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flowercrowngods · 6 months

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who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window.

It’s not happening.

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his.

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light.

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening.

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone.

Who’s hurting you, Steve?

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and—

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will.

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again.

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so…

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem.

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe.

It’s just not tight.

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it.

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?”

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm.

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time.

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.”

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again.

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small.

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.”

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks.

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about.

God, he never did like blood.

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?”

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.”

“Her.”

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right?

“What?”

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own.

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.”

That's... really fucking endearing, actually.

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet.

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out.

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion.

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?”

Oh no.

“Why’m I in y—“

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?”

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer.

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too.

Past all of it.

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house.

But he can’t. So he breathes.

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people.

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers.

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?”

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.”

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now.

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel.

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view.

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice.

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?”

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?”

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.”

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again.

“Ed. Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?”

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.”

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?”

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.”

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole.

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side.

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door.

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this.

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much.

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on.

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now.

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask.

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me?

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile.

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen.

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now.

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away.

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break.

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?”

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest.

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder.

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady.

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.”

“I know.” But maybe I will.

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.”

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.”

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.”

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is.

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.”

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home.

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible.

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie.

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back.

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch.

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear.

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.”

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up.

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away.

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not…

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier.

These things don’t happen. They don’t!

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.”

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void.

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad.

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore.

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue.

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve.

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.”

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right.

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue.

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds.

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers.

”I want my mom.“

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?”

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away.

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama.

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.”

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared.

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted.

And now…

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?”

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this.

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…”

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment.

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that?

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk.

“Thank you.”

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie.

“For, uh. This.”

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.”

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness.

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation.

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking.

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small.

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again.

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words.

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?”

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again.

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?”

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is.

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug.

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt.

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest.

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again.

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment.

“Not gonna break, Eddie.”

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.”

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them.

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car.

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips.

“Later, Ed.”

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real.

But it did. And it is.

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside.

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #this is so long i am SORRY #i hope tagging y'all was okay (and equally i'm hoping i missed nobody but also it is 3am)#who did this to you #most of y'all will know most of the beginning already maybe i should have split it up but i wanted y'all to have Something New too #and then the Something New got out of hand and oh well :(#dio words

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theggning · 8 months

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Wtf is this "sibling-coded" nonsense I keep seeing? Y'all know that if a man and a woman are close but you don't personally ship it, they can just be friends, right? Even really really good friends? They can love each other? But also be not romantically linked, and also not be "sibling-coded?"

Like there's a whole spectrum in between "fucking" and "siblings." Friends? Partners? Has the word "platonic" lost all meaning?

I mean I personally don't think it's very platonic to get four inches away from each others' lips and touch intimately and make BDSM jokes, but that's also EXTREMELY NOT "sibling-coded."

#i am not going to tag a fandom here because i've seen it in several of mine but #y'all what the hell is going on here #are you okay?? is everything okay??#does anyone who says this actually have siblings??#fandom discourse

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 1 year

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Control (M)

Summary:

Seungcheol is the one mistake you should never make. The one you always do. The relationship that you equally have the most and least control over.

Genre: 8k words, College age but school is not mentioned, big dick!Cheol, simp!cheol, fuck buddies, pining, emotional repressed!y/n, y/n describes her relationship with Seungcheol as a mistake a lot, Cheol's possessive

Smut warnings: light degradation, dubcon, creampie, unprotected sex, public sex, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjobs, praise(?)

“So, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind-”

You laughed, smiling at the boy in front of you. He was tall, and handsome. Dark, slicked back hair.

“Stop with the flattery,” you insisted. He laughed.

“I can’t help it,” he cooed. “You deserve all the praise in the world.”

He was such a flatterer, but you didn’t even care. You craved the attention that came from such an attractive man. A man that you could brag to your friends for fucking. A man who you wouldn’t see again after tonight.

You let your hand reach forward, your fingers brushing over his biceps. You gave them a small squeeze. He reveled under your touch. He pulled you close to him by your hips, his fingers brushing over the hem of your skirt.

“You’re dancing with the devil, baby,” he commented, and the little nickname felt completely wrong coming from his mouth. But you didn’t care. You needed to be with this guy. Needed to sleep with him to remind yourself who you were.

You needed to sleep with someone. Needed a stranger’s cock to fuck you open.

You needed a change.

“Come on,” you said, your voice soft. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter. Yongsun.”

His smile only grew, and you knew that he thought he had hit the jackpot. A thrill of pride ran through your body at the fact that he liked you so much. You had been able to so quickly get him to succumb to your touch.

You guided him up the stairs, dragging him into the first empty bedroom you could find. You closed the door behind the two of you and he made his way over to the bed. When you turned around, he was sitting there at the edge. Comfortable even though it was a room that he had never been in before.

“Come here baby,” Yongsun murmured, and the phrase rolled right over your head. You wanted to hit yourself. Come on, get yourself together. He was gorgeous, you were going to get laid. This was exactly what you should want. This was the dream.

Yongsun pulled you closer so that you were in between his legs. He smiled at you, his eyes flickering down your body. His hands slid around you, rubbing over the curve of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. You wrapped your arms loosely around Yongsun’s neck, letting him drag you forward, his lips pressing warm kisses to your neck. You tilted your head up, and his hands slid down to your thighs and up under your skirt. His thumbs trailed over the edge of your panties.

“Let’s see how excited you are to be with me,” he mumbled against your neck. His fingers dipped into your panties and then he pulled away.

“Are you…?”

You groaned, pulling away from Yongsun.

“Sorry. Sorry,” you mumbled. “It’s not you I’m just tired...”

Disappointment flickered across Yongsun’s face, but he nodded.

“Yeah, I get it.”

You bid your farewells to Yongsun and as you did you felt eyes on you from across the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Just his gaze made your body heat up. You closed your eyes briefly, exasperated. Fuck, why did he make you feel this way? No one should ever have this much power of you.

You avoided looking at him, instead making your way through the party and out into the cool summer air. You hesitated at the front steps, knowing full well you shouldn’t wait there but needing to anyways.

The door to the house opened less than a minute after you had closed it. You felt arms wrap around your waist and you instantly let your head loll to the side. This times when lips touched your neck you felt it run straight to your core.

“Seungcheol, please-” You mumbled. “I don’t want to tonight.”

Seungcheol ignored you, continuing to press kisses to your neck.

“Really? Is that why you came back downstairs after only five minutes?” He asked you. His fingers dipped under your shirt and you arched your back into his touch. “Come on, you know that you want this just as badly as I do.”

You couldn’t help the desperate noise that left your lips.

“Seungcheol, someone is going to see us,” you whispered, your voice low. You felt him smile against your neck.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Maybe then you’ll admit how much you like me.”

One of his hands dipped beneath the band of your skirt, his fingers dipping into your underwear. His fingers brushed your clit and then dipped further between your folds. He let out a low groan.

“Is all this just for me?” He asked you. You felt his now wet fingers drag back up to your clit, beginning to rub clumsy, slow circles around it. Your head lolled back against Seungcheol, his lips trailing up your body.

His lips finally came up to yours, pressing softly to the corner of your lips. You turned your face to the side, trying to get his lips more firmly on yours but unfortunately for you he turned away with a smile.

