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stevebabey · 2 years

Text

somewhere only we know

a/n: i accidentally made this so long & ran with the request in whatever way my heart desired! hope this is enuf hurt/comfort for all ur needs <3 word count: 5.6k summary: You haven’t seen Steve in a few weeks, barely a couple phone-calls keeping your relationship beating. You assume the worst. Steve does his best to make it up to you. [hurt/comfort + miscommunication + established relationship]

It’s hard to not think he’s avoiding you.

Steve never seemed the type of boyfriend who would be foolish enough to ice you out without so much as a word about something being wrong. He wears his heart on his sleeve — more than anyone you know.

You’d also like to think you would know. That by now, all these months together, you’ve would’ve somewhat memorised the twists and turns of his emotions. But if he’s dropped any clues about being upset with you, you certainly hadn’t picked up on them.

You think you’d prefer his iciness to this odd avoidance.

It has to be that he’s upset, you reason. You would prefer he’s upset; that’s fixable, doable, and completely normal for a couple. The alternative is harsh, a cruel thread of insecure thoughts; perhaps Steve has suddenly decided he doesn’t have time for you.

And it’s a lot harder to pretend that thought doesn’t sting terribly.

And look, you pride yourself on being a logical person. You’re not jumping to conclusions and you aren’t overreacting — at least, you really hope you aren’t. The suspicions aren’t unfounded. It doesn’t stop you from feeling a bit too unstitched, like an obsessed girlfriend who keeps too close tabs on her boyfriend.

Maybe it only feels that way because Steve isn’t checking up on you as much as he used to. The healthy two-way road you both shared has suddenly become, agonizingly, one-way.

You’ve been trying not to count the days apart, nor note the shortness of the calls — just a couple weeks ago, he was talking your ear off and rounding up the phone bill, so what happened? It follows you around, a soft weight that presses your shoulders down, til it leaks in every second thought like a sleepy poison.

You don’t want to be jealous. You don’t want to be clingy.

It’s criminal how you don’t know that Steve would love nothing more.

When it gets to one week without seeing him, some of the worry transforms. You let it turn you away from him, some part deep inside that doesn’t want to get hurt putting up the defenses early, just in case, and you throw yourself into work. Worry about trivial things in your everyday life instead of about him. You give him his space.

One week becomes two.

You’re not sure what mixture of feelings bubbles up when he calls on Tuesday morning. It feels like resentment, which you desperately shove down — combined with relief, with happiness, to be hearing his voice again. Even if it’s just down the phone line.

“Hi Stevie,” you say into the phone, the affectionate name slipping out, pure habit.

Your grin, an instant result of hearing his voice, fades a bit. You remind yourself to rein in it, an echo of thought that you’re too clingy forcing its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Hi, angel.” He coos back over the line, melting at the sound of your voice. It’s been too long since he’s seen you — he practically sags against the wall, gripping the phone tighter as if it’ll bring you closer to him.

It’s been hectic. He’s been training the new hire at work, since Robin back at school, all while hustling to get in his application for the local community college. On top of that, he’s trying to wrangle the moving details of the new apartment he finally managed to get his name down on.

Hectic feels like the understatement of the century to Steve.

He could tell you — and god, Steve really wants to. But a bigger part of him wants to see the surprise when you realise he’ll have a place that’s all his. No more sneaking through windows or quiet kisses interrupted by someone getting up in the night; an uninterrupted space for his love. Somewhere only the two of you get to know.

He ignores the part of his heart that wants to ask you, sometime in the future, not just yet, to come with him. To make his place yours as well.

For now, it’s all about the surprise. He’d planned it from the beginning, since the moment the keys to the apartment had been pressed into his palm. Steve wanted to treat you, to some swanky candlelit dinner for Friday date night, roses at the door, the whole nine yards, instead of a usual movie date.

The pet name softens you. Something inside eases and you wonder if have been being dramatic — he doesn’t seem different, seemingly unaware of the distance. Hearing his voice makes you miss him all that much more.

“How’s your morning been, huh?” He asks. He could ask how your last couple weeks have been considering how long it’s been since he’s found time to come to see you. He gnaws at his lip, trying to ignore the ache in his heart, and hopes it’ll be worth it.

“It’s been good! I mean as good as-“

A knock sounds at Steve’s front door and he curses, interrupting your reply. You pause, waiting to hear why he’s interrupted.

“Shit, I’m so sorry I’ve gotta— there’s someone at the door.”

Your throat tightens uncomfortably and you swallow it down, praying it won’t come out when you speak. Your voice is thankfully even when you say, “That’s alright. Go get it, just- just call me back later, yeah?”

“Later, definitely,” Steve promises, feeling terrible for having to hang up on the first conversation he’s had with you in too long. What kind of boyfriend is he? He has half a mind to ignore the door, just to keep talking to you — but the knock comes again, more insistent.

If it’s Henderson, Steve swears he’s gonna kick his ass.

“I love you.” His voice says down the line, voice sweet and it’s still enough to kick your heart into a flurry. You feel a bit more settled hearing it and grin, even though he can’t see it.

“I love you too.”

It’s not Dustin at the door— it’s Eddie, flaunting a grin and a gesture to his rust bucket of a van parked in Steve’s drive. Both are here at Steve’s request. Taking all his boxes in the beemer would ensure more than a dozen trips across town. And even with all his excitement to be out of the Harrington house, Steve’s sure it would take all but three trips to tire him out.

Eddie’s a bit early, a far cry from his usual tardiness, and Steve curses his sudden change of habit, today of all days. He tells Eddie as much as he tapes up the last of his open boxes.

Eddie, ever the charmer, let’s Steve direct what to grab and what to leave without much lip, much to Steve’s relief. They talk, a light banter thrown between them, and Eddie asks all the right questions; When’s the first party? What courses is he taking? What lewd favour does he have to do for Steve to let him host DnD there on occasion?

By the time the last box is in the car, Steve shoving Eddie for the mere suggestion — “you can host if you ask like a normal person, dude.” — the phone call is long forgotten.

It’s not his fault, not really. There’s a special frenzy in filling the hardwood floors of his cramped new kitchen with boxes of his stuff, a euphoric buzz that only comes with molding a new space into a home.

By the time he’s unpacked what little he owns into the space — the kitchen only has one pan, two mugs, both gifted to him by Dustin on separate Christmas’, and one or two plates he thought his parents wouldn’t notice missing — it’s late.

The only piece of furniture in the place is some shitty couch he and Robin had dragged off the sidewalk the day before. It’s a bit gross but not so much that he could refuse something free.

Steve sinks into it, drinking in the sight of the empty boxes strewn around his new apartment. Something in his heart glitters happily. For the first time since Eddie showed up at his door, Steve finally relaxes.

It’s 11.41pm and all he wishes is that you were with him.

The phonecall.

Just as quickly as it slipped his mind, Steve remembers it. The memory of it sinks into his stomach heavily and quickly, punching out a breath. His insides twist up with blackened regret as Steve thinks back to how many hours ago he’d promised to call you back. His eyes flash to the watch on his wrist.

He deflates a bit, seeing how late it is. Even though he would — he’d call you at 2am, hell, whenever you asked him to, just to talk — Steve won’t wake your whole family just to apologise.

Shit, he thinks softly and screws his eyes closed for a moment. There was no telling what reaction you’d have, given he’d accidentally blown you off like you were some one-time date, not his girlfriend — hot anger or maybe, icy silent treatment. Nancy had done that to him once; her jaw tight and narrowed eyes giving away her anger even though she insisted I’m fine, Steve, so just drop it.

It’s made all the worse considering he hasn’t seen you in a couple of weeks. Regret feasts in his gut. All of a sudden, keeping all this moving a secret seems colossally dumb. Steve knows you would’ve jumped at the chance to help him move.

It’s an anguishing thought to imagine — the fact the two of you could’ve been unboxing this next chapter together. You’d work up a sweat from the exertion of moving boxes, random fly-aways sticking up and god, Steve would think you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And then he would’ve coaxed you down to the couch with his kisses til he was sure you knew it too.

If he wasn’t so set on surprising you, maybe instead you’d be here with him now, nestled in his arms.

Instead, Steve’s alone and you’re across town thinking god knows what about him.

A groan fights its way out of Steve’s throat, dozens of thoughts spinning off each other on how to fix this. How can he make it up to you and make sure you knew he was still thinking of always.

But sleep had to come first.

—

You’d never admit out loud how long you waited for the phone to ring.

After a certain amount of silence, you’d slowly bled back into your jobs around the house, never straying too far from the phone. You’re not sure what it is that fizzes under your skin but the longer the phone stays quiet, the more it stings. The distance between you and Steve feels yawning.

It rings, only once, and you leap for it — only to get your heart gets washed down the drain at the voice of one of your mother’s friends.

It makes getting up for your Wednesday morning shift seems an impossible feat.

He likely got busy, you have to remind yourself painfully. The Steve you knew would never, never purposefully leave you hanging. You hate the thought that pings into your brain, wondering if there really was anyone at the door. That he told you so he could escape the conversation quicker because he was avoiding you.

That, perhaps, this wasn’t your Steve anymore.

You have to repeat he called you to yourself firmly, trying to drown out the self-doubt. It doesn’t work.

It feels like something final has been decided by Steve and you’ve been left in the dark, grasping at straws. You can’t help but believe that the worst has been confirmed, that Steve doesn’t have time for you anymore. You feel grossly over-attached to him now and know that if you have to pull away, each thread connecting you to him will pull and hurt.

His phone call, Wednesday afternoon, right when Steve knows you’ll be home, doesn’t ease you much.

“I‘m—” He sucks in a huge breath, loud enough you can hear it over the phone. “—so unbelievably sorry that I forgot to call you back. Honest, I promise I had a really good reason to get distracted. I’m so so sorry, It won’t happen again, I swear, scout’s honour.”

The rambling words, tinged with nervousness, manage to persuade a smile out of you. The relief that washes over you feels charged, a bit overwhelming, so much that you can’t keep your voice even when you respond.

“That’s okay.” You say a little weaker than you intend.

It makes the regret in Steve’s gut twist up a little tighter. It’s gut-wrenching to consider another reaction, that maybe you’re not angry with him but upset. Steve thinks that this is decisively worse.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I—I’m really sorry.” He insists again, despair leaking into the words. He presses the phone closer. “Please let me make it up to you?”

“Sure.” You say, aiming for nonchalant but the word comes out too tight in your throat. Cursing yourself, you barrel on in hopes to keep Steve talking. You don’t really want to give away how much his distance has affected you. “What was it that distracted you, hm?”

“About that.” Steve chuckles light, beginning to feel his excitement wind up at the prospect of showing you the new place.

The original plan to wait til Friday, to do the proper date, is canned. The giddiness of his new place can’t be contained and there was no one he’d rather share it with than you. And fuck, he misses you.

It had been the last thing he had decided before drifting off to sleep, one of his last nights in his parents’ home. Rain or shine, whether you were angry or not, Steve needed to see you tomorrow.

“Are you free?” He asks, even though he knows you are. By Wednesday afternoon, you’re always free because he usually swings by and takes you out for shakes.

Eyes screwing shut, Steve holds in a wince at the realisation he’d missed that tradition with you for the last two weeks.

And you hadn’t mentioned a word to him.

His heart tears at the thought of you waiting on your doorstep like usual, while he’d been too preoccupied to even remember. He doesn’t want to think about how long it took you to realise he wasn’t coming.

“Can I come see you?” The words burst out before you’ve even answered his first question. It doesn’t matter — seeing you, feeling your touch again, and getting to deliver every kiss he’s saved over the past week takes top priority in his mind. “I promise I’ll—“

Steve thinks he might be cursed because this is the second time he’s been interrupted on the phone with you. This time, however, it’s a very specific hum of a car pulling in the drive; the engine sounding far too smooth to be Eddie’s.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Steve whips around to peer out at the drive. A stone drops into his stomach at the sight. Beside his BMW, his parent’s car is parked in the usually vacant spot. Fuck.

They had told him they’d be gone a whole extra week and Steve had wanted to be out before they returned — to have everything he needed at the new place before his father decided he needed a lecture and a friendly rough-around on the way out as well.

“Steve?” Your voice warbles out the phone, pulled back from his ear. Steve jumps to attention, remembering himself.

“Baby,” he breathes into the phone, suddenly broken from his prolonged silence. You’re a bit concerned at this point, between his sudden cut-off and now hurried voice. “I- fuck, I have to go. I swear this—”

He groans, pent-up frustration leaking in as he hears the lock enter the front door, announcing his parents’ arrival.

How can he explain all this in the five seconds of privacy before his parents burst his bubble? Steve’s parents didn’t even know about you; dating was strictly a business prospect in the Harrington House. Steve had known from the beginning they would’ve never approved of you.

“Um, okay.” You sound a bit stiff and too casual. “That’s- that’s fine.”

“Please believe me,” He rushes out, eyes fixed on the front door as it opens. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t absolutely have to.”

It doesn’t matter if they grill them about who’s on the phone, Steve needs to say i love you. Needs to hear it back.

Silence. No response from you. He’s talking to the dial tone.

—

Your head is a storm.

Conflict rages wildly, a heavy thunder that might be your heartbeat — your anxiety has kicked it up a couple beats — and flashes of lightning, striking terrible thoughts, all contained within your head.

