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petalsrdead · 3 years

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LOVE WITHIN VILE RICHES

pairing: tobio kageyama x female reader (hinata, yachi, tsukishima, tadashi, two original female characters, and parents of both you and kageyama featured)

word count: 2,209 words

summary: your fathers are business partners, so you two have known each other forever, but have always hated and competed to see who was the best. high school graduation has come and gone, and you and tobio decide to face any feelings and hatred you have for each other one on one

warnings: 18+, smut!!, arguing, angst, swearing, bully!kageyama(kinda???), underage drinking (for americans, not those with 18+ drinking ages), kageyama is smart unlike in the manga & anime, oral (f receiving), praise kink, praising in general, some fluffy aftercare,

a/n: this is my piece for @bakugohoex ‘s rich boy collab. read everyone’s pieces here! congrats on the milestone ria! also thank you to @fallxngstarr for helping me with the title for this and beta reading! also if this seems rushed im sorry! work has been kicking my butt.

the idea of another party between your two families had your head reeling. tobio kageyama was your worst nightmare, and even though your fathers were business partners and friends since junior high, their two children couldn’t get along to save their lives. kageyama always picked on you when one of your mothers watched both of you. he pulled your hair, took your toys, ate your snacks… your mothers joked it was just a way of showing that he liked you.

as the two of you got older and went to school together, you competed academically. the two of you were born four months apart, kageyama being the eldest, so you were in the same class quite often. you both wanted to prove you could be the heirs of the business your fathers worked so hard to build, and you just had some unspoken competition with one another.

you’re both 18 now and having a joint high school graduation party. you were head of the class, tobio right behind you, so everyone was ecstatic. the party was both of your families, friends, and business partners.

it’s a hot summer day, lemonade and watermelon set out for the guests to enjoy. you smooth down your sundress and stand at the door of the kageyama’s mansion.

though your fathers are the heads of the business, kageyama’s dad is the technical ceo, and since he already came from money, it made sense that they lived where they did. kageyama’s mother greets your family at the door, pulling everyone in for hugs.

“(y/n)! you look so stunning! that dress is beautiful!” his mother beams, smiling at you.

“thank you mrs kageyama! i bought it just for today!” you run your hands down the front of it again and smile.

“tobio is in the game room if you’d like to see him.” his father says.

‘that’s not really a suggestion.’ you think to yourself, but nod and excuse yourself, heading into the game room down the hall.

you can hear him yelling, probably at hinata as you walk through the open door. he’s playing some type of combat game.

“dammit hinata! im down!” he yells, slamming his controller against his thigh.

you stand behind him as he sits on the couch and look around the space. he’s got every gaming console a boy could ever want or need, a huge tv, and an amazing surround sound system. a large sectional fills up the room with a mini fridge in the corner.

you walk towards tobio, your nerves kicking in as you step into his view.

“fuck. gotta go hinata. the bitch is here.” he mumbles and throws off his headset.

you wave and smile softly at him, trying to be friendly. “congratulations tobio… i heard about the volleyball commitment—“

“shut up. gods you’re really annoying you know that? why are you even in here? i don’t want to see your stupid face.” he huffs and stands up, walking out of the room.

your smile instantly falters, as you fall into the couch where he was sitting. you play with the hem of your dress as you try and hold back tears. memories of him pushing you off the swings or into his pool when you couldn’t swim without a life preserver surface your mind.

“why is he so mean to me…?” you whisper.

——————————————-

everyone’s family and friends finally arrive, the adults in the kitchen and on the patio drinking wine, and the kids in the pool. shoyo, yachi, tadashi, tsuki, and kageyama are swimming, splashing each other and playing cliche pool games. you’re sitting in the jacuzzi, relaxing along with two of your friends.

“do you think kei will let me suck him off tonight?” your friend chizo whispers, staring at the blonde in the pool.

you scoff. “i doubt it. he’s as much, if not more of an asshole than tobio…”

“well, i think tadashi and i have a shot before summer ends!” your other friend namiko beams.

“i can’t believe kageyama actually agreed to both of you coming over here…” you say, sliding out of the jacuzzi and sitting on the edge of it, sliding your feet back in.

“well, we are your friends and this is a joint graduation party…” chizo mumbles.

“hey guys!” yachi yells, waving and running over to the jacuzzi.

“you wanna play truth or dare and spin the bottle with the rest of us?! i didn’t think it was fair being the only girl…” she mumbles.

namiko and chizo are practically flying out of the hot tub to dry off and get dressed. you just shrug. “i guess were in.”

yachi jumps up and down and claps. “yay! okay everyone’s meeting in the game room in ten minutes, see ya!”

she runs off again, most likely into the house to go make out with hinata.

————————-

“namiko, truth or dare?” tsukishima asks, expression as hard as always.

your group is downstairs in the game room, bottles and cans of alcohol scattered around, playing the first round of truth or dare.

“um! dare!” she bites her lip as she looks at the blonde.

“i dare you to make out with tadashi.” namiko and tadashi both gasp, cheeks flushing as they look at each other.

they’re sitting next to each other and their lips desperately collide, the desire for each other obvious through their actions.

“okay. you two can stop now…” chizo mumbles, rolling her eyes.

tadashi and namiko laugh, looking at each other. “okay, (y/n)! truth or dare?”

you shrug and smirk. “how about a dare?”

namiko smirks and looks at you, then kageyama, then back to you. “i dare you to spend seven minutes in heaven with kageyama. in his bedroom…”

“woah!”

“namiko are you serious?!”

“she’s bold… bolder than i thought…”

kageyama’s nostrils flare as he stands up from the floor. “a dares a dare. let’s go (y/n).”

you nod slowly, still in awe of namiko’s dare. you get up and follow tobio. you’ve been in his room before, but it’s been a while. there’s volleyball trophies and certificates all along dressers and pinned to the walls, there’s not a single object out of place, which is shocking for a teen boy’s bedroom.

his expression is harsh as he motions to his bed. “sit.”

you sit, watching him pull out his phone and set a timer at seven minutes. he sits next to you, tossing the phone on the bed.

“we’re not doing anything except sitting here… cool?” he mumbles, glancing at you.

“i was thinking the same thing.” you say, glaring at him.

“what’s that face for?” his brows furrow.

you sigh and shake your head. “i-i’m sick of you being mean to me! you’ve been mean to me since we were little! why?!”

tears peek at your eyes and he shrugs. “i don’t know! maybe i was jealous of you!”

you stand up and move in front of him, glaring once more. “jealous?! of me?! what on earth are you on about tobio?! i should be the one that’s jealous!”

he stands up now and looks down at you, cheeks flushed red with anger. “you’ve gotten to do whatever you wanted! it was practically set in stone that i was going to be the one to take over the company and you were going to go to college. in fact i overheard our parents deciding that once! i don’t want to take over the stupid company (y/n)! i want to play volleyball!”

“y-you heard them say that?” you whisper, looking down at your feet.

tobio’s hand grips your chin so you look up and into his eyes. “yes. that’s why i was an asshole to you all these years. why i never wanted anything to do with you. because you were free to make your own decisions and i wasn’t. it’s not fair.”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to go down the path i’m going either.” you say. “i’d rather run the company than go to college, at least for something other than a business degree.”

his eyes widen at your words, dropping your chin. “you’re serious? when did that decision come to be?”

“only a few nights ago. you should too. maybe we’ll run it together some day. if we both have business degrees, then…”

“i don’t care about the stupid business!” he practically screams.

you flinch away from him and against his bedroom door, hand going to the knob. tobio notices this and sighs. “shit… sorry… sorry i scared you…”

his expression softens and he sits at his computer desk now, putting his face in his hands.

“our lives… they’ve always been planned for us by our parents. you and i getting married, you going to college for like… a doctorate degree in something, my degree in business so i can continue to run the business… i thought… i thought being mean to you would change things, so i could write my own story…” kageyama lifts his head to speak, before placing it in his hands again.

your eyes widen. “y-you’ve… you’ve never really hated me?”

he looks up and opens his mouth to speak, but the phone alarm goes off. you walk over and stop it, staring at him. “kageyama…” you whisper.

he nods. “i… i like you… i really do…”

your cheeks flush and you step over to him, bending down to his level and kissing his lips deeply. he’s in awe, but wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you back. he soon pulls you into his lap, and you knot your fingers in his hair, continuing to kiss him deeply.

the two of you pull away, gasping for air as you look in each other’s eyes. “s-shit… tobio…” you whisper.

he smirks and picks you up, carrying you to the bed. he lays you down, gently, sliding his hands under your sundress. “(y/n)...”

you nod. “g-go ahead…”

he pulls your dress over your head and looks over your form. “beautiful…” he mumbles, large and calloused hands trailing down your stomach to your clothed sex.

he slides his thumb over the material of your panties, catching your clit which causes you to gasp out. he smirks and runs his thumb over it again. “t-tobio!”

he stops and holds a finger to his lips, shushing you. “we have to be quiet…”

you whimper at his words and nod. his brows furrow as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to him. you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed at the predicament you’re in. “this is to make up for all these years, okay?”

you peak down at him through your hands and see him sliding his tongue along your folds. you whimper and he does it again, faster and faster he flicks his tongue through your slit. you push the back of your hand down on your mouth and moan, eyes rolling back into your head.

“feels good? you’re doing so good for me baby…” he whispers against your skin.

he dives back into you, lapping at your clit this time, suckling and teasing it with his tongue. you moan louder this time, bucking your hips up into his face. he then wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking at it harshly. you can’t help but yell out, a hand gripping his black hair tightly.

“t-tobio!! it’s too much!!!” you yell out.

he pulls off and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. “c’mon baby… cum for me… let it out…”

as if he couldn’t get more aggressive, his tongue slips between your folds and inside of you, lapping at your juices that come out once again. you pull his hair and he thrusts his tongue in and out of you.

kageyama takes a moment to stare at you. your hair askew and face contorted in pleasure. one hand over your mouth and the other in his hair. he smirks and continues his quick pace.

“t-tobio!! i-im—!” you gasp out, creaming all over his face and tongue.

he slowly licks at you through the orgasm, helping you down from your high. he pulls away and licks his lips, savoring every last drop of your essence.

he takes a finger and collects the rest from his face, then sliding the finger into his mouth and sucking at it. you sit up on your elbows, watching him closely.

“do… do you need me to…?” you mumble nervously, looking to the tent in his shorts.

he shakes his head. “it was all about you… i’ll be fine…”

you nod and reach for your dress, pulling it over your head. he watches you carefully, unsure of what to say. “we should… we should do that again. not now! but sometime…”

you shrug. “i mean we don’t have long until uni starts… so i guess that’s cool…”

“not just that… i-“ he sighs and yanks at his hair. “let me take you out tomorrow? okay!?”

your eyes widen, but you slowly nod. “sure tobio. just don’t bully me…”

he lays next to you, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you back into his chest. “no promises i won’t tease you, but i won’t be an asshole anymore.”

tags: @lustforyuu @beelziee @bummie @missuga @ultimate-astridwriting

#petalsrdeadworks #rich boy collab #tobio kageyama #tobio smut #hq tobio #kegayama tobio #tobio x you #tobio x y/n #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama x you #tobio kageyama angst #tobio angst #[🌺] — calamity’s collab pieces #[🎀] — calamity’s works #🌷 — anime messes

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

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18. Skeleton

Buddy and Sammy find the “goldfish room” as the latter calls it, AKA the closet where Joey keeps his skeletons, literally. And in the process, Buddy learns about a few of the skeletons in Sammy’s metaphorical closet. (Set during ink hell, pre loop, post Buddy befriending the lost ones/searchers.)

The Prophet was a strange ally.

It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)

But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.

At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.

“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”

He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.

“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…”

‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’

“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”

Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.

A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.

Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.

The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…

...Like his own body.

“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.

The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.

“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”

‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’

“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”

Buddy nodded.

“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”

‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’

“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”

Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.

“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”

‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’

“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”

Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;

‘Sammy help us!’

“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”

‘Sammy, where are you?’

“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”

‘you’re too weak!’

“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”

The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him.

‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’

He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...

‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.

The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.

For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.

-----

Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.

“So... how did the supply run go?”

“Fine.”

Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.

[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.

While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]

“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”

[Sorry.]

The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.

“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”

[Prophet, what are you talking about?]

“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”

[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]

“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”

“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.

“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”

“Dorthy!”

“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”

“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”

The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.

“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”

“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”

It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”

The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.

[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]

“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”

“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #buddy boris #buddy lewek #sammy lawrence #dot batim #fanfic #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #dead bodies #psychological trauma #ink demonth

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mrvdocks · 4 years

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Nightcall P.2

Summary: Kurt is obsessive over a model and kidnaps her, taking her along for the ride of the night. P.2

You feel the tiredness behind your eyes when they flutter open, your chest rises and falls slowly as you take in your surroundings. You were home. It was close to six now, but some light still came in through your shades and illuminated your living room sunset orange.

You sit up in confusion, was the whole Spree a dream? More like a nightmare.

Your head is killing you, almost as if there’s a jackhammer in your skull.

You rub at your eyes tiredly, standing up too quick and needing to balance yourself on the arm of the couch you were just laying on.

The apartment’s empty, save for some background noise coming from your laptop.

That’s odd, you didn’t remember leaving your laptop on.

Your vision blurs for a moment but sharpens on the image in front of you. The chat in the live stream is going nuts with all sorts of comments ranging from “when are we going to see some gory shit?” to “bring back Bobby!”

That’s when you realize the person on the live stream is you.

The comments change to asking you if all of this is real and if Kurt is coming back.

Your eyes widen as you read his name.

That’s when you hear him.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I was starting to get scared that I used too much of the stuff.”

You don’t know how much tensing your body can take. You put the screen down, meeting a smiling Kurt who’s dressed in Bobby’s clothes. You know it’s his because of the sponsors you helped him get.

You grab at the nearest thing on the table, brandishing a leftover metal fork at him.

It merely amuses him as he puts your hand down with ease and takes the fork away.

“Come on, did you really think I was going to hurt you? You, of all people? I have no reason to do that.”

“You’ve done worse for less,” you shudder, glancing behind you to find a way out.

“You’re not in any danger with me. You’re safe, okay?” He takes small steps towards you, hands out in a gesture to relax you.

It doesn’t work, it only makes you more nervous. For every step he takes forward, you take one back.

“I bet you’re hungry.” He says, disappearing into your kitchen.

You take this chance to run into your room, remembering there was a landline you never paid attention to there. Maybe you could get out of this still.

Much to your dismay, the line’s been cut by Kurt anyway.

“I didn’t want us to be interrupted.” He says, bringing in his concoction of food.

You don’t have the strength in you to fight and your stomach grumbles at the sight of the food. He holds it out in front of you, waiting.

You stare at it, trying to figure out if anything’s wrong with it.

“I didn’t poison it or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

When you don’t believe him, he takes a bite out of the sandwich and scarfs it down immediately. Nothing happens.

You take it from him slowly and bite at it before completely devouring it whole.

“Good. You’re going to need energy for later.” He leaves you alone to go back into the living room.

You don’t understand what he means until you hear something drag against your floors. He reappears in your bedroom dragging the body of the same man from the earlier Spree.

You instantly feel sick to your stomach, the food you just ate reaching your throat as you gag at the smell.

You shudder lowly, feeling your shoulders shake and your chest heave as you clasp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to calm yourself.

The dead body in front of you was very much freaking you the fuck out and you didn’t know whether to scream or to cry about your situation.

Kurt makes quick work of the man’s possessions, pocketing them to probably discard them later.

“People are just so rude,” He says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Kurt killing someone for demeaning you is something you didn’t see coming. Then again, you didn’t really see yourself being kidnapped on the list of things that would happen this week.

“This makes you worse than Bobby. No, worse than anyone.”

You don’t know where the sudden fuel to comment on his actions came, you were still scared but somehow it came barreling out.

He stops what he’s doing, looking at you in disappointment.

He really couldn’t expect you to go along with this, could he?

“Bobby and I are different, you know that. This is different.”

You didn’t know him.

“So what? You don’t like how the world treated you so you just do whatever you like? Murder as you please?”

He doesn’t argue back, he doesn’t need to. You’re right.

“I’m not just doing this for myself.” He rubs at his temple.

“Kurt,” you muster enough courage to look him dead straight in the eyes. “Do not do this and say that it’s for me. I won’t hesitate -”

“To leave? Go ahead, you’ve had all this time.”

He renders you speechless. He was right, you could’ve easily overpowered him with anything in the room. But if he was so infatuated with you the right thing would’ve been to let you go without consequence.

“You said you trusted me.” He murmurs.

“You ran a fucking light and now you’re a serial killer! It doesn’t apply to both!”

“I’m - I’m not the bad guy here!” He huffs incredulously, as if everything he did wasn’t affecting him psychologically the way it was you. “If anything, I’m doing the world a favor! These are scum of the earth people!”

He calms down. “They get it.”