“Why’d you leave that other boy, hm?” Seungcheol asked you as he continued to rub your clit in circles. “I could practically see his cock bulging in his pants. He wanted you so badly.”

His hand that was still on your stomach dragged lightly up your body, pressing your bra to the side and wrapping his hand around your boob. His thumb flicked across your hard nipple. You whined.

“I’m not- I-I wasn’t in the mood,” you mumbled, but Seungcheol knew you well enough that he could tell you were lying through your teeth. He chided you softly.

“Well, you’re clearly in the mood now,” he said. He let your lips brush again, but again when you tried to initiate a kiss, he pulled away from you. You bite down on your lip as he pressed his fingers harder on your clit, but his pace was still slow. He was taking his time, cocky about the fact that you wanted him. He knew that you weren’t going to stop him.

You felt pleasure coiling through your body as Seungcheol’s fingers pinched your tits, and you couldn’t help the way your face turned, desperate for his lips. If not just to kiss him, but also to keep the frankly embarrassing moans from leaving your lips.

It was obvious to anyone around how badly you wanted Seungcheol, no matter how hard you pretended not to.

You thanked God no one was around.

You could feel yourself being dragged closer and closer to the edge.

“You going to cum for me?” Seungcheol asked softly. “I can hear how desperate you are. It’s okay to need me, baby. You know I need you too.”

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering closed.

“F-fuck, Cheol, I-”

You heard the door to the house open and you had never unraveled yourself from Seungcheol faster. Your hands patted down your clothes quickly. The person stumbling out of the party glanced at you and you hoped to God they couldn’t tell by your heavy breathing that they had just ripped an orgasm away from you.

The person who had stumbled out of the door glanced at you, their eyes glazed over from the alcohol. They smiled.

“Such a rad party,” the guy said. He stumbled a little, and another person came through the door. A girl. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the arm of the stumbling guy.

“Sorry about idiot here,” she commented. Her eyes flickered to you.

“Y/n…” She mumbled. Her eyes narrowed a bit when she looked behind you. “Seungcheol.”

You both nodded at her, but she didn’t comment on you two any further. To be fair, at this point you two were practically social distanced from one another.

“I’ll see you two around.”

You nodded and you and Seungcheol echoed awkward expressions of agreement. You waited until the two walked away, and once you had seen the two get into a car you felt your head fall into your hands. Disgust filled your body. God, what were you doing?

“Y/n…” You ignored Seungcheol, and he didn’t move. “Y/n, come here.”

You stayed put, and you heard him sigh.

“It’s okay to need my cock baby, come here so I can make you feel good, huh?”

You groaned but you couldn’t help it, you felt yourself moving back over to him just like he wanted. That smile flickered across his lips again, pride to himself at having been able to get you to do what he wanted all over again.

“So good for me,” Seungcheol breathed, wrapping his arms around your body. He pressed his forehead to yours. “You gonna let me have you today?”

You tilted your head up, arms draped over Seungcheol’s shoulders in a similar way as to how it had been with Yongsun not long ago. Seungcheol kept his lips frustratingly away from yours, as if reminding him of how badly you wanted him. Reminding you that despite the fact you pretended in front of others that you didn’t want him, you would do anything for him when it came down to it.

“Please,” you whispered. Seungcheol’s fingers toyed with the hem of your underwear.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Seungcheol replied, his voice steady but low. “Are you going to let me have you today?”

You bit down on your lip, you didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t help it.

“Yes,” you agreed, nodding your head. You leaned forward, trying so hard to get his lips, but he still pulled back. “Seungcheol, please.”

Your frustration was starting to grow.

“Stop teasing me, Cheol,” you mumbled. You lowered one of your hands to Seungcheol’s pants. You dipped your hand into them, wrapping your fingers around Seungcheol’s already hard cock. You tugged at it, pulling a groan from Seungcheol.

“I thought you were worried about getting caught,” he mumbled. You shook your head against him.

“I don’t care anymore, I need you,” you mumbled. You gave Seungcheol’s dick another tug, your thumb flicking over the tip. “Besides, everyone here is too drunk off their asses to notice anyways.”

Seungcheol hummed and let you drag him around the side of the house, to a place where you two were hidden in the shadows of the night. You grabbed his pants, dropping them down to his ankles and crouched down. Your tongue darted to like your lips as you took in the sight of his length.

“You don’t even want me to get you home?” Seungcheol asked, his tone was low and teasing. He knew that you were past that. He knew that now that you needed him, you wouldn’t be able to put it off. So you ignored him in favor of sucking his cock into your mouth.

Besides, it was better this way. If you guys fucked here, if you fucked now, then you wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking out of his apartment… Or getting him to sneak out of yours.

He was so proud that he was fucking you. It was hell keeping him from telling others. Every time that you ended up here with the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat he grew cockier. More insistent that you liked him.

Maybe he was right. After all, anyone who didn’t like him wouldn’t be on their knees in a backyard sucking his cock.

Seungcheol groaned, his fingers lightly burying in your hair. His mouth was letting the most perfect little moans and whines leave his lips. The whines proof of his struggle for self-control. You knew how badly he wanted to grab you by your roots and force his cock deep into your throat. He held back on days like this when your attention seemed fickle. He wanted to make sure that you didn’t leave.

You wouldn’t mind it if he fucked your face like his life depended on it, but that wasn’t something you were ready to tell him.

No… That was something you wanted him to figure out for himself.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol grunted. “I thought you said I could have you today?” His voice was so rough. “Get off your fucking knees and pull your skirt up.”

You popped off of Seungcheol’s cock, giving his shaft a few pumps, eyes looking up at him innocently.

“Someone’s needy,” you mumbled. His fingers tightened in your hair.

“If we were having it my way we wouldn’t be outside right now.”

Your lips pressed together, but your core burned regardless. You got to your feet, pulling your skirt up to bunch around your hips and placing your hands on the house. You looked back over at Seungcheol. You wanted to say something cocky, assert your own control over the situation, but instead you just looked at him with wide pleading eyes.

His lips flickered back into a smile, and his hand came down sharply on your ass. A moan was ripped from your body as Seungcheol rubbed the spot he had just hit. His fingers pushed aside your panties, and he pressed two of his fingers into you.

“F-fuck.”

“You’re such a little slut, y/n,” Seungcheol mumbled. You whined, the words, however derogatory feeling like a compliment from his lips. He pushed his fingers into you slowly. Taking his time even though you wanted his cock right now and fast. “But I’m the one who makes you like this aren’t I?”

A whined tore itself from out of your lips.

“Cheol, please,” you whined.

“Left Yongsun just for me,” Seungcheol said, the praise going straight to your core. “Left that bedroom to get fucked by me in the yard. You’re too pretty to let me fuck you out here.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled. A laugh vibrated Seungcheol’s body.

“Yes ma’am.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, and brushed the tip of his cock between your folds. You mewled, your fingers curling into balls. You let your forehead fall forward.

“You’re so perfect, y/n,” Seungcheol murmured. His lips pressed to your lips as he slid his cock into you. You couldn’t help it. The pleasurable burn that ran through your body as his cock filled your body. He was huge, always so fucking huge. You didn’t think you would ever get used to it. “So perfect for me, take my cock so perfectly.”