The fact Steve was the one to call you is too weak to keep your head straight. It hurts pathetically, to think you’ve been forgotten. Neglected by someone you hold in the highest regard — and he hadn’t even been able to tell you why. Another phone call where he’s clearly got more important things on his hands.

You didn’t want to hang up on him, not before the usual i love you’s; but if you had waited, then he would have heard how watery it was. Heard the quiver in your voice. And he’d drop everything, all his obviously very important plans, to come see you.

You don’t want him to come over because he’s made you cry — you want him to come over because he wants to see you.

It’s such a simple ask. The fact you think he’d deny you it, too busy, feels heavier than you’d ever imagined. Your pillowcase becomes well acquainted with the taste of your tears as you bury yourself under covers, trying desperately to keep your heart intact.

What happened to your clingy, always touchy, forever wanting you around, boyfriend? It aches to think that that chapter of your relationship may have passed.

Tiredness overtakes your misery at some point, drifting you off into fitful sleep that doesn’t provide any rest.

You’re drawn out of it a few hours later, soft touches that feel like Steve because you’ve felt them dozens of times before, memorised without thought — but Steve is busy or avoiding you, or some third worse thing you don’t want to consider. You shiver off the ghosting pressure in your hair.

A murmur of your name.

The touch of his palm, pressed against your hairline, startles you a bit when you realise it’s real. Your eyes pop open in your surprise, taken aback to find Steve before you. He’s here.

Crouched by the bed, his hand pushes the strands of your hair back from your face with a gentle touch. He looks as upset as you feel, brows scrunched together in the middle— a frown pulls his lips down, eyes glistening with hurt. He’s upset to see you upset.

“Hi.” He whispers, all soft.

It’s dark out now. Hazarding a guess, you’d say you’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, aided by your exhaustion from crying. You can feel it, eyes stiff and nose still sniffly. It feels pathetic and so you roll in on yourself, tucking your face into your pillow for a moment.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, to gather words to speak to him without falling back to tears and asking outright why he doesn’t like you anymore. Steve’s hand, still stroking soft as ever, coaxes your face out of hiding, his thumb dipping to press warmth along your temple.

“What—“ It comes out too scratchy and you clear your throat. Steve’s hand still soothes your skin, thumb light and loving. “What’re you doing here?”

You don’t need to ask how he got in— Steve’s come in through the window enough times that the movements are all muscle memory. He chews his cheek in deliberation: where to start?

You’ve obviously been crying, a heart-wrenching fact that turns all the more foul considering Steve knows it’s because of him. Maybe even worse is remembering the conversations that had been clipped short, paired with his absence of the last couple weeks. He hasn’t been taking good care of you.

“Had to come see my girl, of course.” He says, low and sweet. His frown pulls up into a weak smile, fingers travelling down cup your face. His thumb catches the first tear that escapes, unbidden, and something alike to horror streams through his system.

“Sweetheart,” he dotes, emotion clinging tightly to his words — his thumb dutifully collects the next tear, as if it makes up the fact he’s caused them. “Wha—“

“Are we okay?”

You have to ask. You can’t handle another affection-soaked word out his lips if there’s still a possibility it may be the last time he’ll give them to you. Your heart aches unbearingly to ask, to even suggest the idea alone and tempt fate, but you have to know.

Steve’s eyes widen, lips parting and for a moment, he’s shocked into silence. It’s like each nerve alights in his body, a flush of physical pain at the mere suggestion you’re making.

You think the time apart is purposeful. Shame follows, scattered scolding thoughts at his carelessness for ever letting you think so. You won’t even look at him, eyes trained on the sheets.

He faintly recalls being on the other end of this treatment; when Nancy had run around chasing monsters and left him to wonder why she’d decided to leave him out all of sudden. Like Steve, she’d had a perfectly good reason to do so — and yet seeing you like this still unravels the stitching of his heart which falls apart pitifully in his chest.

Every pet name soars to his mind but instead, he just says your name.

You still don’t meet his eye. As gently as he can, Steve lets his fingers drift to your chin and coax your attention to him. Steve’s forever been about touch, he can think of a thousand different ways to apologise with a brush, a caress, a kiss — far better than he’s ever been at words. He leans in, slow and meaningful.

If you were upset normally Steve would wait, hover, and let you decide whether he’s allowed to steal a kiss. But right now you don’t need his hesitance, you need this; the sweet press of his lips that leaves no room for thinking anything else.

It’s weakening tender. You let the curve of his bottom lip come home to its place between yours.

He kisses you strong, so the fervor in his affection can’t be denied, to banish every thought that lead to your question of are we okay? All his pent-up kisses of the last weeks, all promised to you.

“Yes,” he breathes as he pulls back, still close enough to feel the heat of him. Steve watches your lashes flutter, eyes dance around his face, and settle on his own. “Please don’t ever think we aren’t.”

He kisses you once more and when you chase his mouth, he grants you another gladly, without thought. His lips graze up your face, a warm kiss to your cheek, to your nose, and a final one dropped onto your forehead.

“I’m sorry you thought we weren’t.” He murmurs into your hair. He’s all but encased you — nothing exists but the duvet and Steve before you, hands in your hair, lips on your skin, the scent of him curls comfortingly into your senses.

“I’ll forgive you if you come cuddle.” You grumble with a smile, happy to let yourself lean into his hand, soaking in the closeness. It’s not entirely true — you want answers, to know what has been eating up his time. But being in his arms, a hold you’ve missed for weeks now, will sate you if only for a bit.

Steve breaks into a smile at your words, eyes darting to your window momentarily. He licks his lips.

“Actually, I was hoping to show you something.” Steve suggests though it’s more a question than an insistence. “Show you what’s been keeping me from my girl.”

If you had said no, shook your head, or even just pulled back the duvet, Steve would’ve shucked off his jacket and had you bundled in his arms in an instant. He can see the ticking of your brain, eyes weighing up the tiredness alongside the curiosity of what’s kept your boyfriend from you.

Something in his poorly contained excitement, bottom lip cherry red from him he bites it, sways you.

“Okay.” You mumble, still softly spoken. You nod your head lightly, eyes scanning over his face to drink in the fondness you’ve craved for weeks. “Yeah, s’just wanna be with you right now.”

Your words manage to soften him even more, a ripple that melts through him. Torn between elation at the love and devastation that he’d been the one to keep you both apart for too long.

His thumb sweeps across your cheek once more, crowding back in to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring his next words into the skin. “Course, honey. C’mon, lemme show you. Promise it’s worth it.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, strong and sure. The small time apart seems to spur you both closer, giggles spilling as you both clamber back out your window, Steve’s hands never parting from yours. The grass is cool against your ankles as you scramble out, stumbling into his chest when you lose your balance — relishing in how it only makes him tug you in tighter.

Even as Steve starts up the car, golden headlights illuminating the empty road, he only untwists his fingers long enough to put the car into gear. There’s nothing but the grumble of the engine, streetlights flashing past, and the cool leather seat beneath you.

At each turn, Steve lifts your hand and kisses along your knuckles, soft and warm. You think he’s still apologising. His eyes seem to be asking for forgiveness, glittering in the dark.

When your hands land back on your lap, this time you’re the one to lift them and brush a kiss along his hand. I forgive you. His grip tightens in your hand.

You’re not sure where you’re heading, too focused on your boyfriend to take note of the route — and it still doesn’t click even when Steve parks outside one of the downtown apartment buildings.

It all feels so juvenile, like giddy teenagers sneaking out, letting Steve pull you across the empty night-time streets with a giggle. The wind wraps around your bare legs, crisp and cool. You hadn’t changed before you’d both left.

It’s only when he spins his key ring around deftly, searching for a specific key, does something slide into place in your mind. Your eyes stare up at the building ahead, then at the keys on Steve’s key ring; he seems to be watching you in his peripheral, waiting for the shoe to drop. He’s smiling.

“Did you...?” You gasp quietly.

Eyes wide, you stare up at Steve and can’t finish your sentence. Your heart trips over itself in its excitement as you finally figure it out. Steve’s grinning now, only taking his eyes off you to insert the lock in the door to the building; he can tell you’ve figured it out now.

The lock makes a clunk as he twists the key, unlocking it. It feels like so much more than opening a door — it feels something akin to unraveling a thousand potential futures, all with you and Steve together in them. Everything about his absence makes sense, a jarring shift in perspective as you realise what he’s been doing all this time.

“What floor?” You ask, sounding a bit breathless already in your excitement. Steve pushes the door to the lobby open, holding it for you to pass through. There’s an elevator but you book for the stairs, clutching his hand the whole time. The lobby door snicks shut behind you, unheard.

Your footsteps clatter loudly, likely waking a few residents, but you can’t find it within you to care. Your thighs burn by the time you reach the top of the first set of stairs and whip around, finding Steve’s adoring grin following you. His hair is a little mussed from the rush.

He nods to the next staircase, fingers squeezing yours excitedly. “One more.”

Steve’s never been happier to let you drag him around, your excitement palpable in the energy of your run. It’s a far cry from your sleepy state earlier.

When you reach the top of the stairs, Steve takes the lead and your flurry of laughter follows him all the way to his new door. The pair of you crowd against it, tangles of arms and lips because you’ve suddenly decided it’s criminal to not kiss him right now.

It’s messy and rushed. You’re back is pressed against the door and Steve kisses you til your knees are weak, hot and hard, even as he tries to wiggle the lock open.

The moment it’s open, you both tumble in a clatter. You kick off your shoes and leave them at the door, spinning to drink in his new place. It’s barren, just a couch, not even a coffee table. You decide it’s already your favourite in the world.

Steve lets you go, watching as you zoom around the space, sliding into the kitchen with a gleeful sound that is far too noisy for the hour.

You’re pulling at every cupboard, leaving a row of open cabinet doors — it doesn’t matter that the apartment isn’t anywhere new, each of them seems endlessly interesting to you. Steve decided he’s had enough of watching, toeing off his shoes and skidding into the kitchen.

His arms around your middle surprise you, some yelp of shock that immediately fizzles into more laughter when Steve picks you up. It’s a halfhearted spin, more to hold you than anything and before you can spin and kiss him like you so desperately want, he’s taking you both down the hall.

Positioning you both in front of a door, Steve pauses. You think you know what door this is. A kiss on your temple. Another on your shoulder, one on your neck. He leaves his face there, nuzzled in closer, and gestures to the door with a jerk of his chin.

“Open it.” He murmurs, between another round of scattered kisses. Like it’s your new bedroom, not his.

Like the rest of the apartment, it’s more empty than not. A poorly made-up mattress against the back wall, beneath the window, and a few bags of clothes scattered throughout the room. You can recognise the forest green duvet cover on the mattress, familiar sheets.

It still smells like Steve when you bury yourself in them, Steve falling down beside you not a moment later. You relish in it all, being surrounded by all things Steve. You’ve missed it all in the weeks apart.

“You’ve certainly been busy.” You mean it as a tease— the fact he’s managed to wrangle down an apartment along with his job and organising college, it’s no wonder he hadn’t found time to see you.

Seeing how his grin dims, eyes drooping, you have no doubt it’s been weighing on him too. “Again, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. That last phone call—“

He sighs, rolling away from you and pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. A groan rumbles out as he drags them down his face, remembering how you’d hung up on him just earlier today.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you hush him, dragging away his hands to cup his face with your own. His face still holds conflict, the tale of his day unwinding off his tongue before he can think.

“My parents came home early.” He admits, a bit weak. “I was trying to get everything out before they came back— you know how, uh, how they would’ve taken it.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched, just for a moment before he continues. “Eddie had just left to take the mattress over and I called you but that’s when… Well, that’s why we’re just on a mattress on the ground.”

Your light laughter hoists Steve’s mood upwards, feeling himself smile as he watches you beside him on the sheets. You shuffle closer, draping yourself across him so your cheek lays against his chest.

“We can get you a new bed frame.” You say like the prospect is more exciting than it is annoying. Steve adores how you say we — that you’ll come with him, pick things out for this next part of his life. Intertwine into the things he owns now, as well as in his heart.

“I’m sorry for hanging up on you earlier.” You breathe a little softer, and then as if it’s just delayed from the call, you say, “I love you.”

Some part of him that Steve can’t ever seem to shake sighs in relief. Today is not a bad day at all. You’re here, in his arms, in his new place and you love him still.

“I love you too.” Steve hums, arms pulling tighter around you. “And I’m sorry for making you worry.”

When you look up at him, really look, his eyes are shining. His shirt is rumpled, hair ruffled from your tangle onto the bed and he looks utterly beautiful. It just won’t do. You shift upwards and when you kiss him, it’s hard and fiercely loving. Too much saved affection coming out in one go.

Steve sighs happily against your lips, arms tightening and when you break apart, Steve nearly asks then and there. Come with me. Make this our bedroom instead of just mine. We’ll make this somewhere only we know.

It’s not the time. Instead, he whispers his i love you’s onto your lips and when he spills all his half-baked plans for dates and the endless possibilities of the new space, when he promises to never worry you like that again — you’ve got no choice but to believe him.

His endless kisses won’t let you believe anything else anyways.

tags below!

@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf @televisionboy

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m00nsbaby · 9 months

Text

Sleepwalking. (Already over II)

Steven Grant ( + Marc Spector) x F! Reader.