He points presumably to the laptop mere feet away from you both. The sounds of the stream popped up one after the other.

“Really? Because as far as everybody’s concerned, they all think this is some kind of fucked up joke!”

“Let them believe what they want to believe. They’re finally watching me!”

It doesn’t matter to him that they’re insulting him in the comments, or that he killed someone he considered a friend.

“So everyone has an expiration date for you.” You conclude.

He was only going to use people up. That should’ve been common sense. You don’t understand why that fact made you feel a little dejected. You wish he could revert back to the Kurt you met.

“Do I have an expiration date?”

“No.” He assures. “But if this is going to work I need you to be okay with this.”

“I’m not.”

Fighting him was futile. You were forced into it. You wanted so desperately to warn these people and get the word out. But that's also what he would've wanted. He wanted you to give him exposure. The officer still thinks you did it all willingly, but the footage was more than enough to help you get off with a few repercussions.

You wish you could forget the screams of the people in the car, a thousand washes with soap couldn’t get rid of the blood on your hands. Even if some of them really were assholes, shouldn’t they have also had a chance at redemption?

With each spree, Kurt only was egged on by the audience and those that found the livestream later. Many of them called for you to do something equally as horrifying but you couldn’t. Many suggested for him to get rid of you since you were being ‘boring’. He wouldn’t do it.

And that’s when he set his sights on Jessie. After promptly kidnapping her and trying to convince her to join him to no avail, he takes both of you back to his house. You had enough. You wanted a way out and Jessie was it. You just didn’t know everything would end so bloody.

There’s an ensuing fight, she strangles Kurt with the phone charger and knocks you back in an attempt to stop it. The back of your head collides with the passenger window harshly, forcing you to screech in pain.

Kurt doesn’t take it well.

She swindles Kurt, taking the gun he kept in the glove compartment and arming herself with it. This wasn’t how you wanted it to go. You just wanted her to scare him enough to turn himself in.

But the crazed look in her eye suggested that wasn’t happening.

The final battle takes place at his home. Where all his dirty secrets are let out.

“I’ll shoot you both if you don’t move!”

You keep your hands up, shielding Kurt with your body.

“Jessie please, let’s think about this.”

“And let him get away with all of this? He’s brainwashed you already.”

“He hasn’t - listen he won’t get away with this. Jessie please, give me the gun.”

She wavers, the barrel pointed directly at you. Your heart is beating so fast you almost think you’ll die from a heart attack before the bullet even reaches you.

“No! No, this has to end. He’s fucking crazy, can’t you see that??! This was always going to end with one of us dead anyway, and it’s not going to be me.” She points behind you and almost pulls the trigger but is stopped by you lunging at her.

“No!” You yell.

You tackle her onto the floor, the back of her head bouncing off the leg of the pool table and knocking her unconscious.

You press your index finger against her neck, feeling her pulse. You sigh in relief.

“Why didn’t you let her do it?” Kurt asks suddenly.

“She was going to kill you. I don’t know how I’d feel about that.”

Kurt had no problem having these people on his conscience, but you did. Maybe killing him would be good, but him facing justice for what he did would be better. He could atone for all of this.

“Even after what I did to you?”

You don’t answer and instead prop Jessie against the wall. You were honestly very sorry for it but you were optimistic about the outcome of all of this.

Kurt bends to your level and takes you into his arms, squeezing you tight.

“We did it!” He celebrates prematurely, Jesse’s not even dead but it doesn’t matter to him. He thinks you’re on his side, that’s more than enough.

You smile nervously, his forehead touching yours in what he believes is a tender moment.

“What are you going to do to her?” You’re afraid of the answer.

Kurt’s mood shifts immediately, serious now.

“I have to get rid of her now obviously. If she won’t join us then there’s no point to her.”

His quick response is enough for you to discard all hope that he would walk away from this. You grip the gun in your right hand, sure that he hasn’t seen it.

“This is going to be great! We’re going to be even bigger than all these assholes. And you can finally be by my side, as it should be.”

Your blood runs cold. He’s a dead man walking at this point.

You say fuck it as you abandon all morals. With the free hand you have, you bring it to the nape of his neck and press your lips against his. He’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t feel the front of the gun pressed against his abdomen.

It’s only when you feel your finger pull back the trigger that the shot startles you both and he opens his eyes to looks at you in shock.

You unload another shot into him. He crawls away from you and applies pressure onto his wound, howling in pain.

He looks at you again, hurt and confusion clear on his face. He reaches for you, calling for you in between coughing fits and cries of pain.

You empty the last bullet into his shoulder, sending him backward.

There’s a ringing in your ear that drowns out the sirens in the distance. You don’t know who managed to call them but you’re thankful to end this nightmare. You’re still holding the gun out but it only takes you a second to realize you’re screaming. Absolute guttural and gut-wrenching wailing.

When they arrive, the paramedics have to sedate you to calm you down. Jessie is taken in the ambulance while an officer tries to get you out of the house while you’re still conscious. Kurt’s body lays limp in a pool of red, his hand still reaching and glazed eyes staring back at you.

It haunts you.

“People like Kurt needed a partner. We believe he was targeting Ms. Adams previously before his attention turned to you. Do you know why that is?”

You lie. “No.”

It’s easy to say you never knew his intentions. They were spur of the moment decisions. Everything was chance. You can't explain yourself or Kurt’s psyche to her, there’s no easy way to do it.

She sighs. “Listen, whatever good you think you saw in him, whatever ramble about the real world you think you understood - was never there.”

Her words should make you feel better, comfort you in the fact that you developing some sort of twisted attachment with your kidnapper wasn’t your fault. You don’t know how to feel, you just feel...empty.

“It doesn’t matter now.” You shrug.

“You said Kurt told you something before he died. What was it?”

You let your heavy eyes close in exhaustion. You don’t remember why you told them that, but it must’ve slipped out in questioning.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

Unsure if she believes you or not but knowing there’s nothing else to keep you here, she dismisses you. You trudge out of the interrogation room and out of the station into the cold. You don’t bother with ordering a ride, it’s been ruined for you.

Instead you walk it home, feeling yourself go into autopilot. You think you see his face in every driver that passes you.

You’re sure you look catatonic to people but you don’t care. You just want to rest.

As soon as you’re home you slip into the bathroom, turn on the shower until it’s steaming and let everything out.

In the weeks that follow, you and Jessie are thrown into the stratosphere of fame. While she’s more content with her newfound trajectory and takes advantage of it, you decline every interview and prying noses that ask you to explain your relationship with Kurt. It’s all part of their circle jerk of tragedy, milking the victims for information and glamour.

Kurt’s regarded as a loser by those who are saner than he was and a god by those on the internet. You’re not entirely surprised.

You think it’s all over when months pass without incident until one day your friends send you a link to something on Reddit, which you don’t think twice about.

You regret it as soon as you see Kurt’s face in the thumbnail. Someone took all the footage from that night and was going to broadcast it later to show off their own documentary.

You don’t use social media anymore.

#spree #kurt kunkle x reader #kurt kunkle #well here it is

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livesincerely · 3 years

Note

Keepsakes from Jack’s POV? (That fic broke my heart and fixed it all at once. Absolutely beautiful!!)

trinkets

Also on Ao3. Davey’s pov here.

00000

Even after all the trouble he went to getting the address, Jack almost decides not to go. Les’ text message stares up at him accusingly when he double checks his phone, Davey’s new apartment number listed with the blunt instruction, ‘Don’t fuck this up.’

Easy for him to say. Jack’s still not sure how things fell apart in the first place.

He rings the doorbell, his stomach rolling with nerves, and for one terrible second he thinks that maybe no one’s home, or even worse, that maybe that Davey just won’t answer for him.

But the door creaks open.

“Jack,” Davey says, more of a statement than a question, his eyes wide with shock.

Jack’s heart swirls and swoops in his chest at the sight of him. Davey looks just the same as he did when they last saw each other, just the way he always looks in Jack’s dreams and his nightmares—long and lean, with big blue eyes made even brighter by the lush lashes that frame them.

“Hi, Davey,” Jack says, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t drag Davey into a desperate embrace.

“You...” Davey pauses, visibly uncertain, his fingers clenched in a death grip around his doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the address from Les,” Jack explains, and it sounds like such a flimsy excuse now that he’s saying it aloud. “I’m in town for the week visiting Ma and Charlie, thought I could swing by and see you for a sec.”

“Oh,” Davey says.

“So, uh, can I come in?” Jack asks, nervous.

“Oh, right,” Davey mutters, holding the door open wider and beckoning him forward. “Yeah, sure. Please, come in.”

It’s a nice apartment. Jack recognizes a lot of the furniture in the entryway and living room from when they were living together, and he spies a few picture frames hanging in the hallway that he’s pretty sure he picked out himself—the scattered reminders help something settle in his chest even as something else fizzes and buzzes behind his eyes.

“You moved out of the old place,” Jack can’t help but point out as he takes it all in; he’s been wondering about the change ever since he found out Davey moved.

“It was a bit too much for just one person,” Davey says quietly. “A smaller apartment is easier to keep up with.”

There’s a brief pause where that statement hangs in the air between them, heavy and awkward. Jack feels like an absolute heel—of course Davey wouldn’t be able to make rent on their old place by himself, and it’s not like there’d been space for a housemate. Of course he’d had to move.

Davey continues, “Can I get you anything? Soda or coffee or...?”

“Coffee would be great, actually,” Jack says, not really all that interested in a drink, but happy for an excuse to linger for a while. “But, uh, only if it won’t put ya out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Davey says, and Jack can’t tell if he’s being honest or just being polite. “Here, go ahead and sit down and I’ll fix you a cup.”

Jack settles down onto one of the stools at the island while Davey putters around the kitchen, taking a moment while Davey’s back is turned to just look at him.

He needs a haircut, Jack thinks, noting the way Davey’s fringe falls into his eyes as he fiddles with the coffee maker—just long enough now that it’s starting to curl up at the ends, making him look even softer then he usually does—then sort of hating that he’s noticed.

He shouldn’t care. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he does.

“So, how have you been?” Davey asks, head ducked down to watch the coffee brew. “How’s Santa Fe been treating you?”

“‘S good,” Jack says, talking out his ass, too focused on the motion of Davey’s fingers as he drums them against the countertops, on the delicate line of his wrists peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, to pay attention to what he’s saying. “It’s great, it’s got everything: clear skies, gorgeous sunsets. If you go out to the desert at the right time of day the views are unreal. So, uh, life’s pretty good.”

Davey still doesn’t turn toward him, still won’t lift his head. It’s making something go uncomfortably tight in Jack’s chest, his pulse beating a few ticks faster in his ears.

“And work’s going well?”

“Real well,” Jack tells the back of Davey’s head, and as he watches, Davey’s shoulders stiffen. “Now that I’ve been there a while they’re startin’ to give me my own projects to work on, which is great. Nerve racking, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m gonna fuck it all up, but great. Honestly, the studio space and the stipend I get for supplies on its own is pretty incredible, let alone all the experience and connections I’m getting too. So, yeah, things are goin’ well.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Davey says, and he actually sounds like he means it, but he still won’t meet Jack’s eyes. It’s kinda starting to piss him off. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” Jack says, but he’s not quite able to mask the hint of bitterness that creeps into his tone—the one thing he’d ask for is standing right in front of him, but he might as well be on Mars for how vast the distance between them feels.

It’s just Jack’s luck that this is the moment when Davey finally, finally looks at him. It’s only a brief glance in his direction before his gaze falls away again, but even just that almost feels like too much: those eyes are as gorgeous as ever, and vividly, brilliantly blue.

Jack’s breath hitches in his throat—if he wasn’t still hopelessly, haplessly in love with Davey, he’s pretty sure that would’ve caused him to fall all over again. But he isn’t so distracted that he doesn’t notice the wealth of emotion swirling in that gaze: something vulnerable and pained tucked beneath Davey’s calm facade.

“How’re you doin’, Davey?” he asks carefully.

“Good,” Davey says to the coffee maker. “I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Jack presses, watching him closely. “Anythin’ interestin’ goin’ on?”

“Just the same old, same old,” Davey says, which doesn’t sound like a lie, but isn’t really an answer. “Nothing new to tell, honestly.”

“Nothing at all?” Jack says, relieved and annoyed all at once at this response, but trying to sound like he doesn’t care as much as he does. This is the best answer he could’ve hoped for, probably—he’s honestly not sure what he would’ve done if Davey started talking about how wonderful his life has been without Jack in it. He tries, “Did you ever end up gettin’ that transfer you wanted?”

Davey crosses his arms across his chest. “I, uh, rescinded the request after you— after everything,” he explains softly. “There wasn’t really a need, and it was easier to just stay at my old branch.”

“Oh,” Jack says.

The silence is punctuated by the drip drip drip of the coffee finishing up. Davey pulls a couple of mugs out of one of the cabinets and fixes them both a cup.

“Here you go,” Davey says, passing him a mug.

Jack goes to take a sip, the freezes midway through the motion, heart seizing in his chest as he realizes what he’s holding.

The pottery place had been his attempt at a unique, memorable first date, figuring that he might as well weigh the dice in his favor by going with something artsy. He’d been so fucking nervous the entire week leading up to it, had wanted so badly to impress the beautiful, brilliant boy that had just transferred in, because he’s been in love with Davey almost since the moment they met and it’s not looking like that’s gonna stop any time soon.

So the fact that Davey’s throwing that back in his face, taunting him with the reminder of how something so wonderful has since shattered to pieces... Jack’s whole body tenses up, fury sparking hot in his stomach.

“What the fuck, Davey?” he spits out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Davey has the fucking gall to look startled, maybe even a little hurt.

“Why do you still have this?” Jack demands, slamming the mug down so hard that some of the contents spill out, coffee pooling on the counter. “Why would you keep—?”

“Why wouldn’t I keep it?” Davey asks, like he honestly doesn’t see what the big deal is. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

And that is just... Jack almost wants to laugh, except he thinks he’s never heard anything less funny in his life.

“Oh, so that’s where you draw the line, huh?” Jack says, voice tight with anger. “That’s how it is? Knick knacks, keepsakes, sure, those you’ll keep around, but the stuff that’s actually worth having? That’s actually worth fighting for? You can just let all that go without ever sayin’ a fuckin’ word otherwise because who gives a shit—”

Davey’s expression twists.

“Right, because you were so fucking eager to stay?” he asks with a derisive scoff. “Give me a break, Jack, you couldn’t wait to leave. Just fucked off to the other side of the country and left me here to pick up the pieces—”

“You were all but pushing me out the fucking door!” Jack accuses, throwing his hands up. “‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Jackie,’ ‘You’d be an idiot not to take it, Jackie,’ ‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, Jackie!’ What a load of horseshit—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being supportive?’ Davey asks, incredulous—as if Jack’s the one that’s in the wrong here. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just sayin’, you weren’t exactly bent outta shape at the thought of me leavin’,” Jack says, frigid, because if he lets himself think about it too much, if he lets himself remember the gaping hole that had formed in his chest when he’d realized that loves Davey more than Davey loved him, he thinks he might shatter completely. “Didn’t seem to bother you one fuckin’ bit. Probably relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of me—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Davey hisses, and he strides forward until they’re standing nearly chest to chest—the closest they’ve been in almost a year. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe, missed you every single goddamn second of the last eight months, don’t think for a moment that I didn’t, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack bites out, not believing this for a second. “If you missed me so fucking much, then why’d we break up?”

“Because you were moving to Santa Fe!” Davey yells back. “You were leaving, Jackie! What else was I supposed to do, except let you go and try my best to be happy for you?”

Jackie. It sounds different coming out of Davey’s mouth. Something prickles at Jack’s eyes, and the threat of tears almost makes him angrier.

“If you really wanted me to be happy,” Jack growls, “you would’ve come with me.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!” Davey shouts.

“And you didn’t ask me to stay!”

“Ask you to stay? Ask you to stay?” Davey says, and his eyes are wild, burning and blazing as he stares Jack down. “Of course I didn’t fucking ask you to stay, I was never going to ask you to stay! It was Santa Fe, it was all you ever fucking talked about, it was your dream, Jack! It was everything that you wanted! I would never even suggest that you give that up, God, what kind of shit-ass person do you think I am, that you thought I would ever, ever try to stand between you and Santa Fe when I know how important it is to you—?”

“I’m not fucking hearing this,” Jack says, shaking his head, because he isn’t. He can’t be. Because it sounds like Davey is saying... Like he’s telling him that... “I am not fucking hearing this. I— You—“

Jack turns on his heel and storms out of Davey’s apartment, slamming the door behind him as he goes. He only gets a few steps down the hallway before his knees give out from underneath him, leaving him staggering into the nearest wall, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

Davey.

It’s like it’s seared into the space behind his eyes, woven right between his heartstrings—the look on Davey’s face, the sound of Davey’s voice, the shape and color of Davey’s eyes.

Davey. Always, always Davey

Jack loves him. It’s not like it’s a surprise, but then, Jack’s always known that.