“You’re such a tease,” you bit out, but your words met thin air. Seungcheol didn’t care that he was teasing you. He didn’t care that him taking his time was driving you crazy. He never did. You rarely came around to begin with.

“Tell me how much you need me, y/n,” Seungcheol breathed. You shook your head, which made Seungcheol’s teeth nip at your neck. Your body shivered; your gaze shot up.

“Cheol,” you blurted. “You know you can’t leave marks.”

“I’m sorry baby,” he mumbled. “I can’t help it. You know I can’t help it. I want everyone to know your mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit back. The comment made his cock slip from your pussy. You cried out in desperation, pushing your ass back towards Seungcheol. “Cheol, fuck I-”

You could hear his free hand wrap around his cock, and he started to pump it. You could hear how wet from your pussy he was.

“Cheol, cheol, cheol,” you panted. “I-I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” Seungcheol replied. His pumps were getting faster.

“B-But-”

“You’re not mine yeah? So why should I fuck you?”

Your heart was pounding. You wanted his cock so badly.

“I was lying, okay?” You blurted. “I’m yours, okay? All yours. Please Cheol, please-”

Seungcheol pushed his cock back into you, setting a faster pace. His hand wrapped around your waist again, his fingers pushing down on your clit.

“That’s right baby, you’re all mine,” he agreed. “We both know how badly you need me. Why don’t you show me? Why don’t you show me how badly you need me.”

Your body began to shake as your walls began to clamp around Seungcheol’s dick, your orgasm being ripped from your body like you really were all Seungcheol’s. He fucked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing those kisses to your neck.

“Where do you want my cum?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Inside.”

Your name fell off of his lips like a promise, his cum being pumped deep inside of you. Your body burned under his attention, your breath coming in heavy pants as his thrusts slowed. He stopped buried deep inside of you. His lips brushed up against your ear. You turned your head, hoping to finally get his lips but he pulled away from you just like he always did.

That was his biggest grab for control in your relationship. He never let you kiss him. No matter how badly you wanted to. No matter how badly he wanted to.

You two were silent for a minute, dragged out of your sex-haze by the front door to the house being opened and closed. You nudged Seungcheol with your elbow.

“We’ve got to go.”

You could feel how badly he didn’t want to go but regardless he pulled himself out of you. You were too nonchalant when it came to him, maybe. You stood up, fixing your panties and brushing down your skirt. Seungcheol pulled his pants back up, hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets. He stared at you, as you tried to make yourself look like you hadn’t been fucked. You could feel his cum leaking down your legs.

“Can I take you home?” Seungcheol asked. You didn’t respond to him, you just glanced at him. He knew the answer. He sighed, his eyes flitting away from you.

You walked over to him, against your better judgement. You got up to the tips of your toes and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You tapped his cheek right after.

“We can’t do this again.”

His lips flickered up into a smile.

“You know we will.”

“There she is.”

Mocking applause filled your apartment living room as you emerged from your bedroom after having gotten home at nearly four in the morning. Your two roommates, Seokmin and Dayoung looked at you with matching wide smiles on their lips. You groaned, burying your face in your hands as you walked.

“Another day, another party that you disappear from,” Dayoung said with a whistle. You gave her a mocking life and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door. “The question that remains… Did you get laid?”

Memories of Seungcheol flickered through your mind. You pressed your lips together, forcing a smile.

“You know I did,” you replied, trying to hide your shame. Your fingers twitched. The worst part being that you wanted Seungcheol to be inside of you right now. You shook the thoughts from your head.

“You do nothing but score,” Seokmin said with a surprised laugh. You shrugged off the statement.

“Can’t help it,” you replied. “I’m too pretty.”

Honestly, it was true. You were always getting the attention of other people. If you really wanted, you could have anyone you wanted.

“Aren’t you tired of it?” Seokmin asked you. You frowned.

“Tired of…?”

“Tired of sleeping with different people all the time?” Seokmin asked. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

You pretended to entertain what Seokmin had said.

“I’m not interested in just being with one person,” you replied pointedly. “There’s something exciting about fucking someone else every week.” You let a teasing smile cross your lips. “I don’t think just one dick could ever satisfy me.”

You slammed Seungcheol against the wall of his bedroom, desperately pushing his shirt up over his head.

“Come on Cheol,” you insisted. Seungcheol hummed, allowing you to pull his shirt off, watching you as you got down on your knees and began to undo his belt buckle. “Wearing too much. Work with me.”

You threw Seungcheol’s belt to the side and unbuttoned his pants. You pushed his pants down his legs, tearing his underwear down. He wasn’t helping you at all, just watching you in amusement. You didn’t even care, you whined when you saw his cock was out.

“Fuck, I love your cock so much,” you mumbled. You wrapped your fingers around him and gave him a tug.

“Aren’t you worried?” Seungcheol asked, his voice light and airy. “Wonwoo and Mingyu are just through the door.”

“They don’t know it’s me,” you replied pointedly.

Seungcheol chuckled.

“Right, I forgot. You climbed in through the window,” he teased. “All for what? For me?”

“You’re not special,” you mumbled, hoping to knock him down a peg. It probably didn’t help that as soon as you said it you sucked the tip of Seungcheol’s cock into your mouth. He let out an airy moan, and his fingers threaded into your hair.

“I’m feeling pretty special right now,” he breathed. “After all, I’m the one that you’re on your knees for.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled around Seungcheol’s dick. You sucked him deep into your mouth but before you could start setting your own pace Seungcheol’s hands began to guide you over his length. He moved your head slowly up and down, little moans tumbling from his lips as he did.

You placed your hands on his thighs, fingers tightening against him.

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol whispered, his voice so quiet you almost felt like you weren’t meant to hear it. “So, fucking beautiful.”

He tugged your head up a little, so that your eyes were on his.

“I wish you could see yourself. Mouth stretched out over my cock, eyes wide and perfect for me,” he mumbled. Your gaze flickered down, embarrassed. You tapped his thigh, and his fingers released your hair.

You pulled off of his cock.

“Shut up,” you emphasized again. “Fuck me, Cheol.”

“I’ll always do what you want,” Seungcheol promised. He reached down, his hands grabbing your cheeks. He pulled you up by them, the brief thought flickering through your mind that maybe he was going to kiss you. Of course, once you were up his hands lowered to your chest. His fingers hooked between the buttons of your shirt and then suddenly he pulled. Button’s scattered across Seungcheol’s floor, but before you could complain, he had one hand on your shoulder, the other one pushing your breasts up and out of your bra.

Then, with a solid push you were pushed back onto his bed. You let out a soft whimper before his hands were on your hips. He pulled your pants down your ankles, and then your panties, before falling to his knees in front of you. He hiked your hips closer to him, his tongue darting across his lips.

“I think I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Seungcheol mumbled. “I thought surely… I heard you were on some date with a guy tonight.”

Memories flickered through your mind of your date that night. Dinner at Applebee’s wasn’t exactly your idea of a date. You didn’t know why you always told Seokmin you would go on these dates.

“I was,” you agreed softly. “Not that it’s your business.”

Seungcheol dipped his head forward, his tongue darting between your folds. He licked up to your clit and then sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it. You cried out, arching your back.

“But you’re here with me now,” he mumbled against you. You rolled your eyes.

“You aren’t special, Cheol,” you replied, a breathy moan leaving your lips.

