stop doing this,” you think. It can’t be good for either of you, or for the fate of the spider-verse. Miguel hates that name, but you think it’s better than the ‘poly-arachnid whatever’ bullshit he came up with.

You close your eyes and lay down. Now that there’s nothing to distract you, the urge for release makes itself known. You do your best to ignore it this time. The Spider-man from this city could pop up at any time. You’re not a stranger to risks but you have a limit. Part of you wants to go back home but you decide there’s no point. Plus you’re pretty sure you’ve been overdoing it with the masturbation lately, and it’s gotten to the point where it doesn’t really feel good anymore. You take deep breaths, focusing on the scent of the flowers, and after a while your arousal is finally suppressed, at least for the most part.

The same can’t be said for Miguel. He’s currently battling his mixed emotions towards you. One one hand, you always find some way to him constantly, but on the other hand he can’t get enough of you. He’ll never admit to it, but he loves having to put you in your place. People rarely challenge him, except for Hobie, but Hobie… he’s different. He doesn’t care enough to fight, because he’s only there for Gwen. You though, you have a way of riling him up. It’s like the longer he’s around you, the more intense it gets.

Annoyance and anger aren’t the only thing he feels when he’s around you. He didn’t notice this the first time, but he finds himself feeling oddly aroused after or even during your fights. He’s not sure how he feels about that. It means you’re a distraction, but you’re a distraction he can’t get enough of.

Of course, you don’t know that. As far as you’re concerned, he hates you but you’re too valuable to let go. Even if he doesn’t hate you, or if you were to exist in a world where he even has feelings for you, it would never work. You’re deadly. You can’t risk a relationship with anyone. It would just hurt too much, not being able to kiss, hardly being able to touch. You’ve tried many times to synthesize some sort of antidote or something that can neutralize your poison, even just temporarily, but nothing ever works. You’ve been experimenting on roaches, and you’ve probably sent a mountain’s worth to their demise. It’s so bad that you get too scared to shake someone’s hand on a hot day, or pay for something with cash because being exposed to your sweat could be the end of their life. Normal people are just too delicate.

You can’t help but think that it’s a shitty power to have. It’s not even something you can use in combat, at least not intentionally, and it’s not like you want to kill everyone you fight either. You’d rather not have any unnecessary deaths on your hands. That’s another reason you need to stop fighting with Miguel. Sure, you both have your suits on when you touch, but you never know what could happen. If he dies because of you… everything would be fucked.

You’d be fucked.

The realization hits you and you open your eyes and stare up at the sky. You need to stop. You really need to stop, for the greater good.

“For the greater good,” You tell yourself. “Just shut the hell up and follow your orders.”

You can’t have everything fall apart because you can’t control yourself. Just imagine, you being the one who caused the multiverse to crumble because of your own desires. Not being around Miguel is a small price to pay for saving everyone you can.

After taking one last deep breath, you decide it’s finally time to return to the Spider-hub. You type the location in your watch and step through the portal.

Every time you come to the Spider-hub, you’re always a little awestruck. For so long, you’d felt so alone as a superhero. A lot of the spidermen were lucky enough to have their best friend. The one who knows. Their guy in the chair they can confide in, even if they fully don’t understand the stresses of fighting villains. You aren’t so lucky to have that, so once you found out that you in fact aren't alone at all, and that there’s actually thousands of you out is a huge comfort to you. Even though you still have your secrets. All of you do.

Another reason you like walking around in the Spider-hub is that you know there’s not a high chance of you running into Miguel. He’s almost always spending his time alone, and even if he does decide to get off his platform the place is so huge that the chances of you actually seeing him is close to none. You decide to stop by the cafeteria for something to eat.

Everyone you walk past who knows you greets you cheerfully, which brightens your spirits. It’s funny, you’re all vastly different, but you all have this understanding. You all get it. Even if you’re complete strangers, you all understand each other on a level that nobody else can. You don’t have to worry about hiding your face. Hell, there’s even a therapist you can actually be honest with.