Maybe Davey hadn’t known. Maybe Davey hadn’t known that there’s nothing on this earth that Jack loves more than him, maybe he hadn’t realized how utterly, impossibly, eternally in love with him Jack is.

Maybe Jack needs to tell him.

When he enters the apartment again he finds Davey right where he left him, and Jack can’t help but be reminded of the last time they parted, when Jack left for Santa Fe all those months ago. But this is the part he hadn’t seen back then, the part that Davey had hidden from him: he’d never been privy to the way Davey’s whole body can wilt in on itself when he’s heartbroken, had never witnessed the way Davey’s usually steady hands tremble when he’s holding back a sob.

Davey’s head jerks up as Jack steps back inside and his lips quiver when he shuts the door behind him.

His eyes are wet.

Jack steps forward, bunches his hands in the fabric of Davey shirt, and pulls him into a desperate, scorching kiss.

“I love you,” Jack says fiercely. “I love you. I loved you before I got the job offer, I loved you while I was searching for apartments and planning the move, I loved you every time I talked up Santa Fe to you, tryin’ to convince you to come with me any way I could think of. I loved you when we broke up, I loved you when I left, I loved you when I landed, and it’s been eight fucking months and I’m still so fucking in love with you—”

Davey kisses him this time, and the press of his mouth against his own, the tangle of his fingers in Jack’s hair as he tugs him closer, the taste and heat and feel of him—it’s like coming home.

“I love you too, Jackie,” Davey promises, and hearing the words finally soothes something deep down in Jack’s very being. He hadn’t thought he’d ever hear them again. “I love you and I’ve missed you so much—”

“I missed you,” Jack says, punctuating the declaration with another kiss. “You’re it for me Davey. There’s just you. And I… I can’t give this up again. Santa Fe ain’t worth nothin’ if you’re not there with me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Davey murmurs, holding him tight. “I thought I had to let you go.”

Jack shakes his head.

“I wanted you to keep me,” he confesses—he’s never been brave enough to say it aloud before. “And I wanted to keep you too.”

“Then keep me,” Davey says, and it rings like a promise. “Keep me.”

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective @lyydiiaak

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #*ask #*ask game #different perspectives #this ended up being very long #and I stayed up wayyyy to long finishing it #but I’m really happy with it #😊

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 4/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve doesn’t know why he does this to himself.

It’s been, god how long has it even been since the funeral? Almost a year now according to the calendar, though in his head it’s only been weeks.

Time doesn’t really have much to do with it though. Unless they found a way to go back, Billy would still be gone, and he’d still go back to the cemetery each morning just to pretend he wasn’t, leftover alcohol in his system from the night before melding each passing day into a jumble of numbness.

And Steve, as he falls deeper into this routine of self torture, he’s becoming exhausted. Where he was once optimistic, or at least trying to stay focused on looking for the positives and back on the good times, now he's just empty.

He can’t pretend he’s not depressed anymore, and he can’t pretend things are going to be okay either.

As much as he is still hurting, Robin doesn’t let him just mope. If she knew what was making his heart ache, he thinks she might let him have a little more room to grieve, but she doesn’t know, she doesn’t even know how bad he truly gets when she’s not around, so she had made him accept the video store’s job offer they’d left for when his time as representative was finished.

Work is something to do to take his mind off of things, sure, and it’s a way to get him out of the house, but the only reason he accepted was because halfway between his house and the family video is the cemetery, and every day, whether he drives it or walks it depending on if he’s sober enough to take the car, he stops to pay his boyfriend a visit.

Most often he brings flowers, maybe blows a tearful kiss to the ground and moves on, but some days, like today, he feels a heaviness in his heart that tells him to show up hours before he’s due at his shift, ready to talk it out until he absolutely has to leave.

Maybe it’s a habit from the hospital, starting when he used to be cheerful and sit in the grass to talk about happy stories and good things that happened in his day to make Billy feel better. But a year into talking to the dirt instead of his lover had left him bitter, and he was far past that optimistic point, all that’s left now is guilt, remorse, all the feelings about the loss he’d thus far kept bottled up.

This particular morning, he’d awoken from a nightmare, what happened at the mall never leaving his memory, the flashes of sorrow and pain and death lingering behind his eyes when he tries to get even a moment's peace; everyday is hard, but when he wakes up with tears in his eyes, he knows what kind of day it’s going to be.

So he comes out to Hawkins cemetery, no gift in hand today except his company, and kneels in the muddy grass, damp from an overnight storm that contributed to his plagued rest and left him running on an hour, maybe two, of good sleep, and he just starts talking.

He starts with the basics, the generic greetings and declarations of love that he promises each morning, but his emotions quickly rise to the surface. Reaching out to trace his fingers over the indentations in the upright stone, his voice wobbles slightly, and he shifts from venting to what he came here for:

“Billy. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been pretending things will be okay, but I know they won’t. I failed you. I wasn’t there for you and it’s my fault what happened to you. I don’t even deserve to sit here and cry with you. I know Max has but, have you forgiven me? I don’t know where you are now, but I don’t want you to hate me. I love you so much.”

The silence in response is daunting. Makes him want to scream so loud he could tear the earth apart looking for his Billy, but instead he just repeats his apologies and promises again and again until his tears slow. Eventually, when he’s run out of things to say, he stands, stray tears dripping from the end of his nose and rewetting the soil, and leaves.

Drives away to his job like nothing happened, strolling in some thirty minutes late for his shift. Because today is the premiere of some mainstream pop culture film that’s gone way over Steve’s head on video, the Family Video is packed.

“Hey, dingus. Could’ve used you at the start of your shift.” Robin shouts over the shop noise as he strolls past to his post.

Steve shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture in case she can’t hear him over the crowd, “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t see you working. I need help restocking once those shelves are cleared out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve does a mocking salute, the grimace on Robin's face making it clear she can see through his overdone gestures that he’s hiding something, overcompensating for the emptiness he feels.

She doesn’t have the chance to bring it up though, because the both of them get whisked off into separate duties working the over capacity video store. Only, while Robin handles it like she would any other day, with mild annoyance and enough spite to get through it alright, Steve is too fragile. All he can register is commotion, chaos: the buzzing neon lights in the ceiling, surging crowds bumping into him, chatter and bustle filling his ears, and he starts to break down.

But because he’s Steve, he tries at first to just power through. Tries to block it out and resume productivity, but he is already knee deep in a panic attack, so he pushes back through the customers, probably a little too roughly, to tell Robin with that lilt of fear and upset to his tone, “Robin, I can’t be out here.”

She barely looks up as she kindly responds, “I get it, Steve. Go take your break, I’ll handle the rush.”

That’s exactly what he does, is go straight to the back room, but instead of his standard fifteen allotted by the overheads, he stays in the back for an hour, and then another, leaving behind customers arguing over who should get the last copy of the new movie, people in line out the door, tapes knocked off of the shelves, all while people are in trying to do their normal returns and rentals. It’s again total chaos out there, only made worse by the fact that Robin is now alone at the counter.

She would also have to clean up once the rush died, and maybe even replace some tapes if people weren’t going to start watching where they’re walking, and as much as Steve wanted to feel bad for disappearing into the back room for the past hour and a half and leaving her with all of that, he can’t be bothered with coming back out, his morning at the cemetery having taken too much from his emotional threshold to be productive, or remorseful even, now.

There are two big plush chairs and a couch in the back, a much nicer room than the icebox that was the Scoops break area, but Steve sits on the floor instead, his back pressed to the door and his stained up knees drawn to his chest. From where he is, the endless noise and bustle drifts down the short hall to the break room, but he’s too in his head, thinking about nothing and everything to pay it any mind.

It takes probably another an hour and a half for all the crowd to die down, the line clearing out and Robin chasing away most of the stragglers after explaining for the hundredth time that until the already rented out copies were returned, they wouldn’t get any more in and that no, they weren’t hiding any in the back.

Steve can hear her cleaning up a little before she gets too behind, cardboard boxes being broken down and the irritating scrape of broom bristles against dusty tiled floors, followed quickly by loud boot steps toward the door that make his chest ache, pretending it was the echoes someone else instead of his best friend.

The break room is locked behind him, something that is forbidden by company policy, but Steve felt necessary, and Robin beats on it with the palm of her hand, startling him out of the half dazed, half alert state he’s been in all day, “Harrington, what are you doing in there? I just did a whole rush by myself, asshole.”

He can’t father the words to respond, tears welling up and choking anything he might say off in his throat. So Robin calls again, the door knob rattling like she’s trying to get in, her voice more concerned, “Steve? You alive in there?”

“Steve.” She tries again, more desperate, and Steve finally finds it in himself to say something, sniffling and responding weakly, “‘M’fine Rob.”

“Can you let me in?” Robin suggests, just on the side of hesitant, making Steve feel something like guilt for shutting her out, both emotionally and in the literal sense, so he stands, shaky and unbalanced, and unlocks the door for her.

He must look as bad as he feels, because Robin's pinched face of concern melts into one of sympathy as soon as she lays eyes on him.

She steps into the back room with him, after a moment of pause which Steve had come to hate, knowing that meant whoever was speaking was going to take pity on him, asking, “You doing okay in here, buddy?”

“What does it look like?” There’s sarcasm and bitterness in his tone, though it’s muffled by his tears. He doesn’t worry about offending Robin, she’s been dealing with his breakdowns for a long time now, and she knew how he could get.

Patiently, in spite of his snappiness, she asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s not sure how that’s even a question anymore.

What happened was fighting monsters at the Byers. Was getting tortured in the Starcourt mall. Was losing his Billy.

To say that those things had a huge impact on him was a gross understatement. Hell, even Robin was affected too, the both of them incredibly emotionally fragile these days with about a thousand things that could trigger them, both were plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks at random points in time. It shouldn’t be a mystery what was wrong now.

But having two hour long breakdowns in the employee lounge, Steve had to admit that was new, and Robin was obviously scared for him because of it.

So he lies, “It’s nothing, Robs. Just the same old stuf.” Steve isn’t a very good liar though, he can’t hold eye contact and his voice trails off, revealing him every time.

“Steve.” It was an attempt to appeal to him, maybe to ground him so he’d open up to her, “Please talk to me.”

An attempt, which he shuts down with, “We’re at work right now.”

Robin frowns, a crease in her eyebrow. He’s never seen her look more frustrated as she says, halfway between an insult and a joke, “No, I’m at work. You’re crying in the break room on the floor.”

But again, Steve is having it, “I’m serious, I don’t wanna talk about it here.”

He feels bad about being harsh with Robin, but his grief, this breakdown, it’s not for the general reasons she thinks, it’s specifically because of his visit to Billy’s grave this morning. The heavy realization of everything he’d vented to that cold stone that stood in place of the beaming face, the beautiful boy that always knew what to say, who he loved and still hadn’t told her about, that was what had pushed him over the emotional threshold.

“Alright, well, we’ve got like, an hour left before our shift is over, so you can just veg out back here or you can come and do some work.” Robing announces with a quick glance at her wrist watch, standing and patting the top of Steve’s head just to mess up his hair like he hated before walking out of the room.

At least she was trying.

It takes him a few minutes to find the will to follow her out, but eventually he does sidle up beside her at the front counter, his posture weak and his muddy shoes dragging on the ground, but he’s there, earning a taunting flash of Robins biggest and snarkiest grin as she slides him a stack of tapes that need rewinding.

They don’t get many customers after the initial rush of the early afternoon where he was out for, but he can tell Robin was still keeping her eye on him, just in case he needed a break, or in case he did break himself. Anymore, and much to his dismay, it doesn’t take much to get him overwhelmed, especially not if he was already upset, but he makes sure not to let that show now, putting on a mask like everything is okay, and he is managing it just fine.

Because the thing is, he isn’t managing anything, he’s still grief stricken and he’s drinking himself half to death and he has no future ahead but more sadness, but he’d be damned if he let anybody figure that out. Let anybody worry about him, when he was still living. In his eyes, it’s selfish to expect pity, when you’ve already survived the worst.

He thinks though, by the time their work is almost done, that Robin is starting to suspect something, because the second their shift is over, before the guys to cover the closing shift even show, she’s dragging him out of the store, snatching the keys for the BMW out of Steve's back pocket.

It goes without discussing anymore that on bad days, Robin doesn’t take Steve back home, which is to say, the two of them had been pretty much sharing her dinky little duplex apartment, the two of them living in the right side with a nosy older lady in the other. They both were afraid of what he could do when he was home alone, and, Robin didn’t really know this, but Steve was also afraid of what his father might say the day the dozens of rooms in that house weren’t enough to avoid him, when he realized how pathetic a state his son was in.

The living arrangement didn’t change much though. Steve still wasn’t very good at talking through his problems, and he still wouldn’t eat or shower or sleep regularly. He knew it scared Robin, because it scared him too, but he had other things to worry about.

Maybe it was true that he was so sensitive that it took practically nothing to send him over the edge, but it's not a big deal, he’ll be alright, how are you doing anyway? Robin always has to fight so hard just to get him to talk to her, his best friend who he all but lives with, because all he is worried about is other people. Something to do with losing the one person he was always caring for, trying to make up for not being able to save Billy’s life, or help him through his hardest moments. He knows that, but it doesn’t matter why he’s selfless, as long as he is, right?

Further, he reasons, so what if he’d had a concussion so bad that he still gets migraines that leave him bedridden at times? His friend is hurting and he needs to be there for her. Who cares if he has nightmares so intensely vivid he can’t sleep for weeks at a time? Robin has panic attacks in crowded places, and each time he has to fret about it for days.

It makes her worried sick all the time, knowing that Steve all but refuses to tell her if he needs something, but he doesn’t like feeling studied, can tell she is always looking for signs that something is wrong, watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. All she wants is for him to just stop bottling everything up, because she claims she had and it made everything easier for her to cope with, but he’s stubborn.

That just isn’t the way his brain works, and she’s probably sick of trying to get through to him. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he knows she’s not far from a breakthrough with him, his own coping mechanisms exhausting him to the point he might consider external help, but she doesn’t have to know that yet. For now, she sticks to what she always does in place of these tougher conversations, and that’s to make Steve tea and try to work him down to the point where he’ll talk to her. Today, it’s not going to take much convincing.

The second day he’d ever come over here, she tried to make a pot of coffee for a little chat like this, and Steve had started crying like a baby just from the way it smelled. It reminded him of his mother, of diner dates with Billy and nurses bringing him breakfast, so she had to switch to tea. He could tell it would always bother her when he wouldn’t tell her why something like that was making him so upset, but as Robin would have to come to realize the more he stayed with her, that was just the first of many things she didn’t understand about Steve Harrington.

There were endless triggers that set him off that she witnessed, and when she comforted him, he could tell she understood some of them, like when the lights would flicker when Dorothy ran her vacuum and he’d stop breathing, or when a siren would start up in the distance and he’d get so dizzy and his hands would shake so badly. But it was those overly specific things, like the smell of coffee, that she was sure had nothing to do with what they went through, and her confidence through those breakdowns would be noticeably a lot lower.

Pine tree air fresheners, the click of stilettos on tiled floors, leather car seats, the busy tone of the telephone, cigarette smoke, rose scented perfume, hairspray, crystalline ash trays. The list of things that reminded him of his parents and the utter helplessness of growing up alone and scared, and of his Billy, of everything he had lost when he died. To Robin, who didn’t have the context of his feelings, it just felt like every day there was something new that would set Steve back ten steps in the progress he’d made, and he knew it was making Robin feel so helpless and guilty.

She was getting better while he was still so thoroughly depressed, and she would take missteps on purpose to not get too far ahead of him. He was sabotaging his best friend with his own misery.

The thought draws stinging tears to his eyes, and Steve sits down at the table without saying a word to Robin, knows his composure will crack the moment he opens his mouth.

She finishes making their tea, specifically lemon flavored with two spoonfuls of honey and one of sugar, sliding him his tea in a tacky mug she’d bought him from a yard sale as a sort housewarming gift, an invitation to stay as long as he needed, and sits in the unbalanced chair across from him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Steve taps his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes trained on the paint stained and scratched surface of the table, “What do you want me to say? I freaked out at work, nothing new.”

Robin sighs shakily, and it makes Steve feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Despite her best efforts, he gets so defensive all the time anymore, the careless goof he was before Starcourt buried underneath all that was depressing him, and that he wouldn’t share with her. He was an awful friend, spending so much time with his past actions and losses, he’d forgotten how to live in the present.

“But there’s something you haven’t been telling me, Steve.” She bumps their knees together under the table to get him to look at her, “I’m not trying to be nosy or intrude, really, I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Steve raised his mug to his face, mumbling into it, “It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better, right?”