First part: Already Over.

Next part: Clumsy.

Tags & warnings. Angst, like, just angst. Steven hurts his hand at the beggining so there's blood involved, Marc is kind of a... jerk.

Word count. 3.8k

Summary.

What a shame, what a shame, what a shame, It's all fun and games 'til you don't wanna play now. Run away, run away, run away, It's easy to say but it's harder to say now. You're onto something else, I'm a picture left on your shelf. The dream's a lie I tell myself Feel like I'm sleepwalking when you're gone.

The moment the bomb detonated was more horrible than Marc had imagined. Not only because of Steven, who in his mind was the worst of his problems, but because the moment you closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had taken his heart with you.

Marc collapsed on the floor, unable to cry, even if he wanted to. He wasn't like Steven; he couldn't just let it flow, but at this moment, it seemed more like he was in shock.

He wondered, did that really happen or am I just dreaming?

His body tensed for a few seconds; he closed his eyes tightly, and before he could protest, Steven had taken control of the body. He had struggled so hard to keep him in the shadows that his body felt exhausted, with a horrible burning sensation in his muscles.

"Marc?" he questioned out loud, still on the floor. "Marc? What did you do?"

There was no response, and he could only swallow hard as if it would help wash away the bad taste in his mouth.

"What did you do, Marc?" Sometimes the best part of having Steven was having a way to express his pain. By the third time he asked, his voice was already broken, his vision blurred by the tears that threatened to come out at any moment.

Finally, the other one had the courage to respond.

"L-Layla knows," was the only thing that sounded in the headspace.

"How am I going to fix this, Marc?" Memories of what happened just a few minutes ago came to him in flashes; he didn't have the whole conversation because Marc had forced him to stay in the shadows.

The mere image of your heartbroken gaze was enough to cause nightmares for the rest of his life, whether he managed to fix Marc's mistake or not.

"I don't care; I don't care about her!" He sobbed with anger coursing through him from head to toe. At this point, his pain seemed more physical than emotional. He felt exactly like that time when he was impaled multiple times in Cairo.

But worse. At that time, he had a suit to protect him. How would he deal with this now without anything to shield him?

"You can't go on like this, Steven, we can't…"

As if his body moved automatically, he headed for the nearest mirror, the one where you had sought him out for help. His hands stopped on the edge of the sink, and he stared fixedly at himself in the mirror.

Tears flowed freely, seeking to heal a wound the size of his chest.

"I hate you," he whispered with a voice shattered, Marc looked back at him trying to maintain his composure. The pain of a broken heart combined with his constant battle with pride; he would never admit that he might be wrong. "You ruined it, Marc, you ruined everything."

"I did? I ruined everything?" Marc's ironic laughter made his blood boil. "I told you a damn million times, Steven!" The screams made him startle, but he was determined to hide his weakness. He was finally ready to face him. "I told you to stay away from her; was it fair to snatch away the one thing I have?"

Steven's fist went straight to the mirror. He didn't break it, but he shattered the reflection of Marc into many small pieces, and his knuckles were bleeding in a matter of seconds.

"My life is made to support yours." When Steven's fixed gaze met his, Marc had time to question how they had come to this after supposedly fixing things. Was this also his entire fault? "And I understood it, I swear to God I did." Sometimes he had to pause to sniff through his nose. "All I've done is give everything for you, and you took away everything I had."

There was only silence from the other side of the mirror.

"You took her away from me, Marc." His voice gradually lowered; suddenly, he reverted to the old Steven, with a broken heart and his guard down. The one that made him think so much of his younger brother. "What do I have in life if it's not her?"

More silence. Of course, Steven was in the same predicament as him, clinging to something that brought them happiness.

The difference was that for him, it wasn't exactly Layla.

"We were happy with Layla." His broken voice was barely perceptible.

"You were happy." He looked at his fingers, as the blood continued to run through them. "You were happy with stability, happy hiding from problems with stupid adventures that make you forget how bad your life is outside of there."

The amount of resentment in his voice was terrifying. Painful.

"You were happy pretending to be someone you're not." He closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. "You were happy pretending I didn't exist."

"S-Steven, I, I, don't…"

There was no more conversation at that moment. Not for the rest of the day. Or the night. Marc was a silent witness to how Steven cried until his throat was raw, how his entire body trembled, and how an nauseating knot formed in his stomach, paralyzing all his muscles.

The next day was a nightmare worse than the previous one. For the first time in a long while, Steven was able to sleep the hours that a normal human needed to function, but the problem was that, of course, these hours had been filled with nightmares and dreams where only you were present. Waking up to the reality where everything was worse was an emotional burden that filled his eyes with tears in the first minutes of regaining consciousness.

Well, he had to start trying. He picked up his phone, the one you always teased him about because it was the oldest phone you had ever seen.

First call, first voicemail.

"Love? Could you answer the calls? I really need to talk to you, I'm so sorry for the things Marc said yesterday."

Second call, second voicemail.

"I'm so sorry, really, please, please answer, okay? I need you."

Third call, third voicemail.

"It was never my intention to hurt you," and yes, for a change, Steven was taking responsibility for Marc's mistakes. "And I know it wasn't his either, he's just… damaged and scared. Please, love, please, let's talk."

Fourth call, fourth voicemail.

"We can't throw away all our plans, love." He didn't fear that you could hear his sobs or the way he struggled for breath between sentences. "I want to be with you. I want to be with you until the last day of my life, please, please."

The fifth call didn't go through. It seemed like you had turned off your phone. Fifth voicemail.

"I know you don't want to see me right now." He had to clear his throat before speaking again. "I just want to talk to you. It's all I'm asking for, it doesn't have to be now, just give me a sign that I can come closer, I'm begging you."

He didn't give up. If it were up to his anxiety, his love, or his fear of abandonment, he would have called you a total of 20 times per hour. But he knew you wanted and needed space. All that was left was to pray that you would hear his messages and give him the slightest sign of life.

In the end, he returned to bed, laying face down, and closed his eyes for just a few seconds.

"Steven?"

"What?"

"The body."

"Huh?"

"Give me the body."

"What do you mean…?"

"I need to go talk to Layla."

"You must be kidding." Steven barely lifted his head to see the mirror resting on one of the furniture next to his bed.

The one he never touched because it had a lipstick mark from you in one corner. A perfectly formed kiss. There was Marc.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Give me the body or I will take it from you."

Steven had no strength to fight, he relented and hoped for a little peace in the darkness of his mind.

That afternoon, Marc apologized tirelessly, and yes, he preferred a million times to falsely accept that he had had an affair than to confess Steven's existence.

"Forgive me, okay? I made a mistake." His hands cradled Layla's face between them. Of course, he had made a mistake, although he didn't specify what kind.

"You're an idiot, Marc." And he couldn't help but think that yes, indeed, he was. There weren't many more words exchanged between them, but unfortunately, this relationship was an imbalanced scale.

It was about two people who simply didn't know how to deal with their emotions, didn't know how to communicate with each other, and undoubtedly had never dealt with their emotional baggage separately to understand that they needed to work to become better.

He couldn't help but notice the parallel. He doesn't remember the romantic part of your relationship with Steven because Steven himself took great care to hide it perfectly, but Marc is aware of every aspect of what your friendship was.

He remembers every argument, if they could even be called that. You two never raised your voices, never.

And you, as the apparent best friend, knew Marc's story inside out, you were never one to raise your voice, but you were always careful not to trigger a bad memory in Steven.

On his part, Steven was incredible at listening. He listened attentively, didn't interrupt, and when you finished talking, he would explain his perspective. You didn't always reach an agreement, that was obvious, but you always knew that you both were much more important to each other than any silly disagreement.

Marc thought about how he would have liked to be as honest as Steven was when Layla's lips were on him. When his way of clarifying things was to have the grossest sex of both their lives.

Usually, the best part of spending these kinds of nights with her was that it meant a mental break with you in exactly two days. Although Steven never understood why you refused to see him the next day, Marc always knew why you felt disgusted. In fact, he understood perfectly, but he never had the courage to tell you that he was sorry.

Thinking that not only were you in love with Steven but that you were also a couple fueled his self-disgust even more.

"I love you, Marc." That was the last thing he heard before leaving his wife's house, which at every moment felt more like a stranger to him.

He didn't respond, and like everyone else around him, she settled for it because everyone always accommodates themselves to Marc Spector's wishes.

Each passing hour, you were crumbling in a worse way. Probably "dead inside" was one of the best ways to describe your current state.

The stages of grief were starting to attack you, very slowly, but you didn't want to be rational because calling it "grief" would mean that you had lost Steven forever.

And you had, but you didn't want to think about that. After all, you were still in the first stage, denial.

It took you a few hours to decide to listen to his voicemails.

"My baby." You whispered to yourself as your arms clung to one of the many garments you had stolen from him. His navy blue sweater that was too long on the sleeves.

You felt ridiculous.

You sobbed forcefully, your cheek had been tingling for a while from the warmth and moisture of your tears on the pillow. Did the breakup hurt? Of course, it hurt to the core, but after hearing his broken voice on the other end of the line, what was probably hurting you the most was knowing that Steven was suffering.

It felt like they were being forcibly torn apart, although it had felt that way from the moment their relationship began. The rope had been tightening around each of you, pulling you apart at the cost of permanently hurting them.

You were sure you would never love anyone the way you loved and still love Steven. Steven would rather vanish than even imagine a life with someone else.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You whispered as the fabric of his sweater covered part of your face, with the sole purpose of sniffing and recapturing a bit of his scent. The garment had been in your possession for so long that you could barely perceive Steven in it anymore.

You apologized for not being more discreet, for, in your opinion, ruining your perfect relationship, maybe for not knowing how to keep your distance when there was still time. You apologized for being so deeply in love that you felt like you couldn't live without him, for choosing to look out for yourself instead of running into his arms, and for any inconveniences you might have caused Marc one day.

Steven and you were on autopilot. Barely eating, barely breathing, barely existing.

You somehow managed to get up and shower after receiving the call from the pet adoption center confirming that the form you and Steven had filled out had been approved, and now you just had to go for 3 days, 2 hours to visit your future pet.

A part of you momentarily thought about ignoring the call, you were so broken that the mere thought of that visit together ended up squeezing your heart painfully, not to mention that the whole plan from the beginning was for the cat to belong to both of you.

Your rational side was always stronger than you, you couldn't leave the little one without a home. Besides, maybe you needed the company.

Perhaps he would do you good, and you would do everything possible to do right by him.

Needless to say, on the first day of bonding, you cried until your lungs hurt, with the little kitten in your arms. He was so affectionate, providing excellent comfort, but you didn't stop crying for a single moment during the 2 hours.

Then you cried more on the way back home because you had to say goodbye to him.

On the second day, you only cried half of the visit because when the cat started playing in front of you, it drew a small laugh from you for the way he twirled around.

On the last day, you found him waiting for you, ready to settle on your lap. It was as if he understood that you were exhausted, and his purring felt like receiving a hug. You were a perfect match.

Meanwhile, Marc was living days that were going from bad to worse. Steven refused to speak to him more than necessary, but everything hurt twice as much when the breakdowns started coming back. As he took another sip of his whiskey, he realized that this time he had nowhere to go, that he would probably never hear you say "I'm here" again to keep him sane, that your arms wouldn't surround him, and you wouldn't leave him a space in your bed that was a million times more comfortable than his. Accepting that he missed you churned his stomach. Because, of course, it wasn't the first time he had thought of you since you left, but it was the first time he lowered his guard enough to digest that all of this was his fault. That he had hurt you in a permanent way while you had only given him peace whenever you could. Steven understood that both of them were fucked up when he finally saw Marc cry. When Marc finally cracked.

Steven almost had a heart attack when he received a message from you. There was no text, just a photo of the kitten he recognized perfectly.

He wasn't aware of the smile that appeared on his face. One, he could see that the background of the photo was your apartment, which meant the kitten was already with you. Two, perhaps this meant that not everything was lost.

"Can I come see him?" He was biting his nails while waiting for your response. "Sure."

Steven left his apartment so quickly that his curls were still damp from the shower he took in a matter of seconds. He didn't care about being on the most crowded bus if it meant getting to your apartment faster.

Exactly 22 minutes after your message, he was standing at your door.

The smile on his face vanished when you opened the door. Both of you looked like a mess, in pain, and by this point, you had accepted that your eyes would be swollen and irritated for the rest of your days.

You didn't approach him for a hug like he thought would happen. You also took a few seconds to analyze him from head to toe.

He was as beautiful as ever. His messy curls made him look even more adorable. A meow echoed behind you, snapping you back to the present.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Please."

Everything was so… awkward. You stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.

"Sekhmet?"

"Yes."

"I told you that's the name of a goddess, not a god," he said as he crouched down to pet the kitten, who seemed to recognize Steven. The little one rubbed against him, purring loudly, audible to both of you.

"And I told you I didn't care."

A nostalgic laugh escaped both of you. Why was all of this so difficult?

"Hello, Sekhmet." His pronunciation was perfect. You couldn't believe you had the love of your life in front of you after everything that happened.

And worse, you couldn't believe you were about to let him go, for the second time.

"He likes you." You whispered, watching them get to know each other with a lump in your throat. This was nothing like what you had imagined at first; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Everything was wrong.