You sit down at one of the tables in the cafeteria with your snack. As you’re about to take a bite, you sense someone approaching you from behind. You turn to see a tall black man wearing a black and white suit. He has locs that have been put into braids with blonde streaks in them. He’s a spider-man you’ve seen around before, and you’d actually gone on a mission with him recently.

“Hey, Arachne, right?” he says.

“Yeah… Spiderman?”

He laughs. “Wayne.”

You tell him your name. “You can sit if you want.”

He sits down across from you. You’re not gonna lie to yourself, he’s kinda fine, but you can’t get into another entanglement. You don’t know if you can. You’re pretty emotionally invested in Miguel at this point.

“So y'know that move you did when we were on that mission the other day?” he asks. “The one where you tied that guy up?”

“Yeah,” you say. You’re proud of yourself for coming up with that move, but you doubt you’re the only one who’s done it. You all have your own styles of fighting but there’s a lot of overlap since you all virtually have the same powers.

“How’d you come up with that?”

“I guess I was inspired by how spiders wrap up their pray in their webs,” you say. “It took a lot of practice to get it right, and I can’t really use it on anyone who’s a lot bigger than me, or it’s too hard to spin them around. Oh! I also had to develop a new web formula so the strands would split for faster coverage. It took me months to finally figure it out.”

“You don’t got a science guy?”

“Nah, it’s just me.”

He’s about to say something but his watch beeps. He glances down at it. Probably another anomaly.

“Damn, I gotta go but we should hang out sometime. If you want to.”

“Yeah, sure,” you nod. “Just let me know when you’re free.”

He nods and salutes you before falling backwards through the portal he just opened. You wonder if he wants to hang out as a friend or on a date. You decide to ask him whenever he gets back to you.

Once you finish your food, you wander around the Spider-hub for a bit, having little conversations with various spiders before deciding to go to train. You’re not out of practice by any means, but it never hurts to work on your skills. After sparring with a few people, you leave the to sit on the outer wall of the building. Miguel’s city is straight out of the future, similarly to the city you’d gone to when fighting the undersea Doc Ock, except instead of neon nightlife vibes, it looks more utopian. It’s almost funny that a man like Miguel lives there, though with all the tech they have he probably deals with crazy villains.

Them and the ones from hundreds of other universes. You’ve really put him through a lot. Jessica hasn’t talked to you about it recently, you two rarely see each other, but you can almost feel the disappointed look she’d give you if she knew. Maybe she does know, and doesn’t want to deal with it along with being Spider Woman and a pregnancy. You can’t believe she even goes on missions with a baby on the way.

Eventually, your own watch goes off. It’s a message from Wayne, asking if you’re busy. You text him back that you’re not and he sends you the coordinates to his universe. You open a portal below you and do a backflip off the building, diving straight in.

When you make it through to the other side, you shoot a web out to a building, swing in a long arc up and around and cling to the side. Wayne lands right beside you. The night air is cool and refreshing.

“So you want a quick tour?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” you can’t see his face but by the sound of his voice he’s smiling.

Wayne’s city looks remarkably like yours, and at first you don’t notice any differences. A few advertisements you’ve never seen before, but besides that the layout of the city is actually familiar to you. Keeping up with Wayne is easy, and you’re having a lot of fun following him through the city. This job and Miguel have been stressing you out. As you weave between cars and trucks and swing around the city, you feel almost elated. Wayne brings you to a skyscraper where he stops.

“This is where I usually hang out,” he says. “When I’m not… being spiderman.”

You nod and take off your mask. “I have a spot kinda like this back home.”

“Yeah?” He takes off his mask too. “What’s your city like?”

“Almost exactly like this one. Like the layout and everything. Maybe some different street names and some buildings are in different places but besides that it’s pretty much the same place.”

Wayne nods. “You go back often?”

“Not really. I mean, yeah to check on things but I only go home when I’m off duty. I don’t really like hanging around my apartment ifI can’t just relax… even though I have shit to deal with pretty much every day.”

“I get that.”