That same worried crease above her eyebrow appears, “Who told you that?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the swirling mug before him. A sign for her that he still wasn’t ready to talk. She must decide that she would do most of the talking then, because she puts her mug down, takes a deep breath before saying, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want you to get better and I don’t think you should do it on your own. I haven’t, and I think it’s time I try to be there for you live you’ve been for me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve didn’t know what to say, the plastic clock Robin had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen ticking away the seconds, the minutes that passed before Steve swallows hard and looks up from the spot he’d been focusing on, trying and failing to find the right words again before he explains himself, “I just think.. I feel like everyone moved on way too fast.”

“From Starcourt?” What she meant didn’t need to be said. She didn’t need to specify the torture, the battle with an interdimensional monster, the fall out afterwards, for him to understand, but that wasn’t it, and he shakes his head no.

Confused, Robin clarifies, “Then from what?”

“All those people that day, Robs, they died and life is just supposed to go on like normal. We still have holidays and we got jobs again, but all those people, they-“ There are tears in his eyes so he cuts himself off, hoping that Robin got the point anyways.

From the look of clarity on her face, she does understand now where this is coming from. Steve had been struggling with survivor's guilt, Robin knew that because he insisted upon attending each and every funeral he could with his schedule at the hospital, and she’d reluctantly driven him to them without question, no matter how unhealthy it was for him.

He had even told her once, when he was drunk off his ass and knocking on her bedroom door in the early hours of the morning, that he didn’t think it was fair that he didn’t die, but all those other people did. She had never gotten an answer out of him when she asked why he thought he deserved to die, and he hoped she’d have forgotten it by now, but now he was cracking, and she was going to figure it out, so he keeps going.

“It’s just, how are we supposed to go back to normal when there’s so many people who can’t? They died, a-and they left behind their families and friends and partners.” He sniffles, tears starting to roll down his colorless face for the second time that day, “How can we act like nothing ever happened when it’s our fault?”

That makes Robin pause, her eyes going wide, “What?”

Steve freezes, hadn’t meant to say that, and he stays quiet until she asks him a second time, “How is it our fault, Steve?”

“Because we were so caught up with that stupid transmission that we missed our chance to help them. And for what? I was just trying to play the hero for Dustin, but I could’ve stopped it if I wasn’t so stupid.”

“What could you have stopped?” Asking so many questions made her sound like a pushy therapist, and it’s making Steve increasingly frustrated, answering harshly, “The-The shadow, Robin! The Mind-Flayer!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But Steve, I really don’t think there’s much we could have done.”

Steve just shakes his head, insists, “If I hadn’t been so-so focused on doing something I thought was important, I could’ve done something that actually mattered before it was too late. I wasted so much time in the mall. But they needed me and I-I failed them. You feeling bad for me and telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t change that.”

“Steve, if we hadn’t been down there, nobody would’ve known about the gate, and the mind flayer wouldn’t be dead now.” Robin comforts, a deep frown on her tear tracked face, “There wasn’t anything anybody could’ve done.”

It’s not what Steve needs to hear.

“Stop saying that.. I could’ve saved him, and then none of this would’ve happened.” A sob wracks through his body as soon he finishes, the gut wrenching sound echoing through Robin's tiny apartment kitchen.

“Who?” Robin asks, reaching across the table and taking his shaking hand in her own, “Steve, who could you have saved?”

Through his tears he’s able to stutter out the answer, accented with a pointed sob, “Billy. I could’ve saved Billy..”

She doesn’t say anything in turn, occupied with putting the pieces together, though she’s still missing the larger context, instead pushing her chair back on the scratched kitchen tiles, pulling Steve up out of his own chair into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given anybody. They stand like that for a long time, Steve crying into Robin’s hair and her trying to comfort him through her confusion until his tears slow, or at least the hyperventilating is under control.

When eventually he does pull away from her, he wipes at his eyes and whispers, “Can I tell you something else? It’s about him.”

“Of course.” Robin answers quickly, something like relief, an unfamiliar look on her face anymore, written behind her eyes, making Steve yet again feel a twinge of guilt for hiding so much from his best friend.

He speaks quickly, struggling to get the right words together again, “You know how I said that the only time I was ever in love was with Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah?” Robin frowns, and Steve can see it in her face that she’s trying to work through it, what his love life has anything to do with his grief, but it’s a lot harder for him to admit than it is even for her to understand.

“I lied.” He chews on his lip, the faint and bitter taste of blood on his tongue, “And you know how when Dustin asked if we were together, I told him that you weren’t my type and we laughed about it because I’m definitely not yours either?”

“Steve I told you-“ Contemplation is replaced with fear, but he quickly cuts her off, “No, no, it’s not like that. I-I’m not done.”

Steve takes a deep breath, “You sort of are my type, but it was always someone else with-with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles all over that I was in love with.”

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Steve’s realizing he’s come full circle in this conversation, almost identical to the one they had on the bathroom floor over a year ago now when Robin can out to him, his tone and the distress in his features softening, “Robin.”

The pieces click into place, a whole range of emotion from shock to confusion to finally, sympathy, crossing Robin's face, “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. When did you…”

“Christmas Eve last year. Night of the snowball he apologized for being an asshole, and a few weeks later he kissed me.” Six months. The time that they’d had together was now as long as he was in the hospital, and since then how long Steve had been grieving him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds almost hurt by it, the realization that her best friend didn’t come to her with this, especially when she of all people would be understanding. But Steve doesn’t have an answer to that, he doesn’t really know why.

All he does is shrug in response, tired of talking it out anyways, so with a forced sigh Robin tells him, “Well anyways, I’m glad you told me now. You shouldn’t have been doing this on your own for so long.”

Steve smiles weakly and lies, just as he’s been lying for so long, “It’s okay Robin. I’ve been getting better.”

But it doesn’t have the effect on Robin he wants, because she insists, for the first time not just letting him stew in his guilt and bottle everything up, “I don’t think drinking your life away and breaking down more often than ever really counts as doing better.”

Of course he tries to defend himself, anyone would against that, “Come on, Rob-“

But Robin cuts him off, “No, Steve. I’m serious. You need to get help.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.”

“Okay, but you still need to come to me with this stuff.” Steve looks away, and Robin’s tobw gets more desperate, “Steve, please. You can’t do this by yourself. I understand, I’m your best friend. I just want to be there for you.”

“I’ll.. think about it.” Is the last thing he says before he turns to leave, stopping short when he hears Robin sniffle, even on her worst days almost never seeing her cry, “Shit.. Robs.”