"Steven?"

"Yes, love?" It rolled so casually off his tongue. You didn't remember Steven calling you by your name much, it was always "love" or "lovey" for him, and you were content with that.

This time, you felt a pang in your heart when he used the nickname.

"We have to do this." Your voice broke, and when he noticed your teary eyes, he understood the purpose of the visit. There was no way out of this.

"No, please." He looked up at you from the floor, still on his knees because the kitten refused to leave him. "Please, don't do this."

He broke down quickly too.

"I love you, Steven." Your hand went to his chin, holding him in a way that he couldn't look away from you. "And because I love you, it's only fair that we do this, you and I. Okay?"

He kept denying and denying. Ignoring the insistent meows, he stood up. Now you were the one who had to look up due to the difference in height.

Your heart rate increased with the closeness between you two.

"I don't want to say goodbye." The lump in his throat could be heard in his voice. "I don't want to be alone. I can't do it without you." You couldn't bear to tell him otherwise when you knew you were in the same position.

You stood on tiptoes and, without letting him continue, kissed his lips.

Even his kisses tasted like pain. They were desperate, almost violent in the way he clung to your waist and you to his neck.

You remained like that for a few minutes, tasting each other's tears on your lips until your lungs gave up. It felt like an eternity during which you exchanged kisses and embraced each other between sobs. It genuinely felt like you were tearing a part of yourselves away.

An eternity was not enough for either of you.

"Steven." Your hands on his chest pulled him away just a few centimeters from you to face him. His forehead rested against yours while he hiccuped from crying.

He was your little one. He always had been. Your sweet, sweet Steven. He deserved more than everything life was giving him, and in some way, you and Marc knew it.

"You have to go, okay?" He didn't respond, you just felt his fingers tighten their grip on your waist. "You will be fine, I know you will be." Your fingers roamed through his curls, messing them up even more, and you enjoyed their softness one last time.

"I won't be able to. L-Lovey, I w-won't…"

"Shhh. You will be able to, okay?" The tip of your nose gently brushed against his in an affectionate and intimate gesture. "You will get through this, and you will have the beautiful life that I've always known you deserve."

"I don't want it if it's not with you." His fingers crumpled your clothes from the force of holding onto you.

You lowered your hands to his and slowly made him let go, he shook his head again.

"You have to do this for Marc, okay?" You swallowed hard when his hands finally relented and let go of your waist. "And maybe, if it's meant to be, fate will let us know in the future. Okay?"

Bullshit.

You wanted to be with him now, and he wanted to be with you now, but you were grasping at every possible resource to try to make him understand.

"I need to be alone, okay?" You knew he wouldn't leave unless you hinted that you were uncomfortable with the situation.

Always so respectful, he took a step back and nodded, even though his hands were trembling. He didn't say anything, just looked at you as he stepped back again.

"I love you," you whispered, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

"I love you." It was the only thing he could say. He was about to leave when his legs gave an awkward twitch.

Marc.

Steven looked down, frowning slightly at the momentary loss of control over his body. If Marc was going to object, now was the perfect time because Steven knew he was the only one who could fix this.

His stubbornness was the only obstacle preventing you from being happy.

And yes, Marc wanted to talk. But when he saw you, he knew he would never find the words to fix what he did.

His fear of change hit him again. Why was he regretting this when apparently this was what he wanted from the beginning?

He parted his lips and tried to say something that never came out of his throat. He gave up in seconds and basically fled your apartment, closing the probably happiest chapter of his life in a long time.

#jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #moon knight x you #moon boys x reader #moon system x reader #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader

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gemapples · 4 months

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im so sorry it took me so long to answer these oml but YES i'd be happy to show how i draw and color :)

— SKETCHING

please note that i almost always sketch traditionally first lol it's just a lot easier for me to determine how the drawing is placed that way, but i always go over and re-sketch it digitally

for magolor i always start with a basic egg shape (lmao) and then i add his ears. then I draw the scarf; it's easy to determine the shape and dynamicism based on where the bottoms of the ears are located

then i usually add the cape and hood together. where and how these are placed and what these look like in general are very important because they're the main area that perspective is directed to (the ears and everything else is important too ofc!! but the hood and cape usually help demonstrate where he is looking and how he is moving the most). then i add everything else, usually his hands last!

— LINEART

ohhhhhh god my worst enemy. Hope youre sitting down because this will be embarrassing LMAO

lineart is easily what i struggle with most and is more often than not the most time consuming and grating step for me. If i had a choice i would drop it in a heartbeat, but my style is so dependent on thick lines and shapes that it's difficult to 😭 a hole i dug myself into unfortunately ITS FINE THOUGH. ANYWAYS I'm getting sidetracked

i use my finger to draw all my digital art, which means i usually have to use a Heavy stabilizer to avoid shakiness and staggered lines. Unfortunately ibis paint's stabilizer is actually dog water and doesn't even stabilize more than half the time (in which case i have to repeat lines over. And over. And over again until i get it right) but when it does like me and works properly it's very helpful!

i always use the soft school pen bleed brush as my main tool for lineart. This brush has been my best friend for everything, i even use it for sketching idk it just really like the way it looks lol. sometimes i change the aspect if i want the lines to look more ,, chalky?? or smoother depending on the work

i don't really use this tool much but for this specific piece, force fade was my partner in crime

also i think i need to mention that i use so many layers for this. So many layers lol like to the point it's embarrassing. and at the end i merge most of them (except for the gear patterns, rings on his ear, and eyes + hands, which usually need to be by themselves as they're colored separately) Thank you for layers

and i end up with this!

— COLORING && SHADING

yippee yahoo the fun part !!! the part that i love the most

at this point, if i havent already, i always create a folder for convenience in organization because this is the part that i stress the most about what details are on which layers lmao

then i add ANOTHER layer below that for the color, then i put every single color used on their own separate layer!

now, for shading, if im working on larger pieces with more complex shading, i'll usually plan it all out. normally when just drawing magolor, i don't really need to do this anymore because i'm so used to it lol, but for funsies i did it here anyways

then i use the bucket tool to fill them all in

i usually have a set color palette for all the characters i draw (though the way i shade white differs. A lot between my work as you can probably tell fhdfgf). For every color, i have two specific tones that are associated with the shading. for example, indigo + violet are shaded with my blue, pink + light orange (or lighter pink depending on my mood lol) are shaded with yellow, etc.

so, i shade the other areas with the 2nd shading color

a big tip i can give for coloring is to look at a color wheel when you draw. i know that sounds like. Such basic advice LMAO but that seriously was a huge help for me when developing my shading and something i learned while studying — if you notice, in all of the shading in my work, all of the colors used are analogous on the color wheel. note that not ALL combinations will work together like others obv !! but it's a huge step in knowing where to go with it

then i add other extra details like extra lighting, halftones (if i feel like it // if it fits the work), glow to his eyes, and color the lines and ta-da!

another tool i use a lot especially with my more recent art are blending modes, especially multiply. i use a clipping layer to add a dark color (usually a dark blue or purple) and set it to multiply, then erase the areas that emit light

and this is the end result! this is a very very basic demonstration of it fhdjg i was a pretty messy with the lighting and erasing in this example but you get the general idea right

and that's how i draw :) i hope this was helpful, and thanks for asking and being so patient with the response!

#ask #magolor #kirby #macdraws #ive wanted to make a tutorial for So long and finally found a bit of time to do it lmao

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piratefalls · 5 months

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oh my god this got obscenely long. you're welcome?

list one. list two. list three. list four.

Any Beat of Your Heart (Gets Me Through the Night) by stellarmeadow

Alex throws out the first pitch at the Opening Day baseball game, but things go horribly wrong.

kiss me once 'cause you know by ninzied

Of all the things they’ve been to one another—sometimes-rivals, reluctant allies, tediously cordial seatmates at international events—Henry never thought that he and Alex would end up being something like friends. (In which Alex sort of moves in and they don't talk about what it means.)

Mr. BodyPillow by inexplicablymine

“It is hard enough trying to get a date out here when all I really want is to curl up with someone’s head on my chest and play with their hair” “I could do that for you sweetheart” _______ Two boys cuddling on a couch right on top of each other because they are in fact very gay™. Inviting over a complete stranger for cuddles because you are touch starved might be the worst idea Henry has ever had, or the best.

Little Moments by politics_and_prose

Five significant moments in Alex's political career and one in his personal life.

The Case Of The Fucking Curse by everwitch

Henry gets inflicted by a deadly royal curse. The only way to break it is to have sex with a person who possesses the correct physical compatibility, so the crown puts out a desperate plea for people meeting the right criteria to enter a screening process. You’ll never guess who turns out to be the final candidate at the end. Or: the most wholesome Fuck Or Die you’ve read in your life.

You Got Me, and Baby I Got You by princebutt

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, charismatic center for the NHL's Dallas Stars, is completely and utterly smitten with the posh British librarian he met by complete accident. Tonight is the night, and he's got a plan to completely woo Henry and get his man.

cowboy like me by stutteringpeach

Alex was looking for money tonight. And with Henry Mountchristen-Windsor, the gorgeous young heir to the Windsor Group, he sure as hell found it. If Alex is looking to charm someone out of their millions, it might as well be someone he’s going to enjoy stealing from.

but if you could see us from a distance, you'd know i've always been so close to you by anincompletelist (soldouthaz)

Objectively, standing half-soaked from rainwater with a stitch in his side and an uncomfortable, raging hard-on outside his worst enemy’s door is not Henry’s finest moment. It’s not even on the list. -- or, henry is afflicted with a curse-gone-wrong that stipulates that only his sworn enemy, alex claremont-diaz, can touch him.

(did my love aid and abet you?) by alasse

That night in Kensington Palace, Henry told Alex to leave. Eleven years later, Alex watches on the news as Henry comes out, and abdicates. A story of what came before, and what comes after.

It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally free. It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally out. It’s been eleven fucking years, and Alex Claremont-Diaz still hasn’t learned how to be normal about Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight) by annesbonny

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.” Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

lover, tell me if you can by loyaulte_me_lie

Henry has a wobble on their first anniversary. They practise healthy communication and everything ends happily.

Debasing the Prince (And Other Inappropriate Decisions) by orphan_account

Henry in a suit and tie turns Alex into a combination of the heart-eyed and drooling emojis. He can't help it that the goddamned prince of England looks glorious all dressed up. So he meets him in his bedroom and does super inappropriate things with the tie and the prince. This is basically Tale of the Debauchery of a Prince™.

Soon You'll Get Better (Because You Have To) by wafflesandkruge

Two nights after the shooting, Henry receives an email with a pre-recorded video from Alex. He gets one every night, and although it breaks his heart to see Alex happy and alive, he's terrified of when they'll stop coming.

(when you look like that) i never ever wanted to be so bad by hipsterchrist

“How many times have I told you now?” Henry asks, voice still quiet. “In the bedroom, we’re equals.” Alex knows a door left ajar intentionally when he sees it.“ But we’re not in the bedroom, are we?” he mutters. Henry smirks and turns away. Alex nearly falls over trying to follow the loss of Henry’s hand on his face. “It certainly would seem that way,” Henry says, loud and clear, leaning against the wall again. “And so I will have to insist on some degree of deference. Do you think you can manage that?” Or, Alex has a fantasy involving a tack room and Henry's polo uniform, and Henry is all too happy to fulfill it.

if i ever saw you try to be a saint by inmoonlightigetseasick

He turns back, waiting for further instruction from Luna when Henry actually gets up and approaches him to talk. “I must apologize about the hour,” he says, faking sincerity so well Alex recants his doubts about Henry’s acting chops, “this was my fault, I have a shoot for a music video later today and after that I’m on a flight back to jolly old England as it were, loads of publicity for the latest album.” “You sound like a busy guy,” Alex says, with a small, tight smile, “sure you’ll have time for our little movie?” “I will make the time,” he says, his eyes are a bottomless blue, they shine, deceptively truthful, he turns to Luna, “I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be considered for this role. What you’ve done here,” he gestures to his script, “I think it’s amazing.” Alex hates that Henry is right. -- AU in which Alex is an up-and-coming actor slated to star in in-demand director Rafael Luna's highly anticipated queer coming-of-age film. For Alex, keen to share his own bisexuality with the world, it's the perfect project to be his true starmaking vehicle -- but for one thing-- his nemesis Henry Fox, a wildly popular rock star, might end up playing his love interest.

searching low in the night by saltfics

“Just say it's okay. I just need to hear you say that.” Henry steps outside for just a second, but when Alex goes to find him, he finds only empty streets and an excrutiating feeling of dread in his place.

whenever you're ready by perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)

“Pez. Please, will you stop tagging me in TikTok thirst traps?” Henry asked as he stepped into his friend’s car. Pez lowered his Gucci sunglasses on his nose, looking at Henry without anything obscuring his vision and just laughed before pushing them back up with his middle finger. “Don’t fucking lie to me, I know you love them.” Or: the one where Henry falls in lust with a TikToker making pottery and leaves drunken thirst comments

hold me close (when the cameras are off) by viciouslyqueer

Henry Fox is a very well-known model. It’s hard to name a magazine he hasn’t been on the cover of, or a photographer that isn’t ready to drop everything just to book a shoot with him. Now he’s barely smiling, slightly parted lips, yet somehow still looking kind as the photographer behind the camera takes picture after picture. His pristine blond hair is delicately styled so it doesn’t fall out of place, and the cherry blossom flowers next to him and beige background give him an angelic look that makes people in the studio stop what they’re doing just to watch. He looks beautiful. Alex hates it. — When models Alex and Henry have to pose together for a shoot, Alex realizes he might not hate Henry after all.

it was you he gave me by coffeecatsme

The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?” Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?” Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

yours for the afternoon by railmedaddy

“Another day then, tomorrow? Or Saturday, I can do Saturday, I’ll give you my number,” Hunter says, starting to reach for Henry’s phone. Henry knocks it off the table and prays it doesn’t crack. Christ. Is he going to have to leave the coffee shop to get rid of Hunter? He bends down to pick his phone up and when he rights himself, Hunter is waiting expectantly with his hand out for Henry’s phone. He drops it into his bag under the table. “Very kind of you Hunter, but I’m really quite booked up and—" “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” comes a drawl Henry vaguely recognises. OR Henry is quietly minding his own business in his favourite coffee shop, when he’s rudely interrupted by an insufferable man attempting to flirt with him. He’s rescued by none other than Alex – a fellow cafe regular who he’s long admired from a distance – posing as his date.