You both sit in silence for a moment. It’s nice talking to someone who comes from a similar city as you, and it’s nice being somewhere that feels familiar.

“So, is this supposed to be a date or..?” you ask.

“Nah, nah,” he says. “Just hanging out. I should’ve said that earlier, my bad.”

“No it’s fine, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I feel like I don’t have time for all that romantic stuff. At least not right now.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too. I feel like I barely have time for myself.”

“Is that why you and Miguel are always fighting?”

You make a face, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah… that’s part of it I guess.”

“I can’t blame you man, he’s an asshole. You got balls the way you talk to him though.”

“Honestly I don’t know how I haven’t gotten kicked off yet.”

“You’re a good fighter,” he says, giving a gentle punch on the shoulder. “We need people like you.”

“Thanks.”

You smile. You haven’t had time to hang out with your friends back home lately, so it’s nice spending time with someone. You two end up talking for a while before both your watches go off.

Emergency backup needed: Earth-17778

“Where you headed?” you ask.

He shows you his watch. Earth-17778. You show him your watch with the same number. You both pull

your masks on and portal to the other dimension.

When you make it in, you lean off the side of the building and scan the area for any threats. It’s close to sunrise, judging by the color of the sky. Your spider sense tells you to get out of the way so you drop down and something bursts through the wall where you were resting moments before. A flash of red blue and glowing purple broke through the brick wall of the next building. You cringe. No wonder this spider needs backup—they’re getting their ass beat.

“Oh shit,” Wayne says.

You’re about to follow after them, when a second figure comes out through the hole in the building in a blur. That small glipse tells you enough. You’re dealing with two Prowlers.

“I’ll go through if you go up top,” he says.

You nod and thwip webs out of both your wrists and launch yourself over top of the buildings. Both the Prowlers are fast, but it’s easy to follow their path of destruction. You and Wayne finally catch up, and you see one Prowler, a man, holding back the arms of Spiderman, a classic red and blue Peter, while the second Prowler, a woman, is walking towards them with her claws out. You’ve never seen two villains working together like this before.

“Yo!” Wayne calls out.

Both Prowlers look up, eyes narrow, and you feel a chill go down your spine. Something about the Prowler makes you feel uneasy, and now you have to deal with two of them. They look at each other so you decide to make your move.

“I got left,” you tell Wayne, going after the female Prowler.

When you reach her, she grabs you by the arm and slams you into the rubble covered ground. She’s strong. Strong enough so you’re concerned about how this fight is going to end.

“So you from around here?” you ask, starting to sit up.

“Shut up,” she growls in her distorted voice. “I’m going to destroy you.”

She goes to punch you in the head, and you roll out of the way, standing in the same fluid movement. The Prowler fights with her claws out, and you narrowly miss getting your throat sliced open more than a few times. She tears through every web you shoot at her, so you decide to create some distance. When you’re in the air, you realize that Wayne and the other Prowler are long gone. Spiderman is on the ground, but he’s alive.

You make it to the top of a building and you jump backwards off of it, diving with your back towards the ground. The Prowler launches herself after you, but she glitches, giving you the opportunity to shoot a sticky mass of webs onto her face with one hand and use the other to anchor yourself back to the building so you can swing back around in an arc and slam her into the ground from above, pinning her by her wrists. She struggles hard, but you manage to hold her arms together and tie them up with webs, making sure she can’t slice through them. Once she’s restrained, you tie her up fully and send her to the go home machine.

Once she’s gone, you check on Spiderman.

“You good man?” you ask, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Yeah… I’m good,” he says, taking your hand and standing. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna make it though.”

He looks like he’s about to pass out.

“You should probably get yourself checked out man,” you say. “We can handle the rest.”

He nods and opens up a portal and leaves you to call Wayne on your watch. “You good bro?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Cops should be on their way. Is the other guy okay?”

“He’s fine. He had to go to the infirmary but I think he’ll be fine.”

“Aight, I’m coming over.”

Wayne swings between two buildings on your right and lands next to you.