“No, no. I’m done talking about it Steve.” Robin shakes her head, her face flushes red as she fights back tears she doesn’t want him to see, biting her knuckles, “Just.. go ahead. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Numbly, he does. He turns and goes up the stairs to the used to be closet Robin turned into a room for him when he comes over.

~~~~

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hell.

His hair is getting longer, almost down his back now. It’s a matted mess that’ll never brush out even if someday he gets back to water that runs clear and his Gee conditioner he used to slip Susan a few bucks to buy for him, but he can’t bring himself to cut it.

He does shave though. Takes a knife to his face and does his best to use broken and grimy windows and mirrors for accuracy. It seems pointless, and for the most part it is, but his dad used to grow a beard in the winter, and the very last thing he wants is to look like him. Seeing him again would be one thing, but becoming him? That’s something Billy's willing to take a few knicks from a rusty old blade to avoid.

He used to keep track of the days, measured by the patterns in the storms constantly churning overhead, with a notch in the dying bark of a tree he passed between the convenience store and his house, the two places he’d been able to call his safe haven since he found himself trapped.

But then the dogs, as he’d come to call them now, changed. They used to circle the woods, patrol the other side of town, blocking his access to the downtown areas, like the hospital, the police station, Steve’s house. Then suddenly, they started closing in on his side, and from the many encounters he’s had from strays and crossing their invisible boundaries, he knew he couldn’t stay in that place.

So he’d lost his home, the ghost of his family that had been keeping him grounded, gone as he salvages anything he can, and leaves.

For a while, it feels like relief almost. The burden of how long he’d been here and how alone he was lifted, but he knows that’s just a way of comforting himself. He’s actually devastated.

He wants to be able to sleep on his back porch and he wants to be able to look at all the damaged family photos inside the overtaken house, no matter how fake the smiles and poses are, and he just wants to be home. Not that the building means much, home is the feeling, being with the people who he cares about and who care about him. He’s not sure he ever had the sense of what that really meant, but he’d take any dysfunctional upbringing over this.

The best he had for a while was Steve’s place.

Steve is never there, in the physical sense or in that freaky, spiritual, can be heard but not seen way. Inside the mansion is somehow pristinely kept, even in all of this wreckage that destroyed the rest of Hawkins. Mrs. Harrington would be proud of the intact decor and the spotless floors. Whatever those white particles were, which were slowly making it harder and harder for Billy to breath, were the only blemish, everything coated in at least an inch of the stuff.

Outside is another story entirely. The lawn is ripped up, the chairs and lawn ornaments are mangled or missing, and the pool is completely drained, in the place of water gangly vines and more sticky decomposition than he’d seen in even the most remote areas.

He remembers Barbara Holland. He remembers Steve saying she drowned accidentally in his pool when she got brought up. He remembers the fear in his eyes when they were out at night, the way those honey browns would scan the treeline for danger, on his worst days drawing the curtains and refusing to go out back for anything.

He starts to wonder, if maybe the vines mark the victims. His house, Steve’s pool, both completely overtaken. Heather’s house is only a street over from Steve’s, but he can’t will himself to go in there and see if his theory is correct. Same goes for the steelworks, or the community pool.

But, nice as it was, Steve’s house didn't last long as a refuge. He only stays there for a couple of weeks before he again has to grab what he can and abandon it, the dogs having followed him and cut another chunk out of his territory. There was a pack of them wandering the yard, a couple breaking off to charge at the back doors, and Billy has to decide between holing himself up in that hideously wallpapered room that had come to be another definition of home, and running for his damn life.

He chose the latter, scaling the shed roof from the upstairs bathroom window just as the monsters break the glass double doors. Down the rattling drain pipes he prayed would hold his weight, and into the shed to regroup. He’d gotten out with almost nothing of Steve’s, not that polo shirts and nike shoes were great for apocalyptic survival gear, but he wished he could’ve nabbed anything more, a picture, a coat, a bag, at least something he could use.

All he made out with though was a red bandana, which, if he ever gets out of this hell, he has to ask Steve about that, no way his reformed prep was freaky enough to walk around Hawkins advertising his preference for taking it elbow deep, an empty notebook, a pair of scissors as a just in case weapon, and an old banged up Bic which was out of fluid anyways.

The bandanas alright, paisleys not his pattern of choice and he’s more of a navy blue and grey guy than red, but it’d do well enough to keep that nasty shit in the air out of his lungs. Everything else he grabbed is basically useless to him though, so he scours the shed instead, sneaking in through the back door with a sharp eye on where the dogs broke into Steve’s.

In there he gets a little better of a haul, most of it still just junk he can repurpose for tending injuries, but on the back wall, held up by a barely standing shelf, is the golden find, a machete the length of his arm. Brand new and sharpened, a little worn from the rot but clearly never used, the Harrington’s had a gardener to trim back the branches, and everything in here was just for show so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t feel emasculated by not doing any work but answering phone calls and yelling at underpaid workers anyways, so Billy grabs it, finally having more than an old mower blade and a collection of knives from decorative to army to kitchen, most of which were all too small and almost got his arm torn off.

It’s that machine he’d stumbled upon that bittersweet day that he carries now, dripping with the oozing blood of one of the dogs, slightly bent now because another got it between its teeth and more dull from cutting through rubbery skin. The damn thing has saved his life though, many times over as the territories shift again in quick, unpredictable cycles, this last time ending with him cornered in the hospital's courtyard.

He was over there raiding for bandaging and medicine, anything that might help in the long run, but of course, it would have to come in handy just a little sooner, silly Billy for thinking about the future, because the monsters find him.

Thankfully, none of them actually get him, though one is particularly disgusting, it’s head, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, basically explodes when he stabs through it, another damn pair of his jeans getting ruined by the sticky, reddish spatter. The only worry he has time for before he has to kill, or scare off in most cases, the rest of the dogs that step forward, is the damned stain.

There aren’t too many, and those whose brains aren’t dripping off of his weapon, or as annoying as it is, his clothes, run off quickly, leaving Billy himself to move on.

First Cherry Lane, then Steve’s, and now the hospital. Guess it’s time to fucking leave again.

Hawkins is deceptively big for a country bumpkins paradise. The town and its shops and the surrounding neighborhoods only make up some half of the city, even he used to live on the edges of the civilized part, the rest of town stretching on for miles and miles of rural farmland, a couple of houses here and there the deeper you get into the country.

He’d never been over that way except maybe once when Max flipped the map upside down and they got lost on the way to Cherry for the first. That wasn’t much help now, but he was otherwise out of options. It was getting lost in the woods trying to find the more hidden houses, or it was being dinner for the dogs, which he could still hear chittering somewhere nearby, regrouping for the next attack probably.

The decision isn’t hard for Billy. He grabs whatever he’s salvaged and just bolts, bandana mask around his neck, machete in the bag on his back so he doesn’t cut himself up and make all this surviving for nothing, just getting the hell out of there before they decide they want to fight him again.

Because frankly, after as long as it’s been, his energy is getting low. He doesn’t know what he’s surviving for anymore, let alone if he’s going to be able to for much longer. His lung capacity is getting lower by the day, he’s got old wounds that won’t heal. The dogs probably aren’t too far from finishing him off if he gets attacked too many more times, so he’s just not chancing it.

Billy runs and he runs, coughing up a little blood in the process, until he ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. Right now, that’s good news, so he slows his pace and takes his machete back out, just in case he let his guard down too soon.

Over here it’s a little brighter, a little less destroyed maybe, but still not right. Houses still slump and there are still pulsing vines all over, the roads still dusted with toxins. But there are a lot of houses, and that’s usually good news for avoiding the monsters.

As nice an area as it is, there's still something bigger drawing Billy to this area. Immediately he thinks back to the cemetery, how he’d felt and heard Steve that day, an event he’d come to think, after so long without a repeat feeling, had been only in his head, and he panics, for just a moment.

He knows he can’t let him slip by this time. Closing his eyes, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his chest, like an arrow that can guide him in the direction of this, a compass pointing straight to his love.

Trusting that this feeling isn’t a warning, and he’s not about to walk into a nest, he follows it, slowly at first but with more fervor when he hears two echoing voices at the same time his chest clenches. He recognizes one as a vague face in his memory, Steve’s best friend, the one Heather never had the guts to tell about the crush she had on her, Robin maybe was her name. The other voice, well, the other voice is Steve’s.

They’re coming from a rotten duplex with no doors or windows. It looks a lot like a marked house, and he wonders if Robin knows she got a discount because the owner of the house was dead, melted into a monster that has tried to kill her along with the rest.

Approaching the house, he doesn’t know what to expect, if maybe they’ll be inside, or if this is just some delusion from a lack of oxygen to his brain. It doesn’t really matter. He steps up, careful to avoid rickety spots in he steps, and goes inside.

First, he leans his machete against the mushroom wall. There’s two reasons he never brings the weapons all the way in, first being that any mess he made in the house always had to be cleaned up by his step mother, so outside of the deepest throws of teenage rebellion, he always did what he could to minimize dirt in he house, and that included bringing a machete dripping with brains inside, even if there wasn't anyone around to see it, it was a habit built by thankful glances and praise, albeit somewhat backhanded, from his parents, so it was one he continued to honor.

Second, he harbors a deep respect for the houses he’s stayed in, despite the lack of doors on this one, each and every home he’s entered, no matter if it was for five minutes to steal some food or upwards of weeks where he slept there, these buildings were his shelter, and he feels the need to respect them, so, weapons stay at the front door. So far, the dogs haven’t followed him inside.

Looking around, he can tell Steve isn’t here either. The house is definitely abandoned just like the rest, and his heart sinks just a little, until he hears it again. A vague whisper that’s just barely audible to his ear.

He knows he’s in the right place. Every inch of him aches for Steve, but he can’t see him. He tries again to call out for him, an echo of the cemetery, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

No response comes.

“I don’t understand, why can’t you hear me?”

Things have gone silent on the other side, and Billy feels hopeless. A bout of frustration turns him around, the urge to forget about his stupid rules and just tear this house apart until he finds his Steve, curbed by seeing the wall phone.

He’s not stupid. He’s been over here long enough to realize he’s not in Hawkins, not the real one anyhow, that they, Steve and his family and everyone else are instead. The how and the why are another story entirely, but he has the basic understanding that he is alone, and they are parallel to him. Coexisting in different planes.

And if that is the case and he’s not on the worst trip of his life or just completely off his rocker, him and the dogs he kills an Agave and Pentheus type situation, then he can contact the other plane, say, by telephone even.

Luckily for him, Robin is forgetful, and there’s a list of numbers taped to the wall by the phone, only slightly worn with black gooey rot. He picks up the phone and listens to the emptiness, no dial tone in his ear. His hands are shaky as he slowly, hesitantly punches in the numbers, the three and the eight buttons getting monster blood on them from his fingers.

He raises the phone to his ear, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing back in his ear as he waits for someone to answer, the line ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #tw blood #ej writer #story by ej!#more tags on ao3

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fixeddawn · 3 years

Note

Boy do I love this blog so, so much.

Was there a New Moon in the AU? Or did Bella put a stop to that nonsense immediately.

(Spoilers for the story Clotho (The Moirai Saga) ahead, beware!)

Edward: "Okay so what had happened was-"

-Bella and Alice appear, shoving him out of the way with a squeak-

Alice: "GURL YOU KNOW HE'S STILL AN IDIOT."

Bella: "I- ugh, I tore him a new asshole when he told me he didn't actually love me, and he got me FUCKED up, but he still left. It was rough, especially when my powers started acting up and I started having panic attacks and meltdowns. The wolf pack over here is a bunch of different families, all somewhat Irish, they're descendants of the people of Ossory. Jakes grand-dad immigrated here in the 60's. Actually, OI, JACOB-"

-Jacob shoves into the room, but knocks his head on the doorframe on the way in.-

Jake: "FUCK. Finally man, the Boyz can talk!

Bella: "Eagan (Embry) Got you saying that now too, huh?"

Jake: "Ye, it's funnier. Anyway, shit happened WAY different than in the original plot line. Bella and I still got to be friends, and she hung out with my fam a lot, we have massive bonfires cause my dads the youngest of eight kids.

I helped her find her own place actually! My auntie had a 2 bedroom 2 bath house for rent cheap and she took it on the promise of painting it and shit. Of course then she got mixed up in all of our chaos, especially with the pub my dad runs in town, we got the Blacks, and the O'Clearys and the Udys, three old bloodlines. Bella actually found out about the pack by accident, I uh...I had a massive crush on her and she wasn't ready and stuff got tense and I just...poof, y'know?"

Bella: -makes exploding hand gesture- "Poof."

Jake: "Paul didn't like it at first but she became a member of the pack, we don't really imprint like...romantically, it's super rare, but mostly we imprint familial-y, Bella kept helping Emily cook and clean up and deal with a bunch of rowdy guys. (we got put to work too, don't worry) And she just meshed. She also became our field medic. It got so bad that if we weren't at The Farm, we were probably sprawled out on Bella's living room couch and floor, passed out.

Bella: "It was like snow white and the 7 goofy werewolves, it was great. Leah disliked me at first, but she still went through that thing with Sam, so she was struggling. We actually bonded over the whole "Fuck having a supernatural Ex" thing. Girls gotta support each other, you know? She and Emily also made up with a little time. When I was having my nightmares, facing all the shit that was going down alone and helpless, I told her about them. She's a professional kickboxer! She's fucking badass!! I begged her to train me and kept shoving cash at her until she let me hire her. I was USELESS at first, but she ran me hard, and eventually I could even hold my own in a fight against (human) Seth! All the while, Jake here was finding it hard to keep it in his pants, but he was really my rock, I tried to do everything I could to support him through his change and the aftermath, but it...well. You know who I married. -she cringes, Jake puts an arm around her shoulder for a rough squeeze and a small smile, obviously forgiving-

Jake: My crush was hard man, it still is low-key, (J: 👀 B: 😑) but...well, her panic attacks were still coming. And one night we were dancing, and I...well..."

Bella: "We kissed, I was so desperate to move on, feel something else, but I panicked. It wasn't right."

Jake: "She bolted from the party, ran into the woods, I remember screaming, and then this awful earsplitting sound, and a shockwave.

Bella: "....I kinda, blew down like 30 square feet of the forest around me. Thats when I realized all the popping lightbulbs and shaking surfaces weren't earthquakes...but, well, me. It was the worst panic attack I've ever had. So now, my vampire Bf dumped me, my best friend is a werewolf, and I can fuck shit up with my mind on accident when I'm highly emotional. Queue complete mental breakdown."

Jake: "...Then the redhead showed up."

Bella: "Victoria...she killed my coworker, my friend, horribly, gave him the same injuries James did to send the message. We realized she would start going after the people I was close to if she couldn't get to me. I pretty much hunkered down at The Farm after that, the pack did rounds and tried to protect so much land...I was terrified someone was going to get hurt. When she attacked The Farm, we were blindsided. She caught Seth around his chest and almost crushed him. I was terrified, I managed to use one of my "Bubbles" to blow her away from both of us so I could get him to safety and reset his ribs."

Alice: "And all 𝘐 saw was victoria closing in on Bella from above for a third of a second, when she let out her bubble, so, ofc, I thought she was dead and immediately bolted back to Pullman. Everyone else came too, Carlisle, Esme, Emmett, Jasper... We were so shocked Victoria went after her and 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘴.

"We found out, when we arrived at her apartment and she was still alive and being guarded by werewolves, that it was because my dumbass brother never gave her my goodbye letter, and lied to both sides about his intentions for what happened that day in the woods. He told the family he was going to tell her the truth, that he was going to take himself away from the situation and see if she couldn't move forward, if she couldn't have a human life. Not that he was going to lie to her that he "found out it was infatuation and not love" or whatever the fuck the Drama-King decided made sense. -steps hard on Edward, he squeaks mournfully-

"Emmett and Jazz were about ready to hunt him down for not giving her a way to contact the family, Esme was devastated that Bella thought we'd just abandoned her, Rose was...well, rose, and Carlisle and I were dissapointed, (mine was more on the murder side tho.)

Bella: "We really didn't think it could get much worse, but Edward's creative."

Alice: "Rose calls him to tell him Vicky killed Bella, because EMMETT NEVER FUCKING CALLED HER. Edward flies into a fucking rage tantrum and ofc, goes to italy. When I told her what was happening, Bella was 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, like, walls shaking, lightbulbs popping pissed, and tbh I kinda wanted to see her kick his twink ass."

Bella: "...The emotions were wild. Rage, betrayal, relief, fear, it was such a jumble. When we got there, saved him, and got passed the volturi, we stayed overnight- well, over𝘥𝘢𝘺 in one of the dorm room things. I was still in my funeral dress and nylons and had lost my shoes, so they let me shower and sleep. First however, I laid into Ed. I wasn't going to carry the weight of "if I accidentally die, I'm gonna be the fuckin reason Edward is taken from his family too." Especially not as a Human. I informed him he was going to come home, apologize, take his lumps, and cope. He was a grown ass man and he needed to act like one and clean up the mess he made."

Edward, from the floor, muffled: "Safe to say, I learned my lesson. My self flagellation and pity-party was immature at best, destructive at worst. I apologized to Bella and my family, and did not yet ask for forgiveness, just for the opportunity to prove that I 𝘩𝘢𝘥 learned something from all of this."

Bella: "...We didn't get back together at first. I couldn't trust him, and he obviously did not trust me or my feelings. But I still loved him. When he was there for me and recognized/supported my autonomy, over a little bit of time I was able to trust him again. I think we both grew a LOT during the experience, and while it sucked the whole time, it was also a catalyst for better things to come. Jake was upset, at first, but we had a long and hard talk. Honestly about what I was able to give to a friendship and if it would be enough for him. He eventually decided, that it was. We still bro's. He even made friends with Edward."

Jake: -Grins and steps on Edwards head. Edward growls and rolls over to drag him to the ground. The boys play-wrestle in the background, though it looks less playful than others. Growling, gnashing, and the word 'fuck' is heard often from the fray.-

Alice: "Idiots."

Bella: "The Cullens and the wolves actually bonded as Esme and Sam strategized about the newborn war. We're not "natural enemies" after all, just smelly to alert the other we're in the area. So Jake and the pack and I are still close as ever. "

"Sorry if this was long winded, but it deserved an explanation! I'm gonna go break the boys up now, thanks for your question!"

#bella is black #edward cullen #the twilight saga #bella swan #cullen family #twilight #dork #meme #Alice Cullen #Jacob Black #fixeddawn answers #fixeddawn #text answer #art coming soon

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theredraccoon · 3 years

Text

A Desperate Proposal - Ch 2

The soft snick of the heavy office door closing was overly loud in the quiet room and Simon raised his head, blinking rapidly. Like breathing, blinking was still a habit that Simon had yet to shake in his five years as a vampire, but whatever, he had time. Oodles of time, apparently; a fact that still threw him on a regular basis. He blinked again, actually registering the quiet— when had his music stopped? Wasn’t his playlist something like five hours long? Had he really been working that long? What time was it?

This time it was the creak of the chair in front of his desk that got his attention. Simon finally snapped back to the real world and took in the sight of his Sire, sitting prim and proper as usual. Raphael’s face was a mix of resignation, amusement, and irritation; in other words, it was his “Simon Face.”

“Good afternoon, Simon. How are the books looking today?” Raphael’s voice was smooth and dry.