“Right. Cheol.” There was that mocking tone. “Not special at all.” He smiled against you, focusing on eating you out for a few moments. As he sucked on your clit, he slipped his middle finger into you. “But I’m more special than that boy you were with.”

He looked up at you, and your eyes flickered away from him.

“Look at me baby,” he said. You looked back down at him. “What was his name?”

His teeth nipped at your clit as he pushed a second finger into you. You whined.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He pressed his fingers hard into you, making you cry out.

“No, it matters,” he insisted. “Want to know who I am better than.”

“Seungcheol-”

“Shh,” Seungcheol said. He slid up your body, grabbing your hands and dragging you closer to him by his hips again. “I don’t want to hear anything from you until you tell me his name.”

Seungcheol’s dick brushed against your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Cheol you idi-” Seungcheol pushed his tip into you and then pulled it right back out. “Kevin, okay? His name was Kevin.”

Seungcheol pushed himself deep into you, making your entire body arch into his touch. Seungcheol’s lips trailed down to your collarbone, and he smiled against your skin.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget Kevin’s name,” he promised.

Every time you went back to Seungcheol it was stupider. Every time it made him just that much more cocky. You remembered when you were talking to a guy, and your phone vibrated.

Don’t text him: Upstairs. Now.

You had looked at him from across the room, a frustrated expression crossing over your lips.

No, you mouthed.

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows dragging his lips into a downwards smile. He shrugged and made his way up the stairs.

You were up there within five minutes.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered against his neck. He hummed.

“What was his name?”

“Sunwoo,” you breathed. Seungcheol clicked his tongue, pulling your head back by your ponytail.

“Let’s see how long you remember that.”

“Hey bitch,” Sujun exclaimed excitedly. She wrapped her arms around you in a hug, and then pulled away after placing a kiss to your cheek. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you said with a laugh. “I hate bars but for you? Always worth it.”

She let out part of a whoop, evidence of having pregamed even though it was only five.

“You don’t even know how fun tonight is going to be.”

“Oh, I think she has some idea.”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You turned over your shoulder, shooting Seungcheol a glare that his sister wouldn’t be able to see.

“Seungcheol!” Sujun said excitedly. “You are the perfect person to help me with this! You know what my favorite game to play with y/n is?”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands.

“Sujun-”

“Let’s get y/n laid!”

“Oh.”

Amusement twinkled through Seungcheol’s eyes.

“Well, that sounds hard. I wouldn’t know what y/n’s type is.”

You glared daggers at him while Sujun wasn’t looking.

“Long hair, bright eyes, long face… Not too many muscles…” You trailed off. “The exact opposite of you really.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows danced.

“Hm, sure,” he agreed.

He played that game with Sujun, and she didn’t even realize the underlying jealous tones in Seungcheol’s voice as he spoke about what guys you should go home with. She didn’t notice the look in his eyes when you started talking to the guy they had all decided on.

She didn’t hear you sneaking him into your apartment.

“What was his name?”

“I didn’t even fucking ask.”

Kicking Seungcheol out was the hardest. You almost never invited him over because of it. It was hard enough to leave his place every morning. He always looked at you with big puppy eyes begging you to come back. Promising you that you would be so much happier if you spent the day with him.

When he stayed over you were always quite literally pushing him out.

“You have exactly five minutes before Dayoung gets out of the shower, Seungcheol come on.”

“I’ll be in your bed tonight anyways, why don’t I just stay and wait?” There was a smile on his face even though there was a heavy look in his eyes. “I can stay around like a stay-at-home boyfriend.”

If you were being honest, you had known right away that he had fallen for you and you were just trying to pretend like he hadn’t. It was in his touch, the way he spoke to you. You knew that from the start he had seen you as his and you were holding him at a distance. You were quite literally using him, but he was letting you because you were leading him on and that made you think it was okay.

“I think I’m a bad person,” you admitted. There was too much alcohol in your system for you to be talking about this. You turned your head to look over at Seokmin, as your eyes flitted away from your phone with the singular message of: You’re not out tonight, right? Come over.

“You’re not a bad person,” Seokmin negated with a roll of his eyes. Your lips flickered into a smile.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your phone vibrated.

Or are you pretending to be someone else’s tonight?

You groaned and threw your phone at Seokmin.

“Jesus christ, Seokmin I’m such a bad person,” you blurted. He glanced at your phone screen.

“Who is Don’t Text Him?” He asked. You raised your beer to your lips, finishing it off and tossing the can across the room.

“I can’t tell you,” you replied. “But he’s a good guy. And I’m leading him on like a fucking dog.”

“Well, if he’s letting you lead him on-”

You groaned loudly, turning your gaze back over to Seokmin.

“What do I do?” You blurted. “What do I do? He practically thinks we’re together.”

“Just cut it off,” Seokmin replied pointedly. “You can’t lead him on if you aren’t fucking him.”

Easier said than done.

“I fucking can’t stand you,” you whispered as you shut the closet door behind you. “You played it too risky, you can’t be that close to me.”

“You didn’t really seem like you disliked it that much,” Seungcheol teased. His lips were turned up as you pulled his cock from out of his pants. You didn’t even bother to drag them down. You slid your hand up and down his hard cock.

“You aren’t some sex god Seungcheol-”

He grabbed you by your hips and turned you around suddenly. He pushed up your skirt, and aside your panties- Something you were much too accustomed to. His hand came down on your ass, before his fingers slid into your wet heat.

“Come on baby, you need to be honest,” he said softly. “Do you think that your pussy gets this wet for just any man? You’re so perfect for me that you’re already ready for my cock.”

He placed his hands to either side of your body and pressed his cock into you. You felt your head dip a little, pressing your ass back against him. Just proving him right. Just pushing him deeper.

“Fuck baby,” Seungcheol said, his voice close to that of a whine. “You really are so perfect for me, aren’t you?”

“It’s not all for you,” you protested, but even as you spoke you were pushing back against him, silently begging him to go faster.

“No?” He asked softly. “Then who’s it for? Kevin…? Sunwoo…?”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip.

“Seungcheol-”

“No, that’s not what you call me is it?” He asked. His pace was slow. Stupid, Seungcheol and his stupid slow thrusts. He was always taking his time.

“I don’t have time for this,” you grunted. “Faster.”

“Ask me nicer,” Seungcheol replied.

“No-”

“Then I can stop,” Seungcheol agreed. His cock slipped out of you, but it was so brief it practically never happened. You pressed back against him quickly, forcing his cock back into you.

“Don’t stop,” you blurted. “Please, Cheol, I need you so fucking badly. Faster. Please.”

He laughed.

“Of course, I will,” he agreed. “Since you sound so sweet for me.”

He picked up his pace, to the one that you wanted. Nothing being able to be heard from within the closet other than your own moans and the sound of skin on skin. You felt Seungcheol’s lips on your skin and you wished that he would bite down on you. No matter how much you said you didn’t, you wanted people to know.

You were just so scared.

Seungcheol brought you to your orgasm fast, just the way that you were used to from him and his lips brushed your ear as he whispered: “Where?”

And you fought it in yourself not to scream in desperation with your response.

“Inside.” A beat, and honestly more didn’t need to be said but you said it anyways. “Always, inside.”