Háblame dulce by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

"Alex gently drew Henry back to the waking world on a lazy Tuesday morning in their brownstone with a kiss, a cup of Earl Gray, and the words, “Hoy, hablamos español.” Also known as: Henry is learning Spanish for Alex, and Alex is happy to help him.

5 Times Alex Went Viral (+1 Time Henry Did) by clottedcreamfudge

Alex downloads TikTok on a Saturday and by Monday he's completely obsessed. Henry is clearly a little bewildered by this, but he doesn't seem to mind when Alex starts singing sea shanties and trying - with limited success - to harmonise with himself in the shower. *** aka FicTok (aka ‘Five times Alex tested TikTok trends on Henry and one time Henry got his own back’) (aka 'Five times Alex made life hard for Henry and one time Henry just made Alex hard' - you can blame ifyoustay for that one)

Slide, Crawl into the Shades of Light by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

Eventually, they part long enough to buckle their seatbelts, and then the car eases forward in the direction of Kensington Palace. Alex reaches across the seat and cups Henry’s cheek. “You’ve been biting your lips again,” he notes, rubbing a thumb over the rough skin. “When we get back to the apartment we should run a bath, and maybe after, I can make you some tea.” Henry smiles – and it nearly reaches his eyes – and covers Alex’s hand with his own. “That sounds wonderful,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long week.” (Post-movie; Alex and Henry doing that transcontinental couple life thing, and Henry's had a shit week. Alex gives him several orgasms about it.)

A Tiny Shred of Hope by cmere

Henry reacts in the immediate aftermath of his first kiss with Alex.

Most Cordially Invited by aldiara

In which a formal invitation is extended, a royal mirror is defiled, and Alex cusses a lot.

The Bet by bleedingballroomfloor

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault. Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

Play Me a Song by allmylovesatonce

Every night, like clockwork, Alex's upstairs neighbor plays the piano for two hours, giving Alex the motivation to sit and do his own work so that he can listen. One night, he leaves a letter for his neighbor to thank him for the music. When his neighbor comes to his door to thank him for the note, he finds it's the same cute guy he's been running into in the lobby.

Speak for Yourself by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex could have walked out of the Williamsburg apartment at any time. Instead, he decides to sign up to twelve months of Henry. OR Alex makes a rash decision and Henry inexplicably runs with it. (The "accidental housemates" AU that literally no-one asked for).

london bridge has fallen down by indomitablelove

Alex can feel the eyes of the room on him as Shaan approaches his side. Then, Shaan quietly murmurs in his ear. They’re words he’s thought about before, distantly wondering about what might happen when they were finally uttered. How their lives might change. There’s nothing that can prepare him for the reality of it though, nothing that can prepare him for how his breath hitches when Shaan speaks. ‘London Bridge is down, Sir.’ --- Queen Mary is dead. Henry doesn't know how to feel.

i wouldn't stop for red lights by matherine

There are flowers on Henry’s desk when he comes into work. They’re pretty, really – chosen by someone who knows him, because there are hydrangeas and white roses and daffodils, and certainly not enough baby’s breath for the bouquet to have been cheap. Not that Henry would make assumptions, nor that he’s the sort of person that would look up the cost of a gift, but he knows who put it here. Even before he looks at the little card attached to a rose’s stem, he knows, because he gets flowers every April 15th.

Water over Blood by happinessofthepursuit

5 times a member of the British Royal Family was in love with Alex + 1 time they loved Henry

The Prince of Sex: A Collaborative Nightmare by aceinadeck, fairycat, ifigo, MaikkaPakka, ohgaywarden, Princess_Nales

"Alex is waiting for his lover Phillip, when he arrives in the bedroom Alex's jaw drops. Philip is wearing a pair of tight leather pants the outline of his massive horse cock is clearly visible and Alex can't wait to have it pump thick squirts of warm cum inside him and his butt." *** It started as a joke, something that Pez found in the depths of Real Person Fiction on Wattpad that none of them really wanted to explore too much. But he brought it up as a drinking game, something that would get all of them absolutely wasted since this was the first time they were able to get together in almost four months.

An Open Heart by absoluteaudacity

"But, and I hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long to get to the point, they listened and hugged me and told me they loved me no matter what. I gather they feel very guilty that I felt I had to keep my sexuality a secret. Mum had to stop Dad from going straight down to Buckingham and yelling at Gran; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. They’ve agreed that we’ll keep it to the family for the moment but they’ve made it clear I have their support if I ever want to come out publicly. We’re a long way from that, I think, but at least I know the way is partially clear for us. At least I don’t have to pretend anymore."

It's Getting Hot in Here (So Hot!) by Celaestis

Henry’s firm and unwavering belief in Alex’s hetrosexuality does wonders for their relationship. He can coexist with Alex in the same lobby for entire half-minutes at a time while checking for post, he can make solid eye contact during glances in the hallway. Alex is still the most beautiful man he’s ever beheld, and maybe Henry’s hook-ups are tending towards the Latino types more than they ever did in the UK, but still. Alex is straight. Henry is fine about it. Really.

i'd fall to pieces on the floor if you weren't around by karish

Suddenly, Alex feels like he’s gonna throw up and he feels cold all over. Because this sounds like a goodbye. It sounds like a suicide note. Fuck. God. Please no. AKA: Alex wakes up to find a note from Henry and jumps to the worst possible conclusions.

Wedding Talk by maritinkerbell

“You know, H, I’m not sure anything is going to give me greater pleasure than forcing all your homophobic cousins to smile and make nice while I put a fucking ring on it.” OR An upcoming family wedding leads Henry and Alex to discuss marriage for the first time.

Little Secrets Grow Up To Be Big Lies by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Henry meets Alex in a café as he's hiding from the Crown, the media and the public in general. But Alex is charming and alluring and draws him in right away. Alex also has no idea that he's a Prince.

Give Me Comfort, Give Me Help by dwell_the_brave

“I’ll be back by Thursday,” Philip promises, giving Martha a hand up the jet’s steps. She gives them a brief wave from the top of the stairs before disappearing. “Make sure you don’t ski off a cliff!” Bea calls after him as he follows his wife into the jet. He waves a hand dismissively at her and then withdraws into the darkness of the cabin. That’s the last thing any of them say to him. - Philip dies, and Henry becomes heir.

i could be a better boyfriend by bananzie

It wasn't that Alex didn't like telling people about Henry—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that no one ever believed him when he did. An AU in which Henry is one of England’s most famous rugby players, Alex met him during an exchange year, and they’re so in love it’s sickening, but no one believes him.

Just like that. by myheartalive

“I’m so glad my subpar sexual encounter has fed the brain worms. Something’s got to keep the little guys going.” Henry’s more relaxed now that he’s teasing Alex, and looks a lot more like his normal self. It feels a little easier to talk to him, to actually say what he’s thinking. “It’s just… I realised if that was me, I also wouldn’t know how to do it. How to find your…” “Prostate?” “Yeah. That.” — When Henry comes home from a date frustrated by the guy’s lack of expertise, Alex starts having thoughts. And then, because he’s Alex, he sticks his big foot in his even bigger mouth.

Kinda think that I might be his type by kiwiana

“Bea.” He clambers onto his knees, grabbing her hands in his own. “Bea, take me to Thanksgiving with you.” Bea blinks. Blinks again. “What?” “Bea, I could terrorise your gran until she’s begging you to stay single forever.” Or, Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

until next wednesday! if you want me to tag you in future lists, let me know!

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex and henry #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #Alex x Henry #fic rec #RWRB fic rec #RWRB fanfiction #rwrb rec list

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i4bellingham · 1 year

Note

“how much longer do we have to keep this up?" "just a few more weeks, i swear."”

With Jude

secret relationship prompt list!

Everyone knows that newly married couples should be given their time to bask in the profound elevation of their relationship and the attention that comes with it. Do not rain on their parade is basically what it is.

So when you're stuck in a situation where you're convinced that you've just found the greatest love of your life in the midst of that scene, what would you do?

“We’re still keeping this a secret?”

You shoot Jude a pleading look, flashing a golden smile when one of your cousin's (the soon to be married one) friends passed by. You wrap an arm around his bicep, curling your hands over the hard muscles before dragging him out of the house to the garden where it was much more peaceful than the mess that was inside.

“I’ve literally just convinced you to be my girlfriend four weeks ago... my family—our family’s been wantin’ this longer.” Jude reasons out, exasperated breath leaving him as he leans against tree bark where you're seated on the bench beside him. “Can’t do that darling, I really can’t.”

“But Camilla's getting married tomorrow and we really shouldn't be spoiling the attention that's supposed to be on them.”

He scoffs at your response, crossing his arms against his chest before pushing himself off the tree and instead crouches down in front of you—proper lad of him instead of sitting down on the empty space beside you really.

He takes your hand, nearly huffing out seeing you roam your eyes around the place as if afraid of being caught.

“Tell me that when you're not tempted to ruin her day just as much as I do and I’ll do it.”

You are. You certainly are. For someone who grew up with you, Camilla wasn't the best cousin to hang around with. She's easy roused with jealousy by the little things she feels like should be hers when it's given to you explicitly. She used to pull your hair when she was fifteen and you were twelve for wearing the vintage Chanel Camellia hair clips your Grandmother has gifted you. She once ruined one of your dress during Jobe’s 17th birthday because you were getting way too compliments for sewing the dress on your own. She also superglued your football trading cards when you were in first year of college because when you hurt a girl, you should hurt her through her most prized possessions, not physically nor verbally. Mental and emotional pain could be worst than those two combined.

So really, you should clap a thunderstorm on her parade but because you're so much better of a person that the rest of her, you've simply stayed put and ignored the snarky remarks and the pointed looks being thrown your way from her.

You grab one of Jude’s hands, cupping his cheek with the other before leaning down to kiss him in the corner of his lips.

“I would love to do that too but I’m not wretched like she is and you know that.”

Jude grumbles before nodding his head, burying your face on your lap as he very much reluctantly agrees to your terms of hiding the relationship just until the wedding bells are reduced to nothing but silence and the awful cousin finally moves away.

“How much longer do we have to keep this up?”

You kiss the back of his head, caressing his cheek on your palm.

“Just a few more weeks, I swear.”

God knows how her fiancé could tolerate your cousin, better yet what went through his mind to actually think that making her a permanent fixture in his life was the good choice.

The loathsome cousin was finally moving away in the next two days.

It was two weeks post wedding when one last intimate party was planned the very last minute before Camilla was to be shipped off.

It was just a small gathering bearing your family, the fiancé’s family and some family friends.

Growing up being good neighbors with the Bellingham's of course they too were to be invited. But unfortunately for you Jude’s been away for a game for the last three days and there's a possibility that he might even miss this one. Good for him. He's really the one holding you sane amidst the unpleasant faux amicable relations between you and your obnoxious cousin during the wedding and the prior events before that.

As expected, hiding the relationship from your family's prying eyes was a difficult feat to achieve. Knowing that even your Nana whose vision you know was already impaired was still keen on shooting you teasing smiles when Jude stood just a little bit closer to your body, hand lingering on your shoulders or back, how much more for the family members who actually has a better eye sight than your 82 year old Granny?

Stirring the spoon in your cup mindlessly with nonchalance as the copious chatter flowed through the air, you were distracted when the door to the backyard opened once more before your Uncle who fetched a few more alcoholic drinks from the store down the road emerged with a familiar tall figure following after him; both of them carrying boxes filled with various tonics.

“Jude! How was the game son?” Your Dad stands up to greet the oldest Bellingham son, patting the boy on the back before Jude greets his own parents who were situated in the seat opposite of your parents’.

“Was good, racked three points in the board.” He replies before greeting everyone else in the table with slight conversations about the game.

You don't say anything to him for a few minutes but you do smile at him when he moves to stand behind your chair, kissing your cheeks like it's the normal thing in the world that you both do—it wasn’t. So the odd, teasing looks from yours and his family was warranted.

“Do you guys have something to tell us?” Your Aunt Kathy asks, amusement dancing in her eyes before her gaze drops down to your palm over Jude’s cheek.