Simon automatically straightened and his hands started to shuffle the papers around on his desk, moving his laptop back, rearranging pens, voice getting brighter and louder as he talked. “Oh! It’s going well. The numbers for last month look good, we've made some necessary adjustments. Forcing you to let me buy Quickbooks is paying off, I’ve been able to sort through the mess from, err, before, so much faster and I think that if make a few strategic changes we’ll be able to set up the new vampires with like, an income that will let them not be whiny assholes about what they’re missing from their former lives and I think… that you are not actually here to talk about accounting, are you.”

Simon thought he could detect at least a hint of “impressed” in the lines of Raphael’s face now, but the irritation was also stronger. Simon shifted in the ornate chair and bit his cheek as he kept his mouth shut and let the silence grow.

Finally, Raphael spoke. “No, Simon, I’m not here to talk about accounting. I’m here to relay the latest news from the Downworld Cabinet. Decisions have finally been made and they affect you. Directly affect you, in fact.” Raphael tugged at his cuffs, the crisp white shirt peeking out from the dark blue of his suit jacket. Simon’s eyebrows rose; he wasn’t used to any signs of nervousness from his Sire. His curiosity grew, along with some burgeoning apprehension.

Rapael continued, his voice firming as he went along. “The Cabinet has had a series of emergency meetings with the Clave. After much negotiation we have what we hope is the start of a solution to the... problem we are facing. There will be a series of marriages, between the Downworld and the Shadowhunters of New York. These alliances, if they prove effective, will then take place across the world as we attempt to figure out what is happening and how to counter it. If, and only if, our help is essential to defeating whatever is causing the Shadowhunters to drop like flies, we - the Downworld - will be able to renegotiate the Accords in a manner that is fair and equitable to us and not the Clave. So. We are obviously very invested in making these marriages work and be productive.”

Simon was blinking rapidly again. He felt his brain kickstart into a different gear as he struggled to comprehend what Raphael was saying and the implications of what he was hearing. Marriages? The Clave willing to renegotiate the Accords? Really? Those stubborn assholes? He knew the situation was serious, but really? Marriages? Who was getting married? Wait, why did Raphael say that he, Simon, was going to be directly affected?

His mouth popped open and Simon heard himself say, in a strange tone he’d never heard himself use before, “Who am I marrying, Sire?” Then Simon froze in his chair, his body startled by the leap his brain had made. He watched Raphael twitch slightly.

“The Second in Command of the New York Institute, Jace Lightwood. Alexander Lightwood’s brother.”

The words fell like dead weights in the middle of the room. Simon’s muscles felt locked in place, while his thoughts started to race forward like a bullet train.

The events of the past few months flicked through Simon’s head like a movie on steroids. Simon noticing expenses for the Hotel Dumort increasing suddenly for no discernable reason. The realization that Downworlders and foreign vampires were quietly flooding into New York at rates that surprised even the older vampires in the Clan, causing them to spend more and more money to hide their presence in the city. Raphael taking his concerns to Magnus. Magnus talking to Alec about the increased number of Downworlders in the New York Institute’s territory.

And then the horrifying knowledge that Shadowhunters were dying, dying everywhere, and it was forcing Downworlders into the city as they sought the protection of the Nephilim that remained, the protection that they would have fiercely denied ever needing in the past. Finally, endless hushed meetings between the various contingents of the Downworld as they struggled to make sense of what was happening. Simon, as Raphael’s reluctant Second, had attended several before his annoyance at the Seelie representative and his general impatience at the slow pace had led to Raphael kicking him out.

And now here they were, and Simon was beginning to realize that hiding his head in the accounting nightmare that was the New York Clan for the last month had probably been a mistake.

“I’m sorry, what? I’m marrying who? Why him? Why me? Who else is getting married? When are these marriages happening? What about the fact that I’m a vampire? The Seelies agreed to this? The werewolves? Is that what you’re saying? Really? I’m getting married? But my mom won’t be there. Or my sister. I never thought I’d get married without my mom there. What am I going to wear? Are the marriages taking place at the same time? Is this really the only way? Is Jace the hot blond one? The one who always looks constipated? I’m getting married?”

Raphael’s hands were suddenly on his face, cold brands on his cheeks, and Simon realized that at some point during his semi-hysterical rant he’d gotten up and was standing in front of his Sire. His body was vibrating.

“Simon. Child. I am here. I know that this is a shock and I am sorry for it. But yes, this is the only way. The Nephilim have been hiding their true situation, or they actually didn’t realize it until now, it’s unclear. Regardless, their numbers are now so low that the Downworld is legitimately in danger. We need them and for the first time in forever, they are admitting that they need us. Alliance through marriage has worked for Mundanes for millenia, we might as well try it. This is happening.”

“But why me?” Simon’s voice was a whine that he couldn’t control. Simon stayed still even as Raphael let go of his face and moved back to the chair in front of Simon’s desk. Watched Raphael settle back down, adjusting his suit for the second time. Finally, he spoke.

“Simon, I’m not sure if you have ever fully realized your power, or your responsibilities, as my Second. When I Turned you, you automatically had greater status than most as my Child, but when you presented as a Daylighter… Simon, the only reason that the New York Clan is mine is because I am your Sire. If I were not here, the other vampires would follow you. That is how powerful the draw of a Daylighter is. Especially because we have no idea why they exist, why you are one. If this plan is to work, each representative has to be of high importance, someone that proves that we are committed and have power to offer.”

Simon’s mouth opened. And closed. And opened and then closed again. He felt like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the full weight of what Raphael was saying. He’d known that the other vampires treated him differently but he’d thought it was just because he was young. And a bit of a spaz. And a nerd spouting pop culture references to creatures that were around when the only entertainment was going to see P.T. Barnum and his fish-monkeys. This was different. Slightly scary.

A brief wince crossed Raphael’s face and Simon’s focus sharpened. “What else, Raphael? What aren’t you telling me?”

“The Shadowhunters— Alec— put Jace’s name into the negotiations first, as a sign that they were willing to offer their best and brightest, and someone near and dear to the Institute. But we still weren’t sure how desperate they were and if the Clave was actually committed to changing some of their… prejudices. So we offered you. And they agreed. They are serious. Alec Lightwood is the one that discovered the depth of the problem in the first place. He seems level headed and not as willing to put up with the Clave’s bullshit."

The hits kept coming, apparently. “Does Jace even like guys? Do I have to get married to a straight guy? I thought this wasn’t supposed to be a complete sham?”

“Alec has assured me that his brother is bisexual and I believe him. But Shadowhunters are notoriously homophobic and it might be... difficult for a while. You remember the scandal when news of Magnus dating Alec broke. I think the Nephilim were more upset that Magnus was a man than he was a Downworlder. Or maybe it was equal, who knows. Regardless, no, you will not be marrying someone who isn’t interested in men. These marriages are meant to be alliances, they need a chance to work. ”

Simon drifted back to his own chair and sat down. “Well, at least there’s that. Although he could just be an asshole. The few times I’ve seen him lurking around Pandemonium he always looks angry. Maybe he just has Resting Bitch Face. Hopefully.” He met Raphael’s eyes. “This is really happening? It’s the only way? I feel like a broken record, but I need to know. I kinda gave up on marriage when I became a vampire, I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

Raphael leaned forward and kept Simon’s gaze. “Yes, Simon, this needs to happen. We don’t know what’s killing the Shadowhunters and it’s affecting all of us worse than we could have imagined. We need to figure out what’s happening and stop it, hopefully without too many more casualties. And we can use these marriages to make a better life for ourselves afterwards. If there is an afterwards.” His voice faded away and there was silence again.

“Shit. I guess I’m marrying a Shadowhunter.” Simon let his head rest against the heavy wooden chair and closed his eyes.

“Yes. Simon. Thank you. We’ll talk more soon.”

Simon heard Raphael get up and walk towards the door, enhanced hearing picking up every footfall and swish of cloth, knowing that it was deliberate, that Raphael was a master of silent movement, that his Sire wanted Simon to know that he was leaving, that he was retreating to give Simon space to absorb the bombshells dropped into his life.

The door shut soundlessly this time, just a whiff of displaced air. Simon swallowed hard.

#chapter 2 #shminibang #jimon #a desperate proposal #suck at tumblr

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

mustang • richie tozier

( richie tozier x reader smut)

requested: road head with richie?? his car in it chapter 2 is ... so hot + can we get an aged up richie tozier smut pleaseee??? + Hii, could you do one about Richie and the reader seeing each other at the restaurant in chapter 2, both single ;), and just like old emotions coming back and the other losers banter.

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (male receiving), ROAD HEAD!!!!, teensy bit of praise, some dirty talk, flirting, i think thats rly it, i had NO IDEA what to title this lol, this progresses kinda quickly once it gets goin lol also unedited

im not too sure about how this turned out :// i may go back and edit some things

[takes place during it chapter 2]

2k words

♡

this is fucking insane.

that's all that's screaming in your mind and most of what you can say as you talk to mike, eddie, and bill in the back room of the jade orient, catching up with awkward small talk as faded childhood memories bubble painfully to the surface.

a gong crash makes you jump- and even before you turn around, you hear a voice. "y/n fucking y/l/n? no way." the voice says, and you can't help the grin as you whirl around to greet the man you just remembered ten minutes ago.

richie tozier, in all his glory - now, in your defense, you did kinda remember him from his special on netflix. he’d been crass and rude and funny in a way that had made you roll your eyes and at the time, you’d felt a strangely familiar sensation when he’d mentioned his nickname, “trashmouth.”

now it made much more sense to you.

he’s old now, of course, but he still seems basically the same - the hair, the broad shoulders and long legs, the disheveled yet-somehow-still-sexy style, and his smirk that makes your legs weak.

"you miss me or what, asshole?" you say, a smile splitting your face as you opened your arms. he laughs, walking over to hug you tightly. hugging him gives you instant flashbacks, memories of childhood dares, blowing smoke out window screens, laughter in the middle of the derry grocery store where stan and ben worked, and shitty jokes.

"you could say that." richie mutters.

as the others arrive and you order food and get to catching up, you take in richie's appearance even more. you can’t fucking help it - he’s somehow grown even more into his looks, and he's got the most insane charisma. he's wearing the same glasses as he used to, and when he laughs really hard he pushes them up with his middle finger. he's got a five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw and he's still as tall as ever, his voice loud as he cracks jokes that have you laughing into your vodka tonic.

after richie pulling a full mile, round-about way of joking that he married eddie's nightmare of a mom, you're all laughing as he imitates jabba the hut. you roll your eyes, hating how badly you want him after all this time. at least hes not married.

"so you single too, y/l/n?" richie asks you then, calling your attention as he grins at you. you rake your eyes over his form quickly, hoping he doesn't notice.

yes, the answer was unequivocally yes.

you hum instead. "for now." you say, lifting a flirty brow at him before sipping on your drink. he smirks into his own glass and it makes your stomach burn halfway between anticipation and desire as the others share glances.

"almost forgot about that." ben says quietly with a smile to bev, and you shoot them a questioning look.

bev sends you a knowing smirk as she nods to richie, who's teasing eddie again and you roll your eyes. you feel like a kid again, being back with all of your friends from when you were young and getting teased every living moment for your pining after richie.

as you all get ready to go back to the townhouse after the shocking final events at the jade, you pull your phone out to call a cab. "you didn't get a rental?" bill asks, lifting a brow. you shake your head, "no. didn't really think of it, i just kind of..." you trail off, memories flashing around your mind of late nights in high school, screaming as you lean out richie's car window with stan laughing and eddie gripping your legs.

you shake your head. everybody looks as if they're remembering the same things you are, staring at the horizon with blank, furrowed faces. richie's the first to snap out of it, "i can give you a lift, y/n." he mutters, fishing a pair of keys out of his pocket then twirling them around his finger.

eyeing richie's profile, you smirk lightly, thinking about how immediate your attraction to him has returned in just the last few hours. as you walk away from the others, you lay your gaze on a red car and you whistle. "sweet ride, is this yours?" you ask, biting your lip as you eye the mustang richie's just unlocked.

"depends on who's asking, sugar." he says with a smirk, snorting when you narrow your eyes at him. you don't think what he just said even makes sense.

"what, so richie tozier gets all famous and can't tell me anything anymore?" you ask as you slide into the passenger seat.

"we're strangers, are we not?" he's got that fucking smirk still. the same one from childhood, except this one is much more... provocative.

you shake your head, "i don't think strangers give each other rides home in their mustangs just out of the goodness of their heart, do they?" you say as he pulls out of the parking lot, and he grins. you clench your legs together as the streetlights light up his profile, his hair perfectly messy and his jaw line sculpted.

"depends, sugar, what're you gonna give me in return?" he asks, a glint in his eye as he glances at you. his words send shivers through your body and you stare at him with a smirk, "i'm sure i can think of something."

he hums, looking back to the road with a grin. as you watch scenery pass by you of the town you'd forgotten for twenty years, you realize he's going all the way around town towards the inn. "you going the long way for a reason?" you ask, watching as he clenches his jaw as if he's been caught.

"don't know what you're talkin' about, y/l/n." he mumbles, but there's that damn glint in his eye again as he smirks. you grin, looking out the window at the passing trees on the path into derry. "yeah, yeah. i just think you wanted to spend more time with me." you say as you look over at him. he's smirking lazily as he watches the road, one arm on the steering wheel. "maybe." he responds.

richie pulls up to a stop light and for a second, the two of you sit and stare at each other, so many unspoken words hovering in the air.

and then, without another thought, richie's lips are hard against yours, pressing heatedly against yours and moving quickly. his hand is on your thigh, squeezing as you kiss back and making you moan into his mouth.

your hand falls onto his neck, tugging lightly on his curly strands as you kiss him, tasting scotch and cigarettes and freedom. you've waited too long, you realize - you spent your entire childhood staring after the boy with the tropical shirts and the big glasses, and now you're here with him, grown up and free to do what you want.

and he's kissing you.

just as his tongue wins dominance over yours, a loud honk makes you jump apart and you realize the light's turned green. "fuck." he says quietly, stepping on the gas pedal and racing off down the otherwise empty road. you look at each other and he smiles sheepishly, "fuck, y/n, you're so hot." he says quickly, and you laugh lightly, feeling flattered.

you lean back over the console as he drives so you're next to his ear, hand sliding down his chest slowly. "you're not too bad yourself, tozier." you say lowly, kissing his jaw. he turns and kisses you heatedly, taking your breath away quickly as he turns back to the road with a smirk.

unable to bear the tension, and feeling really desperate, you start to kiss his neck. "richie, i need you." you whine quietly and you feel him swallow harshly. "shit, doll." is all he says, his hand falling to grip your thigh possessively.

you keep going, your hand sliding down until you’re gripping his hard cock through his jeans and teasing your palm over it, sucking a mark into his neck which makes him groan.

"you got a deathwish, babe?" he says lowly as you nip at the skin under his jaw, your hand palming him teasingly. he's already hard and you smirk against his skin. "relax, all you have to do is drive." you say as you undo your seatbelt, twisting so you can palm him better. he spreads his legs slightly as he readjusts, letting out a quiet "fuck, yeah." as you undo his jeans.

"you're a dream, y/n." he says tightly, like he's clenching his jaw.

his knuckles are white as he clutches the wheel, eyes darting between the road and you as you slowly pull his hard cock out of his underwear and pump him slowly. your eyes widen as you take in his size, not expecting him to be as big as he is.

you slowly dart your tongue out, swiping along the tip and collecting the precum as it beads over. "shit." richie hisses as you flatten your tongue along the bottom of his cock, teasing him a bit before slowly taking him into your mouth.

the groan he lets out as you take him as far as you can is sinful, his head hitting back against the headrest as he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. bobbing your head, you hollow your cheeks and relish in the feeling of richie's cock in your throat, stretching you out and making you moan around him.

"you feel so good baby." he hisses, his hand moving from your thigh up to grip the wheel while he lays on the gas before falling to the back of your head, carding through your hair. you want to roll your eyes at how much he's talking, but you expected just about that from the trashmouth. "fuck."

you can't believe you're here, in derry again, sucking off famous comedian and - as you remembered a few hours ago - your former childhood crush, richie tozier, in his car.

you see lights out of the corner of your eye and you feel the car come to a stop, and you realize you’re stopped at a light. you can hear another car engine either next to yours or behind yours and you clench your thighs at the thought of someone seeing. “fuck, y/n. god, takin’ my cock perfectly.” he mutters, watching you bob your head, and despite the lewd act you’re doing, you turn bright red at the praise.

as the light turns green he’s stepping on the gas again and you pull off of him to take a few breaths, pumping as much as you can with your hand as he moans lightly. you see you're nearing the town house, so you take him back into your mouth and try to relax, breathing through your nose as his cock twitches in the back of your throat and you gag.

you bob your head after that, your tongue flat against his cock as he pulls into the parking lot.

you feel him put the car into park and then he moans lowly, bucking his hips up and you choke a bit as he slides further in your mouth and stretches your throat. "fuckin' hell, toots." he mutters, hands falling to your hair as he guides your mouth up and down on his cock. your mind reels back slightly at richie's words and you remember all the times you watched him show up to school with hickies littering his neck, all the hours you spent pining after this gangly asshole, and you hollow your mouth.

"god, i'm gonna cum. y/n. fuck," richie mutters and you eagerly swallow around him, moving slightly so you're on your knees on your seat, the new angle making him toss his head back against the headrest. one of his hands travels the expanse of your back, tracing down your spine as you move harder, helping him chase his high. he kneads your ass lightly, which makes you keen forward and take him deep, gagging as you force your throat to relax.

"good, just like that." he says quietly, breathy moans escaping his throat as he bucks his hips and you gag, eyes tearing up.

and then he's hitting his high, cumming in your mouth with a groan of your name, his hand squeezing your ass as the other holds your head down on his cock. you moan a bit as you swallow, pulling off him slowly as he pants, smirking down at you.

"well shit, if i'm getting that for driving you home, i'll be your personal chauffeur." he insists. you smack him lightly on the arm as you wipe your mouth, catching your breath.

it gets silent then, as if you're both realizing what just happened and how quickly it escalated.

he lets out a breath as he stares at you, eyes hooded. you bite your swollen lip as you watch him, gauging his reaction. "do you want to... come up to my room?" he says breathlessly, looking blissed out.

you bite your lip as he lifts a brow and you nod. "yes, i really do." you say as the two of you scramble out of his car, minds distracted from the danger ahead and only thinking about making it up to his room.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie is famous #losers club x reader #losers x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #ben hanscom x reader

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Kids Have Terrible Timing (Biadore) - Sarcastacnt

Summary; One of Roy and Danny’s two daughters has a tendency to get over excited at the smallest things and at the worst possible time for her fathers.

“We can always return her right?”

“See, this is what happens when we trust your genes. Let’s take a second to notice how the spawn with my genes is basically a Saint compared to her sister.”

Danny pulled a face and whacked Roy with a pillow. “Not what you said when she ruin, how many of your gowns was it again? 9?”

“It was 15 and you know it.” Roy grumbled still puzzled at how the then five year old Sabrina had gotten a hold of the gowns, let alone figured out how to work his sewing machine. Something that still eluded Danny.

“Let’s just agree that they’re both evil in their own special ways.” Danny offered, trying desperately not to laugh at the pained expression on Roy’s face.