You let your head bump against the wall in front of you and your fingers curled into balls as Seungcheol’s warm cum started to fill you. You felt an orgasm rip through your body as he fucked his cum into you, and he fucked you through it until you were both panting and coming down from your highs.

After a few minutes he slipped his cock out of you and you felt his cum drip down your thighs a little. You were so annoyed at yourself for letting him fuck you here because now you were going to have to deal with this situation the best you could in a public bathroom, but it was your own fault really.

Aggravation flooded your body at the situation as you pulled your clothes on, and Seungcheol just stood there watching you as you got dressed with that cocky expression on his face. You wanted to hit him.

“This can’t keep happening,” you hissed. As you spoke you heard footsteps from outside of the door. You threw your hands over Seungcheol’s mouth, suddenly finding yourself unable to breathe. Seungcheol’s tongue darted out to your hand, and you pulled away from him. He gave you an amused expression.

“That’s what you say every time,” he said. “You don’t mean it. You’ll be back.”

“I’m serious this time,” you insisted. Seungcheol just smiled, leaning forward. He teased you, his lips hovering just above yours. You fell for his trap of course, tilting your head up to catch his lips. He pulled away.

“Yeah, I can see how serious you are,” he agreed. Frustration bubbled in your stomach, and you pushed open the closet door. You stumbled out and looked around the hallway. Luckily, no one was around.

“What if someone caught us?” You asked him. “What if your sister found out?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Who cares?” He asked. You shot him a glare.

“I care. She’ll have my head.”

“She’ll get over it,” he replied. The topic of his sister was bothering him, but you didn’t think it was for the reasons most people would be annoyed. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with keeping this secret from her.”

“It’s not just keeping this secret from her,” you shot back at him. You started to walk away from him, but he was following you. You were betting on him following you, honestly. “This isn’t something that should be happening. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“We have,” Seungcheol agreed.

“Which is exactly the point. This is a mistake Seungcheol. Every time we have done this, it’s been a mistake.”

Seungcheol grabbed you by your wrist.

“A mistake, huh?” He asked. “Was it a mistake every time you said you were mine? Whenever you begged me for my cum? Every time you sabotaged whatever connection with whatever guy you were with that night just to end up fucking me?”

“God, you’re so cocky,” you blurted. You ripped your wrist out of Seungcheol’s grasp and pushed hard at his chest. “It meant nothing. It means nothing. You just have a good cock, Seungcheol. That’s it.”

Hurt shot through Seungcheol’s eyes but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. You glared at him as he waited for you to take back your words.

You two stared at each other and then you heard someone from beside you say something. Your eyes widened and you put some space between you and Seungcheol. Real fear of being recognized, and having your dispute being acknowledged as just that: a dispute running through your body.

Once the person had passed your eyes flickered back to Seungcheol. He scoffed at you.

“Got it,” he bit out. “This really is the last time.”

Seungcheol walked away before you could say another word.

Honestly? There was something in the back of your throat as you watched Seungcheol walk away. You tried to remind yourself that Seungcheol didn’t matter. Tried to remind yourself about what you had just been saying. That Seungcheol was a mistake. Something that should have never happened.

But still, you felt something achy in your stomach as you looked at him.

In the weeks that followed Seungcheol didn’t reach out to you, and you didn’t reach out to him. You went to parties just as usual, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore.

And when you went upstairs with someone, and they turned up dry… You just ended up going home and having to take a cold shower.

“Your nights have been short recently,” Seokmin commented one morning. You glared at him as you chugged a cup of orange juice, frankly desperate to get your raging headache to calm down.

“There’s not a lot of fish in the sea.”

Seokmin chuckled.

“You should go on a date.”

You didn’t want to go on a date. You were feeling empty inside for a reason that you could not understand. Every single person that you tried to fuck was a disappointment, someone that you just couldn’t imagine being inside you.

Still, you ended up agreeing to go. Maybe it would snap you out of this… Whatever this was.

You wanted to scream when you saw Seungcheol sitting at a table with some girl. You didn’t know who it was and you were literally on a date with someone else but you didn’t care.

“Can we sit…” You pointed to the table across from where Seungcheol was on his date. The waitress had a look of confusion flicker across her brows, but she nodded.

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine,” she replied. Han shot you a confused look, but you shot him back a distracting smile.

“It’s a nice table, yeah?”

You spent the whole night ignoring Han. Spent it staring at Seungcheol like your life depended on it. Your eyes flickered from between Han and Seungcheol. Each smile from Seungcheol to that girl set your chest a flame.

Fuck, this date couldn’t go well. It couldn’t because if it did it was really over between the two of you and you weren’t ready for that. It hadn’t been over yet. Not really, but this. This made it feel real.

“So, then he-”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you blurted. Han gave you another confused look but you didn’t care. You briskly got up from the table, bumping into Seungcheol as you passed him. Your eyes caught his and an apologetic smile spread over your lips, an attempt at hiding your desperation.

“Sorry,” you blurted. “I was just on my way to the bathroom.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth you were walking back to the bathroom. You had barely made it through the door before Seungcheol was pushing through it too.

“Y/n, fuck,” Seungcheol blurted. “What are you-”

“Mine,” you mumbled. You wrapped your arms around Seungcheol’s body. “You’re mine. Not hers, mine.”

Your fingers fumbled at Seungcheol’s belt, unbuckling it and pulling out Seungcheol’s dick. You could feel it hardening under your touch. You hopped up onto the bathroom counter, hiking up your dress.

“Come on,” you insisted. You didn’t care that you hadn’t eased yourself open yet, you needed to remind Seungcheol that he was obsessed with you. You tugged Seungcheol closer, wrapping your legs around his hips and rubbing his tip through your folds. “Cheol, please. I need you.”

“You’re on a date too,” Seungcheol said, his voice strained. His hands came to your hips, tightening on the fabric bunched there. He pulled it up a bit.

“So, you did see me,” you mumbled. He had just been pretending all night not to see you. You wondered, selfishly, if all those laughs had been real. The flirty smile on his lips had been undeniable.

“Of course, I saw you,” Seungcheol replied. “You’re mine. When I heard you were going on this stupid date, I nearly lost my mind.”

Seungcheol pushed his cock deep inside of you, making you cry out. You wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck. You pressed a few kisses to his neck, trying to hide moans there.

“Your pussy was made for my cock,” Seungcheol mumbled. “Your body was made to be mine.”

You nodded against Seungcheol’s skin.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “You’re right. I don’t know why I pretended for so long.”

Your teeth nipped down on Seungcheol’s neck, making him hiss, his hips stuttering against you.

“You’re breaking your own rules baby,” he mumbled. You mewled, tilting your own head up.

“Fuck my rules.”

Seungcheol had been looking for permission to mark you since this had started. His teeth immediately bit down on your neck, and he smoothed over the mark as soon as he left it. Normally when Seungcheol fucked you he was slow and agonizing but not tonight.

“What finally triggered it?” Seungcheol asked you, his lips still against your neck.

“Can’t stand you smiling at that girl,” you admitted breathlessly. “Can’t stand you on a date with anyone else.”

“We’re not dating, y/n,” Seungcheol reminded you. “We’re not dating because you don’t want to.”

His words were rough, but his lips curved into a smile.

“Seungcheol I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know why I pretended I didn’t want you.”