“You send the other Prowler to the go home machine?” he asks.

“Yeah. She literally almost killed me though. If she wasn’t glitching so much I would’ve gotten fucked up.”

“Shit,” he says.

He holds out his fist. You give him a fist bump and you go your separate ways. He has time off, while you’re still on duty but technically free to go wherever you want. You decide to go back to your own universe to make sure everything’s in order.

As you patrol the city, you realize you’re in a good mood, which hasn’t happened in awhile. You made a connection today. A new friend.

[fayedouglas]

The Necromancer

No one really prepares you for funeral planning. After my dad passed, suddenly I had to think about flower arrangements and catering and the wake and the funeral, and I wasn't even sure I could afford any of it. I was just out of college in a dead-end data entry position, punching in numbers at a time of night the sun didn’t dare touch, eating white rice with half frozen peas in, and doing nothing with my degree. I was not in a position to deal with his passing, monetarily or emotionally.

My mom died years ago and my grandmother dealt with the whole affair, keeping me and my dad’s “grubby hands” away from her perfect girl. She’s not around anymore. Thank god. But, with her gone, I was running out of options for the funeral.

Now, I’ve always listened to my dad when he told me to “stay the fuck away from that creepy voodoo shit.” He always said that black magicians were a bunch of frauds after a quick dime, but necromancy just seemed cheaper. The guy didn’t even want that much money; he was certainly asking less than any funeral home was. Even if he was really a hack, the chance to see dad again, alive and breathing, well, it wasn’t really a choice.

The necromancer told me that the sacrifice of my father’s favorite things was necessary to keep his soul tied to the mortal plane. Artifacts is the word he actually chose. As though fancy words made basically pawning my dad’s stuff any better. I protested at first, who wouldn’t? I was beginning to think my dad was right, and I told him that as I turned to leave.

“Did you know,” he began, soft words cutting through the tense air in the room, “that the souls of the happily deceased have a very limited time before they move on forever?” A grin stretched across his face, “And I have it on good authority that your father was quite the happy soul.”

I don’t clearly remember the rest of the conversation. His words bounced around my head. This was my last chance. My only chance. I never really had any other choice. I vaguely recall shaking his hand, it was clammy and feverish. Guiding me out the door, he said it was what my dad would have wanted.

I didn’t cry after my dad died. And, as long as the necromancer’s spell held, I would never need to. I nearly broke that oath when the necromancer brought dad home for the first time. He was, understandably, confused and more than a little angry with me. Even pinned under his pointed gaze as he lectured me, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. It’d been so long since I’d seen my dad like this. I didn’t think I’d ever miss being yelled at, but there’s a lot we don’t anticipate missing. After all, sometimes I still miss my mother.

The sacrifices start slowly, according to the necromancer. It still seems like a lot. Once a week I give one of my dad’s things to the necromancer. Just my dad’s favorite shirt, or one of his paintings. Anything that he had attachment to.

Dad loved painting. It was practically all he lived for, so I have a few to spare. My mother always thought he was wasting his life away, and bemoaned marrying a starving artist. I vehemently disagree. His paintings have this ecstatic, vibrant energy to them, a piece of his own heart stitched into the very canvas. Not literally, of course. That was more of mom’s thing. He never sold any of his paintings. I’d ask him why, and he’d always laugh, say people just didn’t appreciate real art, and change the subject. I know he never tried to sell any paintings though. I don’t think he could bear to part with them. He was kind of a crummy artist, from the whole money standpoint, anyway. Then again, so am I, I’m not even using my bloody degree.

As I hand the necromancer an oil painting from my dad’s twenties, a night sky with bright, stark stars, my dad’s skin, sunken in from barely staved off rot, fills in. His sickly pallor vanishes under warm flushed skin, blood pumping through his veins for another week. A light returns to his eyes, one I hadn’t even noticed was gone.