“I think you guys do.”

#☆ i4bellingham writes #☆ jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader

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mayflora-18 · 6 days

Text

Incorrect CoD Quotes #5

Sherlock: *gets stabbed*

Sherlock: Oh, look at that.

Sherlock: I’ve been impaled.

Nikolai: 😱

———

Nikolai, singing: I have loved you since we were 18.

Price: We met when we were, like, 23.

Nikolai: …

Nikolai, singing: I’ve been stalking you since I was 18!

———

Ghost: You have exactly three seconds to explain why you just woke me up.

Price: Because it’s morning and you should be awake.

Ghost: Oh… Interesting… I didn’t know you wanted to die today!

Price: Simon, you can’t kill me.

Ghost: It’s too late, I’ve already decided how.

———

Sherlock: I really like Eminem.

Soap: I prefer Skittles.

Sherlock: No like the rapper-

Soap: WHY WOULD YOU EAT THE WRAPPER?!!?

———

Sherlock: I have never seen two stable best friends. Always one of them has to lose their shit.

*Ghost and Soap look at each other*

Ghost: Wait, you’re telling me one of us is actually supposed to be stable!?

Soap: Ah, shite!

———

Soap: Who did you look up to most as a child and why?

Gaz: Uh, my parents because they were taller than me.

———

Soap: There are 1 million 13 thousand 150 words in the ENTIRE English Dialect and yet there is not a single combination of them that describes my URGE to HIT you WITH A CHAIR!

Graves: *pissed off*

*Soap pulls out a black umbrella from who knows where and opens it in front of Graves, showing him a hand that was giving him the middle finger*

———

Laswell: What was Plan A?

Ghost: Don’t fuck up.

Price: And what was Plan B?

Soap: Don’t fuck up Plan A.

Price: And what did you guys do?

Gaz: Fucked up p-

Sherlock: You fucked up Plan A.

———

Rudy: Ale, get out of the house. Valeria is here!

Alejandro: Well, tell Valeria to hold up because I’m doing some important shit.

*Alejandro starts playing music*

Alejandro’s phone: “You used to call me on my cell phone”~

Valeria: What the fuck?

———

General Shepherd: If you don’t like me at my worst, then you don’t like me at my best.

Price, holding a gun to Shepherd’s head: I don’t like you at all!

———

Sherlock: In every group of friends, there is the dumb one.

*Ghost looks at Soap*

Soap: Really

———

Laswell: When did you get here?

Price: I spent the night.

Laswell: …But I remember you leaving before I went to bed. You said “Good night, I’m going home!” And then you left.

Price: Yeah, but then on my way out I tripped and fell down the stairs.

Laswell: Oh my god, were you hurt?

Price: Nah, I just didn’t feel like getting up.

———

*at 7am*

Sherlock: Why is Gaz running?

Sherlock, yelling: Are you ok!? Is somebody chasing you!?

Gaz, yelling back: I’m running on purpose!

Sherlock: You’re running on purpose? It’s 7 in the morning!

———

Ghost: ArE yOu ReAdY tO DiE????

Sherlock: No??

Ghost: ThEn I’lL cOmE bAcK lAtEr!

———

Soap, slurring: You do realize that humans were really supposed to be on this earth to eat fruit-

Price: Is he drinking?

Soap: -in the wilderness butt naked-

Nikolai: I love it when he’s like this.

Soap: -and fuck, right?

Sherlock: He’s definitely drunk.

Soap: All this hard work shit is shit we brought ourselves.

———

Price: Where are you, Laswell? This place is fancy, and I don’t know which fork to kill myself with.

———

Soap, talking to Graves: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Graves: …

Soap: No, a summer’s day is not a bitch.

———

*Sherlock walks outside with a coffee in her hand*

*She sees JTF Ghost Team fighting Shadow Company*

Sherlock: god it’s brutal out here *sips coffee*

Rudy: Aren’t you gonna help us?

Sherlock: uhmm no *walks back inside*

Soap, shaking his head: You had to ask.

Rudy: 😰 She is a psychopath!

———

Alejandro: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surprise!

Rudy: Did you do the dishes?

Alejandro: I said surprise, not miracle.

#call of duty #call of duty oc #incorrect call of duty quotes #cod sherlock #cod nikolai #captain john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kate laswell #rudolfo parra #alejandro vargas #valeria garza #kyle gaz garrick #general shepherd #phillip graves #inspired by youtube

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an-au-blog · 4 months

Note

I need to get this ball rolling and to write this au idea out anywhere so pllleeease indulge me and listen to me try to put a spin on Shuggy soulmate au.

Setting: a world in which soulmates are connected by a string of fate that shows only for a short second when two peoples hands touch, doesn’t even have to be romantical, but if you are connected to someone with that string it means your souls are interwoven in some way. Shanks and Buggy share such a string. In the beginning they both believed they were more along the lines of „platonic complete opposite soulmates who’s differences and conflicts drive each other to become their best selfs“ but after Laugh Tale they both realized that at least the „platonic“ part was complete Bull and they become a couple.

The inevitable happens. Rogers excecution, Buggy feeling betrayed by Shanks decision, breakup in the rain, but Shanks still holds out Buggy will come and join him again soon. Then one night Shanks wakes up with a feeling of absolute heart wrecking despair washing over him and at first he thinks he had another nightmare about Rogers execution, but then he realizes that he’s in physical pain, his heart is actually aching and a deep sadness envelopes him as he scream sobs and curls in on himself. Buggy has cut his string.

Years later. They meet again at Marineford and things proceed mostly normal. Shanks doesn’t hold a grudge against Buggy, doesn’t even mention it, doesn’t even confront Buggy about it, he still feels deeply for his soulmate and he never managed to cut his string, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he knows Buggy has moved on. And Buggy is pissed as expected about Shanks being so nice and friendly and “Oh the map? You’re still angry about that?” And GODS he wishes Shanks would be at least a little bit pissed… and part of him is glad he isn’t.

… because thing is, Buggy didn’t cut his string either. Oh he tried alright, and it was as awful and painful as it was for Shanks, an immense physical pain combined with the worst sadness and loneliness he ever felt in his life and that’s saying something coming fresh of his father figures execution. But through the sobbing and heaving he suddenly realizes with dread that the string has reattached himself to him. He once again curses that damn fruit That bereft him not only of his ability to swim but also to cut of the person he never wants to be hurt by ever again in his life. But he can’t. But Shanks thinks he did. And the least he can do after hurting his soulmate this badly, doing the one thing that everyone tells you not to do another human being because the pain is so immense, is to never let Shanks know that he couldn’t cut it.

I'm not even joking when I say that literally half an hour before seeing this ask, I was thinking about red sting soulmates Shuggy omfg get iut of my head ahhagah

Anon imma name you just so whenever you write/post this pleaaaase send me the link! I'm naming you Meltan because anon, this melted me this is amazing :')

The thread hurts like cutting off a part of one's body. Some say it's even worse. Shanks had experienced that already, but it was fueled by the urge to protect. He lost his arm for Luffy and that was fine by him. He still feels bad that he regretted it for a split second because he thought that that was the hand that had Buggy's string on it. If he just prayed to anyone and anything that he never had to choose between the two.

Ever since they realized their bind was more than just platonic, the string felt a bit more lively. "Lively" probably wasn't the best word to call it, but it seemed somewhat vibrant. Shanks took pride in it and in the little time they had together before their breakup, he'd take any chance to touch Buggy and look at the thing that connected them for life. Even if they parted, he thought, they would still fate connecting them and pulling them together.

I'd like to think that Shanks knew, that Buggy's parts always came back to him. But he's under the assumption that Buggy's string isn't on him anymore, so it hurts even more because that would mean Buggy didn't feel their connection as a part of himself.

Shanks sometimes still felt the string but he thought that it was like a phantom limb syndrome. He had one arm less anyway, and he would still feel like it was there, but the string felt more tangible. He assumed it was because it was cut off more recently.

(Dare I improvise that- ) Buggy, when they meet again, started wearing long gloves and long sleeves again. He didn't want to risk Shanks knowing. One late night, Shanks gave him a big hug and for a millisecond their skin brushed. Buggy jumped back in a moment of shock. He felt it. And if he felt it, then Shanks also felt it. It was like a warmth after being in the cold for more than a decade. It felt like the first drops of water after wandering a desert for too long. Shanks maybe tries to tell him what he felt but Buggy denies everything and makes jokes of the sort of "Shanks are you drunk again?" "Haha, okay buddy, time to go to bed now" or just tires to make an excuse to leave. In any case, he rushes to shut the door behind himself because he knew he was going to crumple. He leans against the door and slides down, face in his hands, cursing himself for letting himself feel what he's been trying to stay absent for so so long...

Why did he need months of rehabilitation every time he saw Shanks again. Why did being sober hurt this much...

#AAAAAA anon/meltan I'm begging you please send me if you ever post this pleaaaaaase I'm crying #shuggy #shanks x buggy #buggy x shanks #soulmate au #answers #op

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fallingdownhell · 1 year

Note

Hi there! I'd like to be called 🍊 anon, pretty please.

May I request Ayato and Kaeya in a poly relationship with a super shy reader that turns into a tomato everytime she gets complimented?

(oh god, all the teasing)

I can most certainly do that, my dear 🍊 - anon<3

God, that sounds like a dream and a total nightmare at the same time. But even so.. you take what you can get, right?

Content: gender neutral reader; lots of teasing; praising; otherwise fluff; slightly suggestive in the end??

Word count: 750 words

Anyway, have fun and enjoy the show!

Oh boy, where to even start with those two...

Honestly, if you were to enter a poly relationship with both Kaeya and Ayato.. you will need nerves of steel, because those two are a handfull

Like, they're already quite demanding and teasing by themselves, but if you three are together in one room?

Well, let's start off easy, shall we?

Since Kaeya and Ayato reside in different nations, and both have highly important jobs and can't just easily be gone for a few weeks on end every so often, you often travel between the two regions

You came to an agreement with your two men, where you would stay with one of them for a few weeks, before traveling back to the other, and then repeat

It sucks, for all three of you, but it is the best solution anyone of you could come up with

It especially sucks for the person how has to be alone for those weeks, only being able to stay in contact through letters, whishing that they could be with you as well

That's how the living situation would be for the most time, but sometimes, either Kaeya or Ayato ARE able to take some much needed time off, so they would accompany you on your way to the other, so the three of you get to be together for the entire time

Now, each of them individually is already a huge tease

Kaeya really likes to get you flustered with just about anything. Doesn't matter if he compliments your looks, your achievements, your cooking, it can be anything

He just loves to see how your cheeks turn red, how you cutely try to hide it from him by turning around, but in doing so showing him your ear and neck, which are just as red as your cheeks

he can't help but chuckle at the cute display. He just has to reach out for you, pulling you close to him so he can whisper more compliments into your ear, making your head spin from all the positive affirmations

Ayato also enjoys teasing you for the same reason. But where Kaeya uses his words to achieve that goal, Ayato likes to tease you more with his touch

He would guide his hand over your body, across your cheeks, down to your neck, where he stays for a while, before wandering down to your waist and then gently letting it rest on your thigh

he does it in such a nonchalant way that you can't help but get flustered at it, while he keeps doing his work

Ayato would mostly do it in private, wanting to keep your beautiful reaction for his eyes only, but sometimes, he has the urge to tease you in public

if you were to attend a meeting with him and he just so happens to get particularly bored with the conversation, don't be too surprised when he suddenly pulls you into his lap, resting his head on your shoulder, while his hands keep you in place

the other attendents would be shocked at the display, at a loss for words, until Ayato urges them to continue, not bothered by it in the slightest, though he has to hold back a smirk with the way you bury your face in your hands, trying to hide your existence

And now you get those two combined

Ayato doing everything in his power to tease you with his touch, while Kaeya's words do nothing to ease the embarrassement you feel, even though their words and actions are so pure

Kaeya could simply be telling you how beautiful you look today in the sunlight, while Ayato agrees with him, gently stroking your back

Worst is, they know exactly the affect they have on you, and they will not hesitate to use it to their advantage

One day, you decided that you wanted to tease them back but when the time for it actually came, you were a stuttering mess, not being able to follow through, but the boys caught on to what you were trying to do

"Oho, little princess trying to tease us back?", Kaeya would say, leaning in close to your face, holding your hands

"We can't have that. That's our job after all, darling", Ayato would whisper in your ear from behind, his breath hitting against your neck

Their preference of teasing you also transfers into the bedroom, but they always leave you more than satisfied, so you can't really complain about it at all

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #poly relationship #poly ship #genshin impact poly #ayato x reader #ayato x you #ayato headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya headcanons #ayato fluff #kaeya fluff

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 8 months

Note

Hiya, me again! I’m loving your deep dives into character and plot for BotW/TotK, so I was wondering if you might like to give me your take on something I’m ruminating on for a WIP. I’d totally welcome others pitching in too! The question is this: what do you think that an emotional “breaking point” would look like for Link during TotK? He canonically masks his emotions to an extent and seems to have a history of trauma responses that include shutting down and dissociating, but what happens when it all gets to be too much? When a friend who’s trying to be helpful or sympathetic unwittingly presses too hard into an emotional sore spot and Link - already barely holding it together with everything that’s going on - just snaps? With everything bottled up so tight, what happens if the bottle explodes at the worst possible time: while he’s in the presence of others? Does he lash out? Break down? Flee? Some combination of all those, or something else entirely? I have my ideas but I’d love to get more takes!