Seungcheol grunted his agreement to your words.

“I should leave you here. Soak you with my cum and not let you cum. Make you sit in here thinking about the fact that I’m on a date with someone else. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who appreciates me.”

You wrapped your arms even tighter around Seungcheol’s body terrified that he was going to honor his words.

“But she’s not yours Seungcheol,” you insisted. “I’m yours.”

Seungcheol nodded.

“That you are baby,” he agreed softly. “All mine. My jealous little girl.”

“I’m not-” Why were you trying to lie right now? You were the one who had dragged Seungcheol here. Made him come into this bathroom. Practically begged him to fuck you.

“It’s okay that you’re a little jealous,” Seungcheol cooed. “I’m jealous too. Hate it when I see other men draped all over you. Hate it when they look at you and think that they have a fucking chance.”

“They don’t,” you breathed. “Not really Cheol. No one has really had a chance with me since I started fucking you.”

Seungcheol hummed and it sounded unconvinced, but his grip tightened on you. He was getting closer.

“Seungcheol, I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Seungcheol shook his head.

“Y/n-”

“I mean it, I really do,” you insisted, knowing he was going to negate your words. “It’s not just because you’re fucking me. I love you.”

Seungcheol raised his lips to yours. His thrusts slowed for a moment and one of his hands raised to your cheek. His lips flickered back into a smile, and his lips brushed yours teasingly.

“Say it again,” he said softly. Your eyes fluttered shut and you began to roll your hips down to meet Seungcheol’s thrusts.

“I love you Seungcheol,” you repeated, sounding wrecked.

“Good girl,” he breathed. His lips pressed to yours. Chastely, at first, and then more heated as time went by. It was like he was starving, desperate for your lips and honestly? That’s how you felt. All these months you had wanted to kiss him. All this time you had needed to feel his lips on yours.

To finally feel his lips? You were so fucking relieved.

All this time you had been afraid to admit how much you needed him. All this time you had been scared of your own feelings. Because it was Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol. You weren’t supposed to be in love with him. You weren’t allowed to be in love with him.

If he had kissed you before, you thought that this would have been so much easier.

“I love you too, y/n,” he admitted softly. His fingers came down between you two, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “You going to cum for me?”

You whined against his lips, nodding, desperate, needing him to kiss you more. You chased the connection, but he kept his lips just slightly away from you.

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbled. “Be good and cum for me baby.”

“K-Kiss me, Cheol,” you whined back. He nodded.

“Anything for you,” he said. “Anything for my perfect little girl.”

His lips pressed back to yours and as soon as he did you began to come around his cock. You dragged him right over the edge with you. He didn’t even ask if it was okay to cum inside of you but that only filled you with comfort. He knew you were his. He knew that your pussy was all for him to cum inside.

Seungcheol’s thrusts progressively came to a stop, and his body collapsed against yours. Completely spent, but he didn’t stop kissing you regardless. You found yourself gasping against his lips, so fucking desperate and needy and you didn’t even care.

Seungcheol pulled back, always the one pulling back, always stronger than you were when it came down to it.

“You have to go back to your date baby,” Seungcheol said. He slipped himself out of you, and you let your head fall back against the mirror. You shook your head in exhaustion. “I don’t want-”

“Shh,” Seungcheol whispered back. “I’ll see you again soon now, won’t I?”

You nodded your agreement. Seungcheol grabbed you by your hips, dragging you off the counter. He pulled your panties back into place and pulled your dress down. You stared at him, chest heaving as he tried to make you look presentable. His lips flickered into a smile.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours briefly.

“Okay.”

He pulled away from you and just as he did you grabbed his wrist.

“Come over tonight,” you whispered. His lips flickered up.

“Yeah?” He was silent for just a second, but his excitement was obvious. “Can I stay over?”

You nodded once, and his smile grew larger.

“And we can get breakfast together?”

Another nod, and it looked like his smile was going to break his face in half.

“You promise?” He asked.

“You’re the one who said that we have to get back to our dates,” you insisted. You pushed at his back, trying to get him out of the bathroom. “I promise, okay?”

Seungcheol turned around again quickly and pressed his lips to yours in another fast kiss. He smiled at you and then took a deep breath.

“Okay. But don’t go back on it.”

Before you could assure Seungcheol that you wouldn’t go back on the promise he was finally leaving the bathroom.

Han knew you were lying when you came back to him and told him that you weren’t feeling well but despite knowing it was a lie he didn’t know exactly why you were lying. He gave you a smile, saying he understood and also insisting that you get some rest.

You were honest when you told him that you were sorry about the date going bad and that you didn’t think you two should go on a second one. Honest when you told him you thought you liked someone else.

And the embarrassment of having to end the date in that way completely vanished when you kept your promise to let Seungcheol stay the night. And that wasn’t the last time that you kept that promise to him.

Taglist: ... @vintageot5, @woo8hao, @toruro, @wonudazed

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faeriekit · 2 months

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Snowdrift Sanctuary

a phic phight fill for sapphireshield (who isn't on tumblr)

“Is this alright?” Phantom asked quietly, blunt human face pressed into the ruff of his new coat.

There was nothing wrong, but that wasn’t the issue; the human needed reassurance, and reassurance Frostbite could provide.

“Of course,” Frostbite agreed easily, if gently. “Neuschnee made it for you. It was always intended to be yours.”

Humans tended to be sensory-seeking. With no fur of their own, and sensitive skin and hands, they had the ability to physically feel more through touch than his people could. The paw of Frostbite’s remaining arm was tough, callused from work and combat; but the human could swab his face across the ruff and sleeves of his coat and receive textural information that was entirely alien to the yeti mind.

Frostbite would have to ensure that the boy had gloves. It would be a shame if his hypersensitive hands were made damaged by the cold.

“...But,” the boy tried, and to his credit, his concern was sympathetic. “Wouldn’t someone else need the fur? Like, even if you have your own fur…wouldn’ it make a good blanket? Or…something…?”

Petting, for humans, thankfully, seemed to work exactly as it did for his kin. Sure, Frostbite had to be more gentle with his claws, but combing through and smoothing down the human’s black spot of hair was more than enough for the endorphins to kick in. Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin would require further study, but the base understanding of hormones were easy to understand: skin on skin contact equalled a well-adjusted human adolescent.

Phantom’s eyes drooped. Frostbite smiled to himself. The sight was identical to Salju’s cubs settling down before a nap.

“We are not low on resources,” Frostbite soothed, half-purring. It was an immature noise, but conducive to soothing distressed young. “We are not hungry. We are prosperous, and require little; as an adept living with our people, we would be remiss not to provide for you.”

…The human’s nose crinkled.

“It is our job to give you things so that you do not fade,” Frostbite clarified.

Phantom’s face flushed a warm red. The adolescent’s half-human biology was fascinating.

And, true, it would probably be easier to care for Phantom if he remained in his ghostly form all the time, but it would be unfair and dangerous for his long-term development to force him to do so. Phantom was a half-human, and deserved to spend time adjusting to all of his forms. Neuschnee had already begun working on the human’s boots; soon he would no longer be confined only to Frostbite’s warmed residence. With a thick hood and gloves to cover his extremities, Frostbite had little doubt that the human would soon be wrestling with (gentle) age-mates, practicing his English with his sister’s pilfered human texts, and learning how to control his snow.