One sacrifice a week wasn’t enough anymore. Dad kept on spacing out mid sentence, his skin losing all of its color, muscles stiffening in place. He would stay like that until I could find something to sacrifice. I’m running out of paintings. I gave up his library, everything from trashy romance to textbooks. Dad’s degree, now an empty space on the wall. Family photos, gone. Almost everything that my dad had ever touched had been given to the necromancer. With him home, we painted together a lot. I missed painting with my dad, after he passed. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I gave away the paint a few days ago.

We’re in the car, sitting in traffic, talking about the weather or something equally mundane when dad cuts off mid sentence. He paws at his throat, a death rattle on his lips, looking at me with panicked eyes. His skin, which had been sickly and sunken the past few days, turns ashy. I pull over, frantic despite having gone through this routine countless times.

“It’s okay dad, we’ll go back to the house and get you fixed up.”

Panicking even harder at my words, Dad forces out a whimpered “no, please,” as he shakes his head. Then he's frozen. He looks almost like a mummy like this. Skin hanging loosely from his frame, eyes bulging, and an expression of fear I’ve never seen my father’s face twisted into. Looking now, it's hard to believe that this thing was ever my dad.

When I get to the necromancer’s door, hand posed to knock, I find myself unable to move. Like my dad had so many times before, I freeze stiff as a board standing on the stoop. The image of my father’s terrified face is burned into my mind. I can’t do this to him anymore. That mummy, that empty husk sitting in my car is not my father. He hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe the person I brought back never was him. Then, I blink, lower my arm, and walk back to my car. On my way home, I cried. What if I ruined whatever was left of him?

I thought I had given away all of the paintings in the house, but I found one last painting hidden under my dad’s bed. It was a self portrait. He hated painting himself, but we had so many paintings of the rest of the family in the house that I had demanded he paint himself. I didn’t think that he actually listened to me.

Part of me wants to rush to the necromancer again, to have a precious few moments with my dad again, but I know that isn’t what he wants. This whole thing was never what he wanted. The tighter I hold him, the more he slips through my fingers.

[shallowbreaths]

She was an artist like my mother. She was good, and I loved talking to them both about art. I’m NOT an artist! But I have learned life changing concepts from art. Such as, artists rely on shading in order to make things look real. They don’t call it shading though, it’s referred to as “value”. I had long hated my darkness, but through them I learned it’s what made me real. It’s what defined my curves and contours.

Our last conversation was rough. She was hurt and I was wrong. It’s hard communicating in a loving tone when you’re hurt, but she managed because that’s who she is. It’s hard to listen when you know you are the villain of the tale. To know that you’re just one more in a line of people that have used, hurt, and disappointed her. The guilt and shame of it… that’s a private pain that no one less than God would truly understand. That brings me to “perspective”. I thought I saw things clearly, and perhaps I did, but I was standing in a place I didn’t belong and I was focused on things I shouldn’t have been focused on. Everything else began to blur as I tried to make my bad choices seem like good ones.

That conversation was painful. It’s stuck with me, and now I look back on what I did and I shake my head and wonder what was wrong with me! I actually know now. I get it, and I’m not saying I wasn’t dead wrong because I was, but at least now I get it. Over time people get into habits and ruts and we develop narratives and beliefs, and the next thing you know, the relationship that was once great is now damaged or even broken. It happens to every relationship that isn’t diligently working on the relationship regularly. You start to feel unappreciated, or unloved, sometimes even hated or useless. Look at the sheer number of marriages that end in divorce, or the ones that don’t end but probably should have.

I was focused on the entirely wrong things. My perspective seemed to slip a couple of degrees regularly until one day I realized I was looking the entirely wrong direction. If I had ever, just once, put myself in their position and imagined what I was doing from their perspective then I suppose I never would have been able to do it without seeing I was a bad guy. This way I was able to think I was learning and growing and getting better even as I did the opposite. I have an entirely different “emotional perspective” now. My world is different. Once again in large part to her. She has saved me yet again. I have learned volumes from her and now that my perspective is different so are my memories. They’ve taken on new tones.