Oooooohhhhh hi hi hi

I LOVE character analysis study time to determine how they would behave in a fic. I think Totk Link definitely shows far more emotion than we the players get to see and I think the best part of the game in general to determine that is the chase in Hyrule Castle.

As we know, Link canonically does go mute when he’s feeling a lot of emotion. But, he shows more emotion than is let on. Buliara tells us that Link is legitimately frazzled, utterly focused on ‘Zelda’, and in a space where he may “miss a wrung” in his haste to get up to the observation deck. And as he chases Zelda down and gets to the Sanctum, his expressions change for “oh my god Zelda is right here, I can see her” to “something is off. This isn’t Zelda” as she speaks. I can’t explain it properly, but this is that final nail in the coffin that YES. Zelda is the light dragon. She is going to be forever.

That is absolutely DEVASTATING. Because we know at this point in the game, Link is AWARE that it’s not the real Zelda that’s been seen across Hyrule. But he’s still so desperate.

And after the battle with the sages coming to aid him, everyone else is speaking and Link is just kinda there until Riju addresses him. And she goes “you should come to Lookout Landing too, Link”

While from a gaming perspective, that’s the way the game points the players back to Lookout Landing and of course Link isn’t going there with everyone else, because once the cutscene ends, Link will be by himself for the player to control.

However, in this case, we could argue that this was incredibly emotionally taxing for Link and he is at a breaking point.

So I think for him, it’s a sign that he will go mute and in a sense ‘run away’. He will seek a place to be alone and not surrounded by others who expect things of him. His breakdown point is led with a trauma response of becoming selectively mute and then seeking a safe place to break down with no one around him.

It’s so unsettling because for most characters, you get that explosive reaction, the one that erupts all of their emotions to whoever pushed them a tad too far… but Link’s trauma and his own training as a soldier creates an even worse response.

He doesn’t lash out in front of people. He doesn’t even let them know what he is thinking.

For a Link who is now far more expressive than he was previously, to shut down again and be mute, completely dissociating around some of his closest companions… that’s a LOT. And it’s a lot different from a writing perspective, but I think an internal breakdown, completely oblivious to the people around him, and a steady blow up once everyone is gone or he fled the area to be alone could be very emotionally impactful!

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podcastjam · 1 month

Text

Project Spotlight #4: The Ichorous Rot

Time for another project spotlight! Today, we're chatting with Sam from The Ichorous Rot.

Tell us a bit about yourself and your teammates!

@spinning-logic: Hey-o, I'm Charlie. I will be voice acting, sound editing, and assisting in some writing for our Podcast Jam entry! My first ever fiction podcast was Welcome to Night Vale (as it is for many, I'm sure), and my current favorite is pretty squarely tied with Malevolent and The Magnus Archives--though I'm truly loving Protocol too. I'm dipping my toes into hearing even more podcasts, like WOE.BEGONE and Old Gods of Appalachia. This is the first Podcast I've ever worked on, and hopefully what I learn from it will lead to creating more!

@moookar: Hi hi hello, I’m Mooo! I’m voice acting and writing. I’ve never worked on a podcast before TIR, but boy oh boy do I have lots of experience listening: WOE.BEGONE, Malevolent, and The Grotto are some of my current favorites, and I got started listening with The Magnus Archives and Dimension 20. Most of all, I’m just a fan of any speculative fiction I can get my hands on.

@gooboogy: I'm G! I do the music and some of the voice acting for The Ichorous Rot. I've been listening to audiobooks for ages and I listened to The Adventure Zone but only really started listening to audio dramas about a year ago with The Magnus Archives and Malevolent. It's not until I listened to WOE.BEGONE that I considered doing one myself! I don't have a fav podcast, but I have some fav characters such as Lucas Miller, Elias Bouchard, Kayne, and Ty Betteridge respectively. My fav genre is when Shit Gets Weird and I love it best when there's fucked up little blorbos :3

@fluxoid: Hey there! I'm Niall! I'll be doing some of the voice work for the Ichorous Rot. I've been listening to audio drama (and actual play) podcasts for over a decade now, starting with Welcome to Night Vale (of course). Current favorites are probably WOE.BEGONE and Midst, though I'm listening to many more. This is my first foray into the creative side of things and I'm excited to see where it goes!

@falloutcoys: Hello, I'm Sam! I'll be co-writing for The Ichorous Rot. I got started listening to WTNV in 2014 but really got into audio dramas when I picked up TMA in 2021. My current favorite pods have to be Midst,Not Quite Dead and WOE.BEGONE! This will be the first show I'm involved being published, but I'm writing my own passion project as well (@aboardtheichthyoid).

What's your podcast about?

Our project is set in 1880s West Virginia. Dr. Theodore Yates as he's overwhelmed in his duties as Janesville’s only doctor by a mysterious illness spreading through the town. We follow him through a combination of his own medical notes recorded on a wax cylinder, and snippets of audio following him and his best friend Alonzo as he tries to find a way to resolve The Ichorous Rot. It's a mystery that explores the effects of working class life and generational trauma through a supernatural lens.

What are you most excited about in this event?

This event has been such a great learning opportunity and way to collaborate with others! Everyone has had great ideas and we're able to bounce off each other and flesh out the story together, which is a really unique experience.

Any advice for other participants, or those on the fence about joining?

If you've been on the fence about joining, go for it! This is a really fun experience and it has the lowest possible stakes. Worst case scenario, you've met some great people and learned about producing a podcast. Best case scenario, you make an episode you're really proud of that grows into something much bigger.

While this team is no longer looking for new members, you can follow their project here on Tumblr @theichorousrot. Additionally, with a couple days left to sign up, there's still time to join the fun and work on a Podcast Jam project yourself - find out more information here!

#project spotlight #podcast jam #audio drama #fiction podcast #pbc podcast jam

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years

Text

Enamored Extra Scene - 15

[Set in : After chapter 36]

Warnings: Explicit language, drinking, Regency era social norms, mentions of sex

“Remind me again why we are meeting here instead of the gentlemen’s club?”

“Oh come on now,” Anthony told Elias as the barkeep brought three bottles and two glasses to their table. “You had me drink that god awful wine before your wedding, I have to pay back the favor.”

Elias eyed the bottles suspiciously. “Jesus Christ, what is in them?”

Anthony grinned and wiggled his brows.

“Three words, my friend,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Oxford. Christmas. Holiday.”

A look of realization dawned on Elias’s face and he groaned, slipping a little in his chair.

“Oh God no…”

“Simon went straight home, you and I stopped by an inn before getting to London,” Anthony said. “And decided to get drunk.”

“Mm, couple hours before you left me to go upstairs with a lady of the night?”

“I left you with a lady as well, I didn’t leave you alone.” Anthony corrected him. “But before all that, we came up with quite literally the worst drink combination in the world to get drunk faster.”

“Anthony, I was still drunk when we got to London man,” Elias said. “We had to stop the carriage five times on the way so that we could throw up.”

“Yeah yeah—what was the recipe again?”

Elias heaved a sigh. “Quarter glass of ale, quarter brandy and rum for the rest of the glass.”

Anthony chuckled and started pouring the ale into the glasses before putting down the bottle and grabbing the brandy again. Elias let out a whine, eyeing him as he filled the rest of the glass with rum and pushed the glass in his direction.

“On one hand, if I die of poisoning I would be leaving Cece a widow,” Elias commented. “On the other hand if you die, you can’t marry my sister.”

Anthony nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Cheers then,” Elias said and clinked his glass with his, then took a sip and groaned. Anthony took a huge sip as well and grimaced, clearing his throat.

“Jesus, this is terrible.”

“I feel like this is worse than that wine,” Elias said before taking another sip again. “Good thing is, we’re going to get drunk very soon so we won’t even notice it.”

“Mm hm.” The drink burned Anthony’s throat as he took another sip and leaned back. “Better work fast.”

“I heard you told my sister to hire a third seamstress.” Elias said, making Anthony shrug his shoulders.

“She wants a long veil.”

“Oh I know,” Elias said. “She basically woke up talking about that thing, and didn’t stop until Aunt Lavinia said ‘Go tell Anthony about it’. Didn’t think she would just say “Alright!” and leave the breakfast table right at that second though.”

Anthony chuckled, that familiar warmth filling his chest.

“And I certainly didn’t think your solution would be that,” Elias said. “One would think you can’t say no to her even before the wedding.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Is this coming from the man who bought his wife a museum as a wedding gift because she liked a painting there?”

Elias snapped his fingers. “You make a good point,” he said. “Still waiting for the paperwork. By the way, I can help you with your wedding gift if you want.”

Anthony waved a hand in the air. “I already handled it.”

“Oh, what did you get her?”

“A house.”

“By the countryside?”

“In Paris.”

Elias blinked a couple of times. “You bought her a house in Paris,” he repeated and Anthony nodded.

“Yeah, she loves it there,” he said. “I figured she’d like one for when we visit.”

Elias gawked at him, then raised his glass slightly. “Well thought.”

“Thanks,” Anthony said and took a huge sip, then sat up straight. “Alright, are you ready?”

“Hm?”

“You know why I brought you here right?”

“Aside from poisoning me?” Elias grinned. “I do have a guess, but you should ask me either way.”

“Will you be my best man?”

Elias heaved a dramatic sigh.

“You know historically speaking, best man’s duty was to defend the groom if someone attacked him?” he said. “Or get involved if someone tried to stop the wedding?”

“Mm hm.”

“I’m the one who might attack you during the wedding in order to stop it from taking place,” Elias pointed at himself. “Goes against the whole point.”

“Your father might attack me or try to stop the wedding as well,” Anthony stated. “It’s not just you.”

“True that, he still doesn’t like you.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Eli.”

Elias smiled before rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “Assuming my father will be walking her down the aisle, I’d be honored to be your best man.”

Anthony let out a chuckle and clinked his glass with his. “Thank you.”

“I still cannot believe this,” Elias grumbled. “I was serious about her living with us after marriage, you know.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Anthony said and thought for a moment, then took a huge sip of his drink, then motioned at Elias to do the same.

“Hm?”

“You’re going to want to be at least tipsy for what I’m about to say to you.”

“Why?”

Anthony put his glass on the table. “First of all, I want you to know that I do not want to have this conversation with you either.”

“What?”

“…Someone needs to talk to her, Elias.”

“Talk to my sister?” Elias asked. “About?”

Anthony raised his brows and shot him a look, and as soon as it dawned on Elias he made a face.

“Are you trying to make me punch you?”

“Not really.”

“You will only hold hands after the wedding, I forbid anything else—”

“I’m serious,” Anthony cut him off. “Your mother apparently didn’t get the chance and she doesn’t know.”

“And how exactly do you know that she doesn’t know?” Elias asked tersely and Anthony heaved a sigh.

“Are you going to listen to me or do you want to be dramatic first?”

Elias threw his hands up and motioned at him. “Anthony, you’re talking about—”

“I know she's your sister and I know I'd want to punch any suitor of my sisters if they wanted to have a conversation with me about this,” Anthony said. “However, I love her so I can take a punch after you hear me out because this is important.”

“No promises on the punching but alright.” Elias grumbled. “Go ahead I guess.”

“I don’t want her to walk into that room clueless or worse; scared out of her mind because of some gossip she might hear at the wedding breakfast,” he said. “And I would have explained it myself but—”

“You will do no such thing, you’re not even married yet! I swear to God…”

“But as far as I’m told,” Anthony continued as if Elias hadn’t interrupted him. “It’s better if she hears it from a woman first. Tell Cecily or your aunt,” he paused for a moment and made a face. “Or I suppose I can tell my mother but I do not want to have that conversation unless I have no other choice.”

Elias downed his glass and shook his head, then poured some brandy into his glass.

“I’m going to pretend this isn’t about my sister and tell you my feelings on the subject at large,” he muttered. “I don’t think mothers are the best bet here.”

“Why?”

“I told Cecily before her mother did.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“For the first time?”

“Mm hm.”

“I mean I figured she had an idea, considering how you two were back in Stormview but…”

“Yeah and it’s a good thing I told her before her mother, that woman was about to scar my beloved for life.” Elias took a huge sip of his brandy. “Apparently she told Cecily that it’s a chore that had to be performed throughout the marriage but she could just lie there and focus on something else if it got too unpleasant.”

Anthony grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Cecily asked me the next day if we were doing something wrong because it did not match her mother’s description so as I said, mothers might not be the best idea now to think of it. Apparently they tend to give wrong information.”

“Or no information. Don’t you remember what happened to…” Anthony snapped his fingers. “Morris and his bride? Her mother let that poor girl marry him without any explanation of what would happen, then—”

“She rode back to her parents’ house and asked for an annulment on the wedding night because he wanted to take her gown off,” Elias finished his sentence for him.

“Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, I guess it could’ve been worse,” Elias scoffed and shook his head. “But I still cannot believe you have the audacity—”

“Just tell Cecily to talk to her,” Anthony interrupted him. “Please.”

Elias gritted his teeth and nodded as Anthony downed his drink to fill it again.