Phantom was very small. He was very delicate, and there was an instinct in Frostbite that continued to worry that handling him wrong might snap the human in half. A yeti at Phantom’s height would still be a very young cub, and yet twice as sturdy and twice as broad.

Still, he was a bright, kind being, and… Frostbite sighed. And he had no understanding of why the human’s parents had rejected him for his current state.

And, certainly, his human sister had tried to explain it to him, bundled in three coats and her red nose weeping in the cold as she begged for his sanctuary. The prospect was merely mind-boggling to him. Young were rare and precious. Their natures were never guaranteed. What was the use of rejecting a cub you had spent a decade raising?

…Frostbite exhaled carefully out his nose. It was not his job to understand their attitude. It was only his role to act in their place until the half-human came of age.

“You don’t have to,” Phantom muttered, face a curious shade of red. Having red internal fluids made for interesting displays of emotion. “I…I can work it off, or…”

Frostbite continued petting the human. The human did not continue speaking.

“Or,” Frostbite continued kindly, “You may join Pritla, Nieve and I, and assist us in devouring a nice, cold, glacier shark. We buried it last season, so it is no longer toxic to digest outright.”

Phantom snorted out a laugh. Yes, there would be human-appropriate food available for him, but Frostbite was not joking about the shark. Now that the toxins had drained into the soil for months, he was happy to take his turn ripping huge chunks of flesh with his teeth for an evening meal. And, who knows; perhaps the enrichment value of consuming a fermented shark with one's bare hand would pique Phantom’s interest in other traditional foods?

“Will there be silverware?” Phantom asked, teasing. He accepted Frostbite’s proffered hug, engaging in sensory-seeking activity in the same way he had with his new coat. Frostbite was ecstatic.

“Of course not,” Frostbite rumbled, more than pleased. “Use of weaponry during mealtimes is explicitly cheating. Now, are you comfortable defending your plate from younger cubs, or should I shield you with my body?”

Frostbite might not have felt prepared to care for Phantom, but raising a half-human would undoubtedly be a fascinating experience.

Besides; unlike mortal parents, the burden of keeping Phantom alive was already largely moot.

#y'all have no idea how much I wanna eat the fermented shark (real thing you can eat)#danny phantom #YES the timeline is weird but I didn't want to have him call Danny a title the whole time #this is a WHOLESOME FOSTER PARENT MOMENT OKAY #every yeti: ah. I am an uncle/auntie/elder now. acceptable #Phic phight 2024 #phic phight #frostbite #Danny Fenton #faer fic #all the yetis are named after different words for snow because I am SO creative

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cinamun · 5 months

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Fuck you mean? | Next

#ts4 #indya #black simblr #wait.....#not even one of y'all saw that coming?#AM I THE ONLY ONE CRYING IN MY LEMON PEPPERS??#AWWWW JERRIIIIIIIII CONGRATS BABY!!#Surprise!!!!#okay come back Thursday for what I hope is the conclusion of this long ass anniversary dinner #there may or may not be a conversation regarding a misunderstanding #ts4 story #sims 4 story #simblr #ch24

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probably-not-a-rutabaga · 2 months

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i offer one of my favorite frames from aberration short so far,, just to show that i am indeed making progress :]

#y'all the full thing has to be done by april 12th #i am going to scream #so like #yay !!! it'll be done soon !!!!!#but also.. nooo..... it's not gonna be super smooth and nice animation bc i had to use short cuts n shit 😔#also the backgrounds are lowkey not great rn.. i'm probably not gonna fix them unless i have time to spare #ON THE BRIGHT SIDE !!!!#i have wonderful voice actors.. a bestie who's helping me color stuff... and the power of silly cartoons to get me through this #okay- tag rant over !! just very excited for y'all to see this once i'm done with it :D

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smolgirlbigdreams · 5 months

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HEY YOU, G/T WRITER!!!

Yeah, you! C'mere!

I've seen some talk in the community recently about writers not really getting the attention they deserve/not getting as many notes as artists (and no prob with artists! We love you artists ❤️). So I thought, why not call all the g/t writers together so we can support each other? Y'know, kinda get a little g/t writing sub-community going here on Tumblr if that makes sense!! The idea being that if we band together, it's harder to get lost in the heaps of short-form content that's out there. Plus, we can read each other's work and support each other! :D

Here's an idea:

Reblog with a little bit about you and your writing! (If you write anything that might make anyone uncomfortable please leave a warning as well.)

Link your awesome g/t stories!!!

Check out other awesome stories by other g/t authors and show them some love~

I'll start!

Hi! I'm Eliza and I've been writing since around 2016, although I was a bit too scared to post anything until I started working on my current story!

Right now I'm working on a book called Too Small To Be Afraid, about a human girl living on a distant planet who has a fear of the giant race, pertheans. Only, she has to learn how to share a desk with one at school!

But enough about me! I want to hear about you! I'm excited to hear about you all and see what you're writing!!! :D

#giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #g/t writing community #g/t writers club #I am scared out of my mind to post this but I really wanted a resource like this to happen so I thought why not start one??#I've also been starved for g/t writing so I'm excited to see what y'all have done!!#ethegjjgejtwwtjjtw okay send post AAAAAAAA

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 1 year

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So there's a 60s song. One of my favorites. I have several, but let's not focus on that. Its called Give Him A Great Big Kiss by The Shangri-Las, and everytime i hear it, it makes me think of steddie.

More so of Steve finding the song, probably in his mom's old record case. And he's always loved the song. But then he met Eddie. And it's meaning changed. His thoughts constantly drifting to Eddie when he hears it. And he starts singing it all goofy and love sick when he hears it now.

He and Robin work at a bar downtown, Eddie works at the mechanic shop around the corner. He comes in for early lunch a lot, and that's how they meet. They get along great. All of them do. Robin loves him to death. As far as she's concerned she gained another soulmate along side Steve. One who blabbers like her and they rant at each other constantly, Steve watching them fondly.

But he's also got it bad for Eddie. Obviously. And Robin knows this. Knows about the song. And the way Steve sings it all gooey and adoring and lost in thought.

After a few plays of the song she sings along with him, they duet they're hearts out when it comes on and the bar is empty. Usually right before they open. Both of them using mops, or bottles, or dishrags as microphones as they sing.

Eddie is pining too. He's got it so bad for Steve that he finds it hard to look at him sometimes. And Robin, drukenly one night, after Steve had fallen alseep in his chair beside the pool, had told Eddie to shoot his shot. That he'd sink it, or get a home run, or a touchdown, or some other sports term that neither of them really understood.

But everytime Eddie has tried to make a move, something comes up. They get interrupted. Every. Single. Time. Eddie had decided fate was against them and almost given up hope.

He'd had a plan today. Come to the bar for lunch before they opened, ask him, whether Robin was there or not. She'd been making it a point to not speak to them if it looked like they were talking about something important. Eddie knew it was pity for him. Was endlessly greatful.

But that was how he ended up at the bar. Ducking in the side entrance they left open for him. And he's about to burst in like normal, all loud enthusiasm to see his friends, but he hears Steve groaning about something, hears Robin laughing, hears his name, and it stops him, his hand pressed gently to the door.