Roy snorted, “Not much longer until they go through puberty. That’s when we cash in all those offers to babysit from Shane.”

Danny groaned and flopped down dramatically against the bed. “Two teenage girls in one house. What the fuck were we thinking?”

Roy shrugged, “Probably that at least one of them would be a boy.”

Danny laughed, “At least then they wouldn’t bug to borrow our drag. Well, your drag.”

Roy laughed at the memory of the two dark haired girls gasping in disbelief at the room full of princess gowns and lumberjack clothing. “Still can’t believe how good that read was, fucking lumberjack.” He was still snickering when Danny decided he was no longer comfortable laying on the bed.

With a surge of power from his left leg he moved to straddle Roy’s hips. “You’re the one who married a lumberjack Haylock.”

Roy automatically dropped his hands to rest on Danny’s thighs. “You married a princess, least I’m still gay in this version of reality.”

Danny snorted, “Whatever, that makes you a princess, least I’m still a man.” He leaned forward and licked Roy’s neck before whispering in his ear. “Although every single time I’ve fucked you while you were dressed as a princess was hot as hell. You really should let me fuck you in drag more often.”

Roy let out a groan as Danny squirmed on his lap. “Why would I put a bunch of clothes on for sex? Doesn’t being naked make everyone’s lives easier?”

Danny began kissing Roy’s jaw, taking a familiar path down to the collar of Roy’s shirt. “I meant when we preform asshole.” He said as he started to work the buttons of Roy’s shirt open.

Roy rolled his eyes, “Because normally after we preform you’re so fucking horny that you beg to get fucked.” Roy brought both hands crashing down on Danny’s ass, “Remember?”

Danny started to kiss his way down Roy’s chest now that the button down was pushed open. “Fuck yeah I do.” He looked up at Roy, eyes gone a little glassy with arousal. “Speaking of which, it’s been quiet for almost an hour. We should probably take advantage while we can.”

Roy chuckled and began to tug at Danny’s shirt. “You’re absolutely right.” When Danny didn’t move to remove his shirt quick enough, Roy rolled them so he was on top. He quickly pulled off the light sleep pants Danny wore and began stroking the already half hard cock. “Doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?” he teased before taking Danny’s erection into his mouth.

“Never has.” Danny admitted before groaning at the very talented tongue that was quickly turning his brain to mush.

Roy held out his hand, without stopping the blow job and Danny reached blindly for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand. He pushed it into Roy’s hand before letting his head fall back against the pillows.

Wasting no time, Roy lubed up two fingers and pressed them into Danny. It only took a few thrusts before Danny was demanding that Roy ‘stop fucking around and put your dick in me!’. With such a sweet request, how could Roy refuse? He pushed his own sleep pants down and lubed up his erection before taking a second to tease Danny’s entrance.

“Fuck me Roy!” Danny demanded, his hips lifting off the bed in frustration.

“Fine, but next time we have time I’m gonna make you pay for being an Impatient bitch.” Roy said as he grabbed Danny’s hips and started to push himself inside-

“DADDY!!!”

*CRASH, SLAM, BANG*

Roy didn’t know how he did it but somehow he got both of them covered up under the blanket before 6 year old Stevie managed to scramble up on the bed.

“Stevie remember how we talked about knocking? And you’re not listening to me at all, are you?” Roy sighed as he swung his legs over the far side of the bed and pulled his pants up. Danny had no chance to pull anything on, Stevie was not only on the bed but sitting happily on Danny’s stomach.

“Daddy! I found something cool! You gotta come see this!” the little girl had a big grin on her face as she waved her hands in the air. Stevie’s grin was an exact match for Danny’s (pre lip injections, of course). In fact Stevie was the spitting image of Adore, especially on the odd occasion her fathers put her in make up. Not only was the physical resemblance strong but both Stevie and Danny were two of the loudest people Roy had ever met.

A quiet knock at the open door caught Roy’s attention. He looked up to see blue eyed eight year old Sabrina shaking her head in exasperation. “Sorry dad, I tried to remind her to knock but…” she trailed off with a shrug, gesturing to the excited noises coming from the bed as Stevie and Danny talked about something Roy couldn’t quite catch.

Roy chuckled, “It’s okay, I understand my love. What were you two doing anyways? I thought we said goodnight an hour ago.”

Sabrina walked around the bed, giving it a wide berth. She had walked too close to the bed once during a similar situation just in time for Stevie to launch herself off the bed (much to her fathers horror) and land on not only her feet but her sister’s as well. “I showed her a book.”

Roy ached an eyebrow, “Why is she so excited about a book.”

Sabrina made a huffing noise as she crawled up on the bed to sit next to Roy. “There were no pictures in it.”

“You’re telling me your sister is losing her mind over a book, without pictures?” Roy could feel his eye start twitching.

Sabrina nodded, “Are you sure she’s really my sister?” she eyed Roy suspiciously.

Roy sighed, they had this conversation every few weeks. “Yes Rini, you both have the same mother, remember?” Roy remembered the initial thrill when they discovered that the surrogate they had used for Sabrina was more then happy to take on another pregnancy for the pair when they decided to expand their family a year and a half later.

“Are you really sure? Did you check?” Sabrina grilled her father as she watched Stevie and Danny (who had managed to pull pants on while he was distracted with Sabrina) rush out of the room to get a look at this ‘amazing book’ that Stevie had discovered.

“Yes Rini I’m a hundred percent sure she’s your sister. Besides she acts just like Dad, doesn’t she? I promise she’s part of this family.”

Sabrina frowned, “Whatever. I’m gonna go make sure they don’t break my stuff.” She hopped off the bed, her long twin braids floating behind her as she stormed off after them.

Roy fell back into bed and began laughing uncontrollably. He had no idea which part of the last five minutes he found so funny. The interrupted sex, Stevie’s excitement over a book without pictures or Sabrina’s continued irritation that her sister was insane.

Tears were streaming down his face, high pitched giggles still escaping him and abdominal muscles cramping when Danny returned.

“She’s nuts.” Danny proclaimed as he flopped down next to Roy.

A minute later, Roy managed to get his laughter under control. “Was she really that excited over a book with no pictures?”

Danny nodded, eyes wide in disbelief. “War and Peace! I didn’t know books could get that big! That shit’s more complicated then anything I ever read!”

Roy nodded, “Katya was reading it last time her and Trixie were over with their hellspawns. She probably forgot it here.” They almost always used drag names when referring to Brian and Brian just to save themselves the confusion.

Danny snorted, “Least we had time to breathe between kids. I don’t know how they managed 3 at once! Like who even has triplets?”

“Trixie and Katya do, poor bastards. If two teenage girls seems like a nightmare waiting to happen, imagine three hormonal teenage boys. The structural damage alone may just bankrupt them! If those two weren’t bald already that’s what would finally do it. Trying to figure out how much to add to the budget for household repairs every week.” Roy mused, choosing to ignore the fact that while he and Danny did in fact have one less kid, one of said kids shared genetic material with Danny. Roy hoped, not for the first time that Stevie calmed down as she got older. Last thing he needed was one of his daughters proudly proclaiming to be a ‘messy slut’. The thought of the generally sweet (if loud) Stevie strutting around in a mini skirt and low cut shirt made Roy shiver in fear.

“We’re never gonna have sex again, are we?” Danny half heartedly complained, lacing his fingers with Roy’s as they looked at each other with tired smiles on their faces.

Roy released Danny’s hand and rolled so he was on top of his husband. “So dramatic.” Roy teased as he captured Danny’s lips in a breath taking kiss.

It wasn’t long before Danny was a moaning, begging mess under him. Roy sighed in relief as he entered Danny roughly, rather pleased with himself for the broken sound that tore itself from Danny’s lips.

“DADDY!!!!”

“I’m taking her back!” Danny proclaimed loudly as Roy pulled away from him and managed to get their pants back on before Stevie came flying into their room again. This time she was screaming something about the ‘coolest bug ever!

Wasn’t parenting fun?

A/N Thank you to the annon who requested a kid fic where Roy and Danny keep getting interrupted. Swore I’d never write one of these but hey, here we are! I’m also tempted to continue this but for the moment it stands alone.

The girls names; Stevie is named for Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac fame and Sabrina is name for an alternative name for a boat neck collar. I know nothing about fashion so that’s what a quick Google search pulled up.

As for the teasing each other about which kid has which genes, it doesn’t mean they love either kid less then the other. I think most parents like to harass their partner about who is responsible for which less desirable trait their off spring demonstrates. Like when Sarabi says to Mufasa in The Lion King “Before sunrise, he’s your son.”

#rpdr fanfiction #biadore #adore delano #bianca del rio #canon compliant #parenting au #kid fic #married #fluff #almost smut #request fic #sarcastacnt

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

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Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn��t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him.

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

#kinda open ended but this shit was getting LONG #yikes writes #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #mpreg #trans!steve harrington #trans!steve #trans steve #trans steve harrington

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malikmata · 3 years

Text

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

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sairenharia · 4 years

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Kai With And Without Memory

So here is my rant about Kai and his character and the differences Memory Makes.

Hollow Season 2 spoilers

The beauty of amnesia plots, especially when it’s not ‘sudden villain has no memories and is a good person’ variety is it shows off just how different a person is due to their circumstances. The Hollow does this well because there are definitely differences between season one and season two for Kai, Adam, and Mira. (And the other team, but they were being complete asshole gamers the first season.) The differences weren’t very overt, but that makes sense.

Because when someone loses their memory, they’re not going to ‘know’ things they didn’t before. Kai never heard the ‘in the same boat’ phrase before, so of course amnesia Kai wouldn’t know it. This also applies to personality. If there was never the potential for that personality, it wouldn’t suddenly spring from nowhere. Primary things are going to be primary. Mira wants to make friends with wildlife and mediates fights even when she doesn’t want to. Adam is take charge and has a temper.

And Kai is insecure and wants to be useful.

Kai between season one and season two seesaws between these two traits, with one being stronger than the other depending on the circumstances.

At the very start, Kai is insecure in season one. He is scared, and more than that, he doesn’t know how to help. He tries. When they’re trying to get out of the bunker, he’s looking for ways to pull out bricks, ready to slam the type writer into the wall. None of his ideas work through, and thus begins The Whining.

Here’s the thing about most of Kai’s whining. It’s very much owning up to his own weaknesses. He’s scared, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t have powers. This seems to be a defense mechanism of sorts. If HE’S saying what’s wrong with himself, then he doesn’t have to hear it from anyone else. He doesn’t have to hear how people think he’s useless if he just SAYS it.

When Adam is trying to free Mira in Toros’ lair, Kai doesn’t help. He doesn’t even try to help, even if he comes back after being called. When he thinks Toros is caught up, he just wants things over. He gives up quickly. Even with the WItch, he is hesitating with the bone, he’s scared.

But Adam saved him and he has to help. More than that, this moment came AFTER Kai was Right about something. (I also have thoughts about the Witch thing, but later.)

He was right about three witches too. And he starts to get a little more bold. He demands to see the map, to try and help, and he’s right. The more times Kai is RIGHT, the less he whines. The less he runs from the others.

Then Kai finds out he can fix a ship. As soon as Kai figures out he can fix things, he is fixing ALL THE THINGS. Everytime he sees something broken, he offers to fix it, he’s sure he can. Ships, lighthouses, carts, spiders. He is confident, he’s assured.

But he also knows he can’t help in a fight. He can’t really save them in a pinch. He can fix things, but you can only fix things so fast, and he whines about powers. He doesn’t have powers, he can’t fight, he’s saying it so NO ONE ELSE CAN.

Then we get to the fire. And Kai was ready to abandon Benjamini because what can he do? He’s not a superhero, he can’t do anything to help him, and he doesn’t want to die. He’s ready to run like a coward like he did at the beginning. He even owns up to being willing to leave him behind...but he also doesn’t add how he doesn’t when he realizes what he can do. It’s not just he clears a path for him and Benjamini. He picks him up and carries him out of the fire.

Because Kai has figured out he’s useful, he can do something, so he does it. And Kai doesn’t stop. From then on, Kai is ready to fix things, he’s ready to fight, he’s ready to defend, and most of the time, he’s on top of doing those things. The reminders to start are rare, getting some advice mid-battle a little less rare, but the fact is, Kai is Very Active.

The time it changes is when he’s around Vanessa’s team. Vanessa is talking him up, but Reeve isn’t, and Skeet is on the fence, but there is a constant tension in the team. Kai knows he was lied to, but he’s still going along with them because of the praise he’s getting. But he’s withdrawn. Kai may not be good at identifying being used, but he knew he wasn’t apart of the team. Without Vanessa’s reassurance, he would have probably realized something was wrong. And in the fight with the ice monster, he messes up. He forgets to use his powers, to fight against something he should be awesome against.

Not that Kai is completely beaten down. He still says he can beat Reeve, but it was after being confronted, after a lot of muttering to himself. Different how he was with Mira and Adam. When he had a problem with Adam, he pretty much said it to his face.

What it comes down to, Kai without memories is still insecure, but he wants to be useful, and when he is useful, he is going to EMBRACE IT without hesitation. He knows he’s got skills, he’s got abilities, and Mira and Adam need his help.

And then season two happens and the thing that seemed most distinct was how Often Kai needed to be given direction when he was with the others. He had to be reminded to use his fire a few times before he consistently did it. He completely forgot about his engineering genius for the most part. And the more people around, the more he seemed to shut down.

But how often did people shout out Kai’s name this season for him to do something? It happened. A lot. Kai had been so proactive in season one, but season two, he was more reactive. He knew things he had to do, but he seemed to always need that guidance.

Season one Kai would have been at those train controls in a second. Season one Kai poked around at things a lot. Season two Kai didn’t. He just let people lead the way.

So about that witch. Here is the thing that’s interesting about the witch. Mira it makes sense she approached. Mira was always up to saying hi first and dealing with fallout if it went awry. Adam, however, was distrusting of near everyone without some evidence they might help, or being so goofy it was hard to distrust. Yet he was willing to trust this weird woman in a cave, while Kai was not.

Mira and Adam were willing to trust a motherly figure. Kai was not until hunger won out. Even then, he wasn’t trusting her, just accepting food. I don’t know if the writers knew Kai’s home life for season one, but if they didn’t, it’s a pretty big coincidence the person Kai gets most paranoid about is the picture perfect housewife.

Kai has a bad family life. He has parents who fight all the time. He had an ulcer as a toddler. He’s been asked to pick sides in fights at Thanksgiving. He has a full on PTSD flashback to an Easter Egg Hunt. We know Kai isn’t adverse to confrontation itself as a natural inclination, he argued plenty with Adam and he laid into Vanessa quite a bit. He was conditioned to shut down when intense arguing happens around him. Arguing that his parents tried to drag him into.

His need to fix takes a kind of sad turn. It makes me wonder if the secondary powers really aren’t selected and they come from some secret desire, like Mira wants to talk to animals, and Kai wanted to fix things.

Season one made it apparent that Kai was desperate for some kind of affection. Vanessa played him like a fiddle because she made Kai feel valuable and important. She responded to his emotions, she made him feel seen. It seemed like simple insecurity.

In season two, we learn it’s outright being affection starved. Kai wants people who he’s sure like him, who treat him normal. Miles might be his friend, but Miles is also not subtle he likes the tech. Whether or not he likes Kai as a person is questionable, but to Kai, it would be easy for him to assume it’s about his money. His parents aren’t home, and when they are, they’re fighting.

Kai has Davis, but the thing is, he asks Davis to be his friend in Hollow Life. This isn’t a thing Kai did in real life. Kai, desperate for people to care about him, never asked his butler to be his friend. It’s even questionable if Real Davis would have responded the same way, or that’s just the way Kai liked to think he would and that’s what the game copied.

But either way, it was the first time Kai did it in his life. He wasn’t so bold before.

Kai when he first wakes up is proactive. He goes out, trying to figure out what happened, observing and poking things. He meets up with Adam and Mira and he’s trying to help. Then the nightmares hit.

He can’t face Mabel for himself, but he could do it for Adam. He was able to save Adam. He was able to help them figure out to face their own fears. Mira and Adam are his FRIENDS now and they seem more befuddled by his riches then in awe, and Adam shares a deeply personal thing with Kai and forgive him for his actions in The Hollow about crushing on Mira.

He just fought his nightmare, and Adam and Mira are trusting him, being close to him.

Of course he thinks it’s a dream. Because Kai was a replacement on their team. He was selected for his skills at best.

When he figures out it isn’t a dream, he goes with Adam and is trying to figure out what happened because they’re all in this together. Of course, they can do this, it’s fine. But Adam is angry at Mira, he’s snapping at Kai. Mira had run off on her own, and that wasn’t the Mira Kai knew. The Mira Kai knew was the one who made sure Adam knew why she had to go get the medicine and didn’t want to leave him on the ice.

Kai starts regressing. He struggles to move the desk and almost gives up until Adam pushes and he helps. He forgets about his fire in the castle. Kai desperately tries to figure out the riddle.

He accuses Adam of only seeing him as a replacement because if HE says it, Adam can’t say it first. Adam says they still won, he wasn’t just a replacement, but it’s not the emotional thing Kai really needs.

He’s hesitant. He’s not helping as much. He’s always there when he’s called on, but he has to be called on a lot. Not always, but far more than the proactive Kai he had been.

He gets more withdrawn. Not as bad as the hostility with the other team in season one, but it’s noticeable. It’s why he forgets that when they were on the train, he should have been the one looking at the machienry. He shouldn’t have needed to be told because he always jumped on it in season one.

Which gets even more interesting because of how often Kai will do the sacrificial play.

He’s absolutely ready to fight Reeve and Skeet after he figures out the betrayal. In the ocean, he tells Mira to leave. Kai who had run away the first few confrontations was willing to possibly die in the ocean so Mira could get Adam to safety. He goes to be on his own with the spider king to try and earn their trust.

He runs distraction for Colrath (and there is one moment where it did look like he was pondering flying into the glitch wall to get the dragon, but that’s interpretation.)

And in season two, we see this more. The times where Kai is the boldest, the most proactive, is when he’s alone, or when it’s just him and one person. He actually beats Reeve in a fight. He finds the spell room and Kai? Kai has no personal stake in either Reeve or Vanessa. Neither one are his friend. Adam got shocked and gave up, albeit to look for another way. Kai didn’t.

Kai freed them both because it was the right thing to do. He even used a pickle fork to pick Vanessa’s lock. And he doesn’t even make a big deal out of it. They freed them, that was all that mattered.

He also tried to fight the snail on his own earlier to protect Adam and almost drowned in slime for it.

Then he’s alone with Vanessa. And he lets Vanessa know he’s still angry, he doesn’t trust her, and he’s still hurt. He’s right to, but it also shows Kai really isn’t afraid of fighting, just the tearing family apart level of fighting Reeve and Adam were reaching and how his parents were like that.

But Vanessa breaks down and confesses. To Kai. Vanessa shows she trust Kai on some level, and needed help, and he was the one she went to. Vanessa allowed Kai to try and help, to fix the situation. Something he wasn’t really getting with everyone else after the team dynamic fell apart after episode two.

And because of that, Kai was being a little more proactive. He scouted with Vanessa, he offered to help with the goat, he was getting bolder again. But there was still this air about him.

Kai doubts his place amongst his friends. Now that Reeve is back, he’s not as important to Mira and Adam anymore, and so he pulls back, and overcompensates. At the pyramid we see this. Adam is trying to get through, Reeve is disbelieving, so Kai helps Adam. Shows he’s there, he’s support.

He still matters.

Of course Kai matters to his friends, difference memories or no. Mira and Adam just needed to figure out their Reeve drama, but it was also a tentative friendship for Kai. A friendship he really valued. He almost died with these two over and over and it’s probably the closest relationship he’s ever had with another person, let alone two. And then he was dumped back into memories where he didn’t matter so much.

He was left alone.

He was used to try and win arguments.

He was wanted for his money.