“This conversation never happened,” Elias motioned between them and Anthony raised his glass.

“I forgot about it already.”

“Good,” Elias said. “Now, do you want me to tell you more about how much my father hates you or do you need to finish your drink first?”

#enamored extra scene

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

Note

Absolutely love that gif of him on ur bsf to lovers post. 😩

Anyways, afab reader wears a short skirt and a lace thong that barely covers her privates <3 she teases eddie during a dnd campaign and bends over etc until he can’t take it anymore and he pulls her onto of him and moves her hips up and down as he fucks into her 😖 soft dom eddie and hellaaa praise

I'm combining this with a request for an Eddie breeding kink...I hope that's okay!

(”Breeding kink, you finding out by him looking at baby commercials and being nice to Dustin and the other kids thinking about him having one of his own”) @hahahafucku

Warnings: this is literally all smut and I think there’s a plot in there somewhere (18+ minors begone), breeding kink, public teasing, semi-public sex I guess, language, brief mention of reader’s body size

WC: 2.6k

A/N: I usually don’t write fics this smutty so pleeeeeeease let me know what you think! Too much? Not enough? Just right?

"Hey, babe?" You're glancing at the shopping list as you make your way through the store. Eddie was just by your side; you're supposed to be helping him pick up snacks for his campaign tomorrow, but your boyfriend has wandered off yet again.

"Eds, where are you?" you call out softly, attracting the attention of some irritated customers.

"Over here," you hear from four aisles down. You huff and make your way to him.

"Babe, do you really need four different types of chips?" you ask, but he's drawn into the products on the shelves. You look at what he's staring at: rows of diapers and jars of baby food.

"Are you pregnant or something?" you joke, poking his side. He jumps as you break him from his trance. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," he shuffles towards the cart and plops down the cans of soda he'd picked up. You're not convinced but place the thought on the back burner for now.

Why would Eddie be interested in baby products?

You wait until you're back in his beat-up van, bags of junk food loaded into the back.

"So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?" you ask, more curious than accusing.

"What?"

"Come on, Eddie. Why did I catch you looking at baby stuff? Not just glancing, but really looking?" You'd been together for awhile, and you knew he wanted kids one day, but there was no way that he wanted them now...was there?

"I dunno," he replies sheepishly, long curls falling over his face. "'S stupid."

The worst-case scenario flashes into your mind. "Oh my god, did you cheat on me and get her pregnant?"

Eddie laughs louder than he intends to; your accusation is just too ridiculous. "Absolutely not! You know I only have eyes for you, sweetheart." He gives you his best puppy dog look and kisses you hard.

"Then why won't you tell me what's going on?"

He sighs and throws back his head in defeat. "Fine, but just...don't judge me, okay?" You continue when you nod, palms moist with sweat. "Okay, so, I've been thinkin'," he starts, looking down at the car floor nervously. The engine is running though you're still parked, and he kills it. "Thinkin' about how goddamn gorgeous you would look if you were havin' my baby."

Huh. Well, that wasn't what you'd expected him to say. "You mean in, like, ten years?" But you know better.

Eddie shakes his head. "Nah, sweetheart. Right fuckin' now."

"Oh," you manage, "but you're still in high school," you point out, though you know exactly what his reply will be, and you're right.

"Only for another month. And babies take a lot longer than that to cook," he grins while he says it, and you realize that he's no longer looking at the car floor, but at your stomach. He's imagining you pregnant with his baby.

"Wow," you breathe out. "Can I-can I think about it?"

His eyebrows shoot up; clearly, he was not expecting you to even consider this proposal.

"Y-yeah, baby. Of course." He presses a kiss to your cheek, though you can tell by the bulge in his pants that he wants to do a lot more. He starts the van up again and heads for home, leaving you with a lot to think about.

You thought about the prospect of having Eddie's baby all night. In the shower, you ran your fingertips over the flatness of your stomach, thinking about a bump there. A bump that held Eddie Munson's child.

Yes, you were young, but you'd been together for two years, and you were also adults. Adults with jobs--you'd been working full-time at the bank since you'd graduated last year. And Eddie will be working full-time with Wayne at the plant soon. You'd already discussed moving in together; you promised your parents that you and Eddie would graduate before doing so, and that day would be here in just about four weeks. Maybe you could do this.

The easiest way to tell him would be to call him, but you had a better idea. You'd see the feral look in his eyes when he mentioned his desires--why not allow him to...give in to those carnal instincts?

The plan was perfect. You'd ditch work claiming a stomach flu (no one wants someone vomiting all over the workplace) and sneak back into Hawkins High. You'd been gone less than a year and still knew the layout like the back of your hand. Most importantly, you knew the abandoned janitor's closet on the second floor, the one conveniently near the drama/Hellfire room where you could sneak off and make a quick wardrobe change.

There’s no mirror in there, of course, so you just hope that your red lipstick isn’t smudged or on your teeth. You smooth down your black tank top, adjusting your breasts so that your cleavage is perfectly framed by the neckline. The icing on the cake is the tiny miniskirt that falls at the top of your thighs, exposing the long legs that stand in your heels.

School’s out, and Eddie’s told you that Hellfire is starting a bit late today so that the boys can watch Lucas Sinclair play in a basketball game. Eddie never got the hype of school-sanctioned sports, but it was important to his little sheep, so he’d compromised. Worked out for them, and it also happened to work out perfectly for you.

You knew Eddie would already be in the Hellfire room, meticulously setting up his campaign. You could picture him pacing anxiously around the table, ensuring everything looked just right. With a peek into the hall that showed the coast was clear, you scurried into the room where Eddie was chewing on his thumbnail, looking over his Dungeon.

“Hey there,” you say softly, and his head snaps up at the sound of your voice.

“Y/N, what are you--oh, holy shit.” His tone turns from confusion to pure lust as he eyes you, taking in you and your outfit hungrily. He runs his tongue over his lips involuntarily as he makes his way to you.

“Do you like it?” you feign shyness as he grabs your hips and pulls you as close as he can. You can feel him straining against his zipper already.

All he can mutter is “Oh my god,” as he buries his face in your neck, kissing it sloppily and sucking bruises into your skin.

“Figured we could try for that baby you mentioned, but I didn’t wanna wait for you to get home,” you shrug as he moves his hands under your short skirt, moaning audibly as he presses his palms against your bare ass, left mostly uncovered by a lace thong. When he hears what you’ve said--really registers it, which takes a moment--he pulls back.

“Are you serious?” He smiles, holding your face in his strong, calloused hands.

You press your own hands to his chest and whisper into his lips, punctuating your statement with a series of kisses. “Eddie, I want to have your baby. I want to get big...and round...and swollen...growing each month...with your baby.”

He shivers against you and hoists you up, slamming you against the wall; you wrap your legs around him as he pushes your skirt around your waist. He starts to rub a finger against your soaked panties, when you both hear it:

“Can’t believe the other team didn’t show!” Lucas. Oh, no.

“Buncha pussies, forfeiting like that,” Dustin’s voice rings out.

“At least Eddie will be glad we’re starting on time,” Mike chimes in.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “hand me my bag. I can run into the corner and throw on my pants.”

Eddie lets you down but grips your wrist. “Not so fast,” he growls. “I just got you how I want you, and I’m not letting you go.”

“B-but the boys--”

“We’re not fucking in front of them,” he dismisses your concern, “but you’re gonna sit on my lap, dressed like my perfect little slut.” He grabs you by the hem of your skirt and you yelp. “You think I’m gonna let my fantasy slip through my fingers?”

You nod, feeling a heat rising in your lower body.

“So now, you’ll be a good girl for me. You’re gonna sit on my lap, be my...helper...during the campaign, and then I’m gonna fuck a baby into you once we’re done. Got it?” He tilts your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” Eddie takes his seat on his throne and you do as he’s instructed, feeling his erection underneath you as he slides a ringed hand up your thigh.

“Welcome, boys!” Eddie’s voice booms. You feel a blush creep up your neck toward your cheeks. “Got my little helper here today.” He takes the hand farthest from the boys and squeezes your ass and you gasp softly.

Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, Munson? you think. Game on.

You spend the rest of the Hellfire meeting doing whatever you can to torture Eddie. You’re constantly “repositioning” yourself, grinding on him and feeling him grow harder with each subtle movement.

“Knock it off, princess,” he whispers, but you’re in the mood to be a brat. You pretend to get a little sleepy and stretch, showing off your breasts in Eddie’s face. You watch his eyes flick to your chest before returning to the game.

While he’s reading the next part of the campaign aloud, you place your palm on his jeans, right over his cock, making him take a sharp breath in.

But your grand finale is when Gareth rolls the D20 and it lands right in front of Eddie’s notes. When it’s Mike’s turn to roll next, you stop him.

“I can get it, Wheeler,” you say, leaning over and giving Eddie a clear up-skirt view. You know he can even see your clothed pussy from the angle you’re giving him.

Eddie hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you back down, glaring at you.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him innocently. “Am I not helping?”

“Okay, that’s it,” he mutters before turning to the rest of his group. “All right, we’re wrapping up for the night.” His announcement is met with a chorus of grumbles. “Hey, hey, hey, I don’t wanna hear it! We will continue this next week.”

The boys file out of the room, mumbling about Eddie’s bizarre behavior. Once they leave, Eddie grabs you, positioning you so you’re straddling him in his throne.

“What the fuck was that?” he pulls your hair to bring your face closer to his. “You tryin’ to make me blow my load in my pants? Sounds to me like you don’t really want me breeding you.”

“N-no, I do. I do,” you whimper. “Want your baby, Eddie. Please.”

“I don’t think I believe you. I need to be convinced,” he sneers.

“Please, Eddie. I need you to breed me. Need you to fill me up with your cum and get me pregnant,” you beg. You allow yourself a small sigh of relief as he eases his grip on your hair, but it’s short-lived, because he tears off your thong with a rip and slides his pointer and middle fingers along your wet folds.

“You’re soaked, princess,” he groans. “I love how wet you get for me. Ruined your panties and now you’re gonna ruin my jeans.” He presses one finger to your aching clit, making small, slow circles, and laughs menacingly as you cry out.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, mocking your earlier question. “Can’t handle being teased?” When you don’t respond, he moves his finger faster, rubbing your clit harder. “How’s this?”

“S-so good,” you manage, grinding back and forth on his finger. You want--no you need--him inside you, but you don’t dare tell him that for fear he’ll deny you that pleasure. “You know exactly where to touch me.”

Eddie beams as he receives the praise, moving his finger from your swollen nub to your pussy. He slides it in and curls it, pumping it in and out, your beautiful moans ringing in his ears. He adds a second finger and lets out a moan of his own as you clench around him.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologizes preemptively. You’re confused until he removes his fingers and cleans them with his tongue, leaving you hurting for him. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper, palming his cock through his boxers.

“Eddie,” you whine, “I could’ve done that for you.” Touch-starved and desperate for affection, you lift your own shirt over your head. A sheer lace bra leaves little to the imagination.

Eddie sucks on the exposed part of your breasts, leaving hickeys all over them. One hand still on his erection, he uses the other to unhook your bra. As soon as it clatters to the ground, he’s groping your tits, biting your nipples as pleasure and pain intertwine and you scream loudly.

Not wanting to take his hands off of your breasts, he shuts you up with a kiss. “Can’t...fuckin’...wait...any longer,” he pants, and you take his rock hard length into your hand. You start to move to get on your knees, but he stops you.

“Need to be inside this tight little pussy,” he orders, rubbing his cock along your wetness until he’s covered in your slick, and he presses himself into you. “You were made for me, you fuckin’ know that?”

“I’m all yours,” you agree easily, matching his rhythm as you ride him. “My body belongs to you, Eddie. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie’s groaning. He grabs onto your hips and moves you exactly how he needs you. “Your body, your mouth, your everything is fuckin’ perfect.” His thrusts get faster and your orgasm builds inside you as you feel him get deeper, hitting that spot over and over again.

“Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you plead, asking for permission rather than telling him. “Please let me cum all over you while you fill me up.”

“I’m cumming, too.” He grips your sides even harder, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, and you suspect there will be bruises there tomorrow. He slams you up and down over his cock and you finish with tears streaming down your face. You feel him shoot thick, hot ropes into you. With the little strength he has left, he places you onto the table, still inside of you.

“Lay back,” he orders. “Don’t want any of this coming out. You gonna get knocked up today, aren’t you, princess?”

“Y-yes, Eddie,” you whisper. You watch as he pulls out of you. He frowns when he sees cum running down your leg. With a quick swipe of his hand, he pushes it back into you.

“You took all of me, didn’t you? Such a good girl,” he remarks. You’re too fucked out to muster up a response, and he notices. “Poor baby. I really fucked you good, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie puts himself away and sits back in his throne, admiring his work. “Love seeing you like this.”

“It’s all you, Eds,” you finally say. “All because of you, and all for you.”

“My beautiful little vixen,” he throws his head back with a low growl. “Tell you what. You stay just like that, make sure it takes. Then we’ll go back to my place and relax, okay?”

“And go for round two?” you ask mischievously. “Make sure I get pregnant tonight?”

Eddie laughs. “I wish, but Wayne will be home.”

You beckon him to the table and pull him in for a long, deep kiss. “Guess you’ll just have to keep me quiet, then.”

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