I’m so grateful for her. I’m grateful that she was there when literally no one was. I’m grateful that she was so comfortable in speaking her mind and her willingness to put me in check. I’m grateful that she went to a lot of trouble to redefine the word “love” for me, because I see it now and it’s the most beautiful thing ever. I’m grateful that she spoke her mind before leaving. I’m grateful that she didn’t try to hurt me back because I would have opened my veins had she requested it that night. I’m just grateful for how she irrevocably changed me for the better. I hope she’s happy. I hope my idiocy passed from her like a fading dream and that she’s perfectly herself.

This song is wonderful. This really is what I’d want to say to her mostly. I wouldn’t want to defend myself. Not that she’d want anything to do with me, but this is what I’d want her to know if she asked. Then she should know that I’m eternally grateful to her and for her. She is the greatest of masterpieces, and like all great art, I am different for having experienced her.

[emmebearpaw]

Preface: Oops this one might be a little... sad? I can't define the emotion on this post other than generally bad. We all have bad late night takes. Do you ever think about how you identify doesn't really matter. I mean, it sorta does, if you can project your identity with enough confidence and volume to persuade the people around you to agree, than it does. But on the other hand. While I have the agender flag in my profile picture and am vague with my gender online, I don't really try in real life. This is because my ideal gender is not even considering my gender. If I have learned anything through my exploration is that I am generally happier when I sweep it under the rug, and to hide the things that most obviously remind me of my gender when I am feeling, what I hope I can describe as dysphoria. And thus in person, every time I am faced with an option to pick my gender on a form, to consider whether to enter my agab bathroom or, if they have one, the gender neutral toilet, I have to consider a series of questions. 1) Will this raise any questions? Will anyone ask what that means. Will they ask me what my preferred pronouns are? 2) Do I have to see any of the people around me ever again? Is this form anonymous? I know I should also consider my safety in this step, I usually don't even get to it 3) Do I care enough to bother with the questions.

The answer to 3 is usually no. And so I am, in real life, essentially just my agab. I've told, maybe half a dozen people. More people could know through discord but they never seem to bring it up. And like, that one is of course, easier for me. Not even getting into the debate of if I would consider myself trans or nonbinary, gnc, genderqueer, etc (no, sometimes, no, no), not being perceived as trans, or essentially not being trans gives me the privilege of being safer and passing through life easier. On the other hand, I don't consider myself neurodivergent. My best friend, who is a psychology major literally hoping to specialize in the learning difference we both were diagnosed with as children does. To her, I am neurodivergent. It's sort of a joke between us. Sometimes it doesn't feel like a joke to me as I tell it though. Other times it is though. I don't do research on if I'm neurodivergent any more. I figured by my 3rd deep dive into if I'm autistic that even if I was, I wasn't autistic enough for it to matter. Which is, probably ableist of me. If someone came up to me who kept piles of toys on their desk to play with while on the computer, who sang not just to produce music but to rattle their brain and then fill it with lyrics to shake around, who got a little too loud when they got excited, who got scolded when they were 6 for just walking away from conversations when they were done talking, who walked on their toes sometimes for no clear reason, and walked to the beat of songs playing only within their own head... I see why people ask. I see why people joke about me being kinda weird. To some people I do read as neurodivergent, but I agree with the majority in this case, the thing I am diagnosed with does not make me neurodivergent, and I'm not diagnosed with anything else. Even more "concrete" and "definable" things about me are flexible. If you can't see someone, how would you know if they are tall or short. Am I tall or short? I of course can measure my height. But you can't. What color is my hair? If you have had your hair dyed the entire time you have known someone they may not know you are actually a brunette and not blonde. Someone decides to start wearing contacts and everyone around them is weird out by it, despite the person ling how they look without glasses better. If I do not effectively signal that I am gay (which I don't tbh), then I am effectively not gay, despite my thought on the manner. If I don't voice my opinion on my favorite candy to my friends, they presume I like sour candies and buy me some for halloween, but its not. Anyways I kinda lost my point. Just remember that you don't get full control over your identity. You are just an informant of facts and its up for other people to interpret you how they see fit.