He couldn’t even ask his butler to be his friend.

Someone who wanted to fix, but couldn’t.

More than likely, Kai was told to sit down and shut up, to stay out of the way. So that’s how he responds.

He wanted to believe he was as important to two best friends as they were to him, but it’s hard to put those two things together. Does he matter? Was he a replacement? Is he an asset, or in the way?

On some level, he knows he matters. The fact he thinks he could make the speech he did means he knows it on some level, but knowing it and believing it emotionally are different things.

All because what he remembered put into doubt just how capable he was without.

#the hollow #the hollow season 2 #the hollow spoilers #the hollow kai #th kai #kai

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lukneetoonz · 4 years

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Oblivious

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Summary: You’re in love with a boy who thinks you’d never love him… what happens when he overhears you talking about him?

Pairing: Shinsou x Female!reader

Warnings: Angst, cussing, but it’s coot I promise

Word Count: 2,244

A/N: Been in a funk lately and don’t know what to write! Ask box is open for suggestions!

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

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Lilacs, the smell of coffee and lavender, and the sounds of video games were all things that reminded you of the boy that you admired. Your friends called it love, but you called it a silly crush, because how can you love someone who doesn’t love you? Shinsou Hitoshi was always on your mind, even if he didn’t do anything to be on it, you just couldn’t get him out. It didn’t help that you guys were best friends, for that is what Shinsou continuously calls your relationship. Seemingly reminding you that you’re nothing but his friend, someone for him to go to when he doesn’t have anyone else. You were a placement holder, and that hurt.

Snapping fingers in front of your face brought you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting a group of concerned ones. “Y/N… we hate seeing you look so sad. Why don’t you take Mina up on that offer and go on a blind date?” Uraraka spoke softly to you, almost like her words could send you crashing down at any moment. Shaking your head you groaned and rubbed your face, “But I can’t! I can’t go on a date when I can’t get him out of my head… it’s not fair to the other person. I’m not just going to use someone to get over another…” your words only made the girls frown deeper.

Mina stood up abruptly and put her hands on her hips as she raised her eyebrows at you, “I just don’t see it. Honestly Y/N! You could have any guy in our class- scratch that, our grade, yet you’re sitting here because this crazy haired asshole can’t see how amazing you are!” Her words made you blush as you huff and hug yourself, looking away, none of you aware that there was now an extra set of ears on your private conversation. “You guys don’t get it! He’s so- gah! I can’t even put it into words. No one comments on how Uraraka is crushing on Midoriya!”

Momo smiled sadly as Uraraka fell on the floor covering her red face, “Because they’re both too awkward and shy to admit their feelings when it’s both obvious they like each other. It’s like they’re dating, but aren't. It’s also because Midoriya isn’t emotionally constipated” Momo stated simply but elegantly as the others nodded along as you blushed, and felt aggravation bubble inside you. But just beyond the common room and in the hallway stood shinsou, back against the wall as he tried to quiet his breathing, wanting to find out more about the crush of the girl he's hopelessly in love with.

“He isn’t emotionally constipated! He’s- god- he shows he cares and stuff but in his own way… he has such a kind heart and beautiful soul it just makes me want to dive deeper into what makes him, well him! And when he talks about something he’s passionate about, his eyes they just- lighten up slightly as they also crinkle because he’s smiling and the sight alone rips my breath away. I can’t even describe him by using three words because he deserves the whole damn dictionary! Why can’t you guys see how wonderful he is? He isn’t just some asshole, hes special. That’s why I’ve fallen so hard for him and I don’t regret a second of it.” You’re panting by the time you stop your rant, all eyes on you as you look to the ground embarrassed.

“Y/N, we didn’t know-” Mina tried to start but you quickly dismissed her, “Of course you didn’t know, because no one else in the room spends as much time admiring him like I do.” A sad smile etched on your face, making tsuyu and Uraraka hug you, which you automatically found comfort in. Meanwhile a lilac eyed boy had left his spot and went to his dorm, upset with himself for falling for someone who obviously loved someone that wasn’t him. How could he have been so stupid to even think for a second it could have been him?

*•*

Your head rested on your desk as you listened to the girls talk about the number two hero and gush about how good looking he is. Moving to focus on the empty seat next to you, the pang in your chest didn’t go unnoticed as you frowned. Normally shinsou would be in class already, but for the past few days he's been showing up later, not to mention he’s been leaving class in a rush and pushing you away. It hurt- god did it hurt. Pushing the feelings away, you turned to look at your friends and smiled softly at whatever they were saying.

“Y/N you’re not even paying attention, what’s on your mind?” Momo spoke up, making you sigh. “I know we aren’t- a thing, but he’s barely even looked my way in days and that hurts so much.” You mumbled softly, trying not to stare at his empty seat. “I don’t even know what I did wrong… it’s like I want to ask him but- that terrifies me. Confrontation terrifies me” tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your head in your arms. Your friends knew of your anxiety and honestly if it wasn’t for them, you’d sit in the back of the class and keep to yourself.

It was always the girls talking to you first or making plans, making sure it was something small and intimate because you didn’t like to go out to places that drew a bunch of attention to you. Honestly that was your worst nightmare, just like how the sports festival was horrible for you. When you did go to an agency, you were picked for an underground work agency, not that you didn’t mind. So the fact that you might have to go up and ask your best friend what you did wrong, and then listen to what you did wrong, was killing you on the inside.

Like clockwork, a indigo haired boy walked through the door right before the bell rang, barely giving you a glance, his cold demeanor making you flinch. Taking a deep breath you thought of a great idea that allowed you to talk to Shinsou, but also didn’t make it as scary. You got your notebook out and tore a piece of paper out quietly, before thinking of what to write.

You: ‘Hi =) are you okay? It’s just- I feel like we haven’t been able to talk lately’

Yeah… that’s good. It’s subtle and the smiley face is cute… well hopefully. Tapping on Shinsou’s shoulder you bit your lip, waiting for him to turn around, but he never did. Maybe he just didn’t feel it, you could tap rather light sometimes, so once again you tapped his shoulder, only to get a shoulder shrug in response. You felt your throat go dry as tears threatened to spill, gripping the note in your hand. You stood up abruptly and ran out of class, ignoring Aizawa asking you where you were going.

Shinsou saw you leave, he heard your quiet whimper, he felt your taps. But he couldn’t respond to any of it, why could he when he was hopelessly in love with you and you were in love with someone else? So much so in fact that you ignored your friends pleas to move on. Burying his own head in his arms, he groaned quietly as he tried to get you out of his thoughts. Mina stared at the boy with eyes that could kill, he was the one that was hurting her friend so much, and yet he was still here looking unfazed while you ran out crying.

*•*

Once class ended, Shinsou went to rush out like he’d been doing but was cornered by every single girl in that class, Pinky leading the group. “Who do you think you are to act like this, you emotionally constipated flower. Y/N cares for you and yet here you are avoiding her like she has the plague for no good reason. God I don’t even know what she sees in you anyway” as soon as those words left her mouth, several different pairs of hands flew to cover Mina’s mouth. Shinsou looked at her with a star struck look, before he groaned and facepalmed.

“I’m such an asshole! I thought- I overheard her talking the other night and I thought she liked someone that obviously wasn’t me…” rubbing his face, he had desperate eyes. “I thought if I distanced myself, it would hurt less when she started dating someone that wasn’t me” Some of the girls awed, but Mina merely flicked him. “Just shut up and go after her! You should be explaining this to her, not us dipshit!” Tsuyu eyed Mina and giggled, “You’ve been hanging around Bakugou too much… he's starting to rub off on you”

Shinsou didn’t even stay to hear the girls bicker before he ran off towards the dorms, with only you on his mind. Panting, he finally made it to the place he needed to be and wasted no time on pounding on your door, not once stopping in between knocks. “Guys please- I don’t wanna talk about it..” The croak of your voice broke the lilac eyed boy, making him sigh in defeat. “Y/N, kitten, please let me in… I need to apologize for being such an asshole to my best friend” His soft voice broke through the door, making you tense.

That word. Best friend. That’s all you’ll ever be. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tightly clutched onto your pillow, trying to hide your sniffling. “I’m fine Shinsou, j-just go back to class.” Resting his head against the door, Shinsou frowned deeply and closed his own eyes, trying to picture your form. “No you’re not Y/N…. you’re not fine and it’s my fault. I was being an asshole to you because I assumed things because of my own insecurities. Now can you please open the door so I can tell you this to your face?” He thought the desperate plea had failed until he heard the click of your lock and the turning of your doorknob, door opening to reveal your watery (E/C) eyes.

“Fuck- Y/N. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to be the cause of your tears, I promise to never cause your tears again.” Quickly he cupped your face and pursed his lips as he took in your upset appearance. A blush spread across your face from his intimate touch, looking anywhere but his face, “w-why are you acting like this Shinsou? It hurts…” Your whimpers caught his heart and he brought you into a hug, clutching onto you like you’d push him away. “I love you… okay? I-I heard you talking in the common room the other day and I never thought you could be talking about me, so I pushed you away because I thought it would hurt less then when you started seeing someone that wasn’t me.”

The boy's confession shocked you as you froze, slowly you hugged him back, a smile crawling it’s way onto your flustered face. “Who told you? T-that I was talking about you?” Shinsou chuckled lightly, pulling away and brushed your hair off your face that stuck to the wetness from your tears, “Mina let it slip slightly and I just put two and two together…” Suddenly his face grew serious as he tensed, “I never want to cause you tears again… I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so so sorry” giggling, you reached up and squished his cheeks together, eyes looking down at the lips you’ve fantasised about for so long.

“I love you too, Toshi…” You were so focused on his lips you didn’t see his own eyes that were focused on your plump lips. “Can I kiss you?” Blushing, you looked to meet his eyes to see if he was serious, slowly nodding you let him inch forward until his lips ghosted against yours, eyes closing when your lips finally clashed in a soft, but slow kiss. It was full of emotion and innocence, his lips moved against yours eagerly because this was something he's wanted to do for ages. The both of you only pulling away for air, foreheads resting against each other as the sound of your soft pants filled the air.

“Be ready at 7 tonight, okay kitten?” Tilting your head, you looked at Shinsou confused and he chuckled, merely pecking your lips. “I have to take my girlfriend on a first date don’t I?” Girlfriend? First date? Shit you just squealed in front of your BOYFRIEND?! Quickly you nodded and ran inside your room, slamming the door, a smile on your face as you finally got your lilac boy.

#mha fanfiction #mha imagines #ely here #shinsouhitoshiimaginedarlingely #shinsou imagine #hitoshi shinso imagine #shinsou x reader #shinsou x y/n #shinsou hitoshi #mha hitoshi #mha shinsou #shinsou headcanons

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stories-sometimes · 4 years

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Freaky Friday

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky and her hate each other, but maybe switching bodies can help with that.

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 1865

Masterlist

Her and Bucky hated each other, that was the only fact they could agree on. Everyone at the compound knew the smartest thing to do was to keep them apart unless they wanted to be in the crossfire of a petty fight. Leaving the two of them on their own while the other Avengers were on a mission wasn’t their first choice, but it was the only one they had. Her and Bucky were hit with a mysterious, unknown substance on the previous mission. And until people were confident there were no side effects, Bucky and she were under house arrest, trapped in the compound.

“God, you have no fucking respect for people’s properties.” She screamed, storming into the lounge.

“What are you complaining about now?” Bucky groaned, dragging his eyes away from the late-night movie to look at the angry woman in front of him.

“You put your shirt in with my laundry.”

“Is that really what you’re making a huge deal out of.”

“When you put your red shirt in with my white clothes it is. Now they’re all fucking pink.”

“Oh, you poor thing, how will you possibly cope.” Bucky replied sarcastically.

“You are such an asshole. You can’t even find it in you to say sorry.” Bucky simply rolled his eyes in response. “Oh fuck you.” She shouted, throwing the now pink shirt in his face before walking off. She stormed to her room, stripped down to her tank top and panties. She lay down in her bed and tried to ignore the frustration she felt to try to get some sleep. Meanwhile, Bucky was sat contemplating his actions. He realised he was in the wrong, and should probably apologize. But there was something about the look on her face when she got her way that set off some feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he wanted to forget about. An hour or so later he also made his way back to his bedroom. He removed his metal arm for the night, removed all clothes minus his boxers, and slipped under his covers.

The next morning she awoke to feel oddly heavier. Despite this, one half of her felt much lighter, creepily lighter. She opened her eyes, terrified to see a missing arm. She immediately pushed herself back. When she looked down she saw a hard plane of muscles rather than her usual chest. Her heart began to race faster, thoughts spinning in her head. She rushed to the nearest mirror, letting out a low pitched scream when she saw Bucky’s face staring back at her.

Across the hall, Bucky woke startled. He raised a hand to rub his head without thinking, a few seconds later realising he shouldn’t have that arm. He stared at the hand, a smaller softer limb replaced his. A few moments later Bucky saw a mirror image of himself burst into the room. He instantly jumped to his feet.

“Who the hell are you?” Bucky demanded, putting his hand to his throat when a female voice left his lips.

“It’s me.” The doppelganger replied. “Except your me and-” Bucky glanced down his top. He was definitely in a female body. He ran to the mirror, quickly followed by her.

“We’ve switched bodies.” Bucky said in awe. The two of them stared at their reflections, inspecting new faces carefully. Before long Bucky cupped his breasts, pushing them up and together.

“Get your hands off my boobs.” She demanded.

“Well, technically they’re my boobs.” Bucky said, still not removing his hands.

“I said get off.” She wrenched his hands away, snatching his wrists in one of her hands.

“Oww, what the hell?” Bucky shrieked. Thanks to the super-serum, Bucky’s body was much stronger than her own. And she had no experience or control over this power.

“I’m sorry, you’re a lot stronger than me.”

“It’s fine. We’ve changed.” He responded surprisingly civilly. “I mean I’m a lot hotter now.” He said, turning to admire his ass. She clenched her jaw, moving to her wardrobe to grab the baggiest clothes she owned and pushed them into Bucky’s chest.

“Just put the clothes on and stop talking about my body.” Bucky raised his hands in surrender, reluctantly putting the clothes on. “Can you help me put your arm back on?”

“Yeah sure.” They walked back into Bucky’s room. He found the arm and carefully secured it. “Okay, you need to relax your shoulder. Then slowly begin to move your fingers, then your hand and move up your arm. It might glitch throughout the day cause you’re not used to it but just reset the movements. Fingers, wrist, elbow, shoulder, full arm.” He explained.

“Thanks.” She said before retreating back to her own room. They avoided each other for the next couple hours, each trying to adjust to their new bodies. All while desperately searching for a cure.

She eventually had to leave her room to get food. In the kitchen, Bucky was sitting on the counter eating a bowl of cereal. She poured herself a bowl and sat opposite him.

“So,” Bucky said, breaking the silence, “I was thinking.”

“That’s new.” Bucky shot her an annoyed look.

“As I was saying. I’ve been thinking that we should have sex.” He said bluntly. She choked on her cereal.

“What the fuck.”

“I’m serious. You’re hot, and I’ve definitely thought about fucking you. Honestly, if you weren’t such bitch I would’ve asked you out ages ago.”

“Wow, you really are great at flirting.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, you’re only a bit of a bitch sometimes.” She scoffed at his comment. “But I do think we should fuck.”

“Why the hell would I want to sleep with you.”

“Oh come on doll. You wanna tell me you’ve never wanted to know what it feels like for a guy. Look me in the eye and say you haven’t touched my dick cause you’re wondering what it’s like.”

“Well, I-, you can’t just -” She stammered.

“It’s fine. I’ve been doing the same. You’re curious about it, I’m sure as hell curious. So why not.” She thought about it for a while. She was curious, and when would there ever be an opportunity like this again.

“Fine.”

“Wait really.” Bucky said, shocked.

“Yeah, why not.”

“Okay, okay. We gotta do the whole shebang, this is probably our only chance.”

“So what are you waiting for.” They quickly made their way to her room. Soon they were quickly stripping out of their clothes, immediately getting to business. Bucky lay back on the bed and she crawled on top of him, caging him in.

“Okay, it’s gonna feel a little weird at first, might be a bit uncomfortable. But I promise it’ll feel good after you get used to it.” She warned him before slowly inserting one finger into Bucky. Bucky gasped, pushing his hips up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

“This will help.” She said, flicking her thumb over the clit at just the right angle. Bucky’s discomfort morphed into pleasure.

“How’d you-”

“It’s my body, I know exactly what I like.” Bucky nodded at her response.

“Oh that’s good, more.” Bucky moaned. She complied, adding another finger while darting out her tongue to stripe up the slit. She kept going, upping the pace until she felt Bucky’s cum on her tongue.

“How was that?” She asked cockily, observing Bucky’s blissed-out expression.

“Holy fuck, that was - that was.” He tried to form a sentence, “And you can just go again, straight away?”

“Yeah, I can usually come like three times before I start to get really exhausted.” She confirmed.

“That’s fucking awesome.” Bucky pushed himself up, “And as good as that was doll, I wanna get down to the real action.” He pulled her up, kissing her passionately and grabbing the cock and jacking it off a few times. She let out a loud groan, quickly lining herself up and pushing in. It was strange for the both of them, feeling what the other sex experienced during, well, sex. It was all new to them, she got to feel the warm, tight grip, and Bucky got that perfect mix of pain and pleasure from the stretch. Moans filled the room, not letting up until the two of them came down from their highs.

"Jesus Christ that was amazing." She said between hey heavy breaths.

"Glad we did it?"

"Definitely." She admitted easily.

"So it feels like that every time for you?"Bucky asked.

"Sometimes the guy'll go a little too hard, and it just hurts. But when they get the balance right, it's fucking phenomenal, feel that good." When she went to sit back up the arm jammed. Bucky could tell she was about to get frustrated and soon intervened.

“Remember, fingers, wrist, elbow, shoulder, full arm.” He reminded her, cupping her hand in his own. “Fingers.” He repeated as she gained some control back, helping her to move them again, “Wrist, elbow, shoulder, full arm.” With his assistance, she got most of the movement back.

“How do you deal with this every day?” She questioned.

“I’m just used to it. Besides what else can I do?” He laughed a little glumly. “It’s not all that bad, definitely not the worse I deal with.”

“Nightmares?” Bucky nodded. “Yeah join the club. Look I know me saying this won’t really make any difference, you gotta accept it yourself. But what you did wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, it’s what everyones been telling me. I just got things to work out first. You know, I’ve read your file, the same goes for you.” He tried to reassure her.

“I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

“You were a kid, you weren’t thinking for yourself, you did what your parents told you to do.”

“So all the people I killed, all the lives I ruined, completely fine.” She scoffed.

“You weren’t in control. When you got old enough to be genuinely aware of what you were doing, you left, cut all ties and turned to fighting against people like that.” She turned away from, sinking into the bed. She heard Bucky sigh behind her. He slid down, deciding he wanted to sleep in her bed tonight. She flipped back over, cuddling into Bucky.

“Thank you.” She mumbled as the two of them fell asleep.

When the next morning rolled around they found themselves back in their own bodies, She felt Bucky shift behind her, going to move out of the bed.

“Leaving already?” She asked.

“Didn’t think you’d want me here much longer.” He replied sheepishly.

“Y’know, I had fun last night.”

“Really.” He brightened up slightly.

“Yeah, you can stay if you want.” Bucky was instantly back in the bed, wrapping his arms around her.

A few hours later the rest of the team returned, all shocked to find Bucky sat on the coach with her resting her head in his lap. Bucky gently runs his fingers through her hair.

“What the hell happened with you two?” Tony asked, sharing the same sheer shock of the rest of the team.

“Guess we learnt to walk in each other’s shoes for a while.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #marvel

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