"Uuugghhh my god. I'm useless. I was so good at this in school. I could ask anyone out. Like it was nothing." Steve grumbles, Eddie's stomach flutters, he pushed the door open, just a crack, can only see Robin where she's perched on the bar top, legs crossed.

"Maybe that's the problem." She shrugs, Eddie sees her drop her hand to the left, he bites his lip and carefully pushes the door a bit further. He has to stifle a laugh when he sees Steve, looking forlorn, head dropped onto the bar, Robin's hand petting at his hair absent-mindedly. He turns his head to look up at her and Eddie moves to the side a bit, hoping Steve doesn't notice him.

"Huh?" He huffs, glares up at her. She pats the side of his face a couple times and takes her hand back.

"You said you did it like it was nothing. Maybe this isn't nothing? With Eddie, I mean. Maybe it's... bigger. Better!" Her hands move in a flurry in front of her as she talks, Steve ducks away from them as he sits up on the stool properly.

"Better. ...elaborate?" He says slowly, his eyes on the ceiling, his face all screwed up the way Eddie loves, his concentration face, it would be Eddie's downfall one day.

Robin nods enthusiastically, plops her feet down onto the stool next to Steve.

"Well does it feel different? With Eddie? Than it did with all those other people?" She asks, looking down at him with an impossibly fond look.

Eddie watches Steve bite his lip, think for a long moment, his hand moves absent-mindedly to his stomach. Eddie mirrors him, his stomach fluttering as he watches. Feeling a bit guilty, but he can't look away. He can't move. He has to keep listening. Needs the courage, he tells himself. Steve nods.

"Yeah it does. It's different. He's different." Steve says, and he's got this dopey look on his face that Eddie's never seen. Robin nods, slides down off the bar, her butt replacing her feet as she holds Steve's knees tightly.

"Different then what? Then who?" Robin promtps, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Different then everyone." Steve breathes it like a prayer and then immediately shoves his face into his hands with a groan as Robin makes a high pitched noise in her throat.

"You know what this needs don't you?" She asks, excitement coursing through her now. She's on her feet before Steve answers, bouncing out of veiw, toward the jukebox in the corner. Steve groans again and turns to follower her.

"Alcohol?" He asks, voice dry. Eddie hears Robin snort.

"Maybe after work. But right now what we need, is.... drum roll please." She draws out the please. Eddie watches Steve sit on the stool, watching her. He gives her nothing.

"I said drum roll!!" She shouts, and Steve grins, tapping his hands on the stool between his legs.

"Theeeeeee Eddie song!" She sings, and Eddie faintly hears the click of the Jukebox before a womans voice fills the air. Music kicking in after the first few words, Steve already bobbing along. Eddie's heart stutters in his chest. He knows this song. Has heard Steve humming it a few times. It's not a bad song. Eddie's open to things.

He watches Robin dance back into view as Steve starts mouthing the words, pretending to fight against it. But all Eddie can hear are the lyrics, as Steve really starts to get into it, taking Robin's hand and letting her pull him off his seat.

"Thick wavy hair. A little too long. All day loooong, he's singin his song." Steve starts to sway, and Eddie can't do it, they're moving out of view and he needs to see this. He ducks through the door quietly and sinks back to the back corner silently, both of them lost in the song as they dance. Robin chiming in now.

"Well, what color are his eyes?" She asks Steve, perfectly in sync with the song, they've clearly done this... a lot. Steve shrugs and counters,

"I don't know. He's always wearing shades." He sighs wistfully.

"Is he tall?" Robin asks, climbing back onto the bar, laying on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air.

"Well, I've got to look up." Steve stays out on the dining floor, dancing between the tables, swaying his hips.

"Yeah? Well I hear he's bad." Robin scrunches her face as she sings.

"Hmm. He's good bad. But he's not evil." Steve furrow his brow, 'thinking'.

"Tell me more. Tell me more." Robin sings, kicking her feet to the beat, chin in her hands as she grins at Steve. He does a fancy twirl and falls into a chair, dreamy look on his face as he continues.

"Big bulky sweaters, to match his eyes. Dirty fingernails, oh boy what a prize." He swoons a little, his head resting on his chin for a moment before he spins up out of the chair again, dancing towards Robin as he sings through the chorus again.

Eddie's breathing is fast now, his palms sweating as he watches and listenes to Steve sing about kissing him in the street, and loving and caring for him. Wanting to always be there for him. Eddie doesn't miss how fond he looks.

He's looked fond this entire time. Fond and... something else. Eddie's not sure there's a word for it. But he thinks 'longing' might be close. He wipes his palms on his grease stained jeans and moves foward, slowly, not wanting to draw attention, but he can't stay put any longer. Robin chimes in again, rolling onto her back dramatically, arms crossed over her chest.

"Is he a good dancer?"

"What do you mean is a good dancer?" Steve laughs into the line and Eddie's stomach flutters, he could watch Steve like this forever.

"Well how does he dance?" Robin sings, sitting up and facing Steve as he closes in on the stool in front of her, places his hands on it and practically sighs the last line.

"Close. Very, very, close."

The music fades. Robin singing the last of the 'oohs' gently as it does, both her and Steve smiling at each other. Eddie takes this moment to bump into a chair, sending it screeching a few inches across the floor, both of them flailing as they turn to look at him.

"Oh my god!" Robin yells, her hands clamping over her mouth. Steve is frozen as she looks between him and Eddie. Eddie raises one hand from his thigh, wobbles his hand in an awkward wave.

"Uhh... hey." He says, brilliantly. Steve's face is getting redder and redder as he stands there, and Eddie can see him tensing. About to bolt.

So he does something he's never been very good at. For Steve. He finds his bravery and walks right up to Steve, plants himself in front of him, hands landing on his shoulders harder than he meant too, but Steve doesn't flinch.

"Hey." Eddie breathes, his thumbs soothing over Steve's collarbones.

"You already said that." Steve says flatly, he's still staring at Eddie. Eddie's pretty sure he hasn't blinked since he hit the chair.

"Right. Yeah. Lemme try somethin else then." Eddie breathes, ducks forward, presses his lips gently to Steve's, feels Steve gasp against his lips and then feels his hands clamp down on his hips, hard.

It's a small kiss. Just a press of lips really, warm, and sweet, and gentle. But when Eddie pulls back, they're both breathless. Eddie vaguely hears Robin make that happy high pitched noise again, and clapping. And then any sounds from her are drowned out by the next song that clicks on, You Send Me by Sam Cooke. Eddie loves this song.

"You wanna dance?" He asks, brushes his nose against Steve's cheek, laughs when Steve follows him, trying to catch his lips again.

"I dunno. Are you a good dancer?" Steve asks, smirking at Eddie, though his eyes are shining and soft.

"What do you mean am I good dancer?" Eddie asks, feigning offense.

"Well... how do you dance?" Steve recites, sounding almost shy.

Eddie bites his lip, wraps his arm around Steve's waist, and pulls him tightly to his chest as he turns him further onto the dance floor, guiding them between tables with an out of character grace.

"Close. Very, very, close." Eddie breathes, his heart fluttering as Steve throws his head back and laughs, his arms circling Eddie's neck as they sway together, holding each other close as the music plays on.

#OKAY Y'ALL I AM SO STOKED ABOUT THIS FIC I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #I. GONNA POST IT AND THEN RUN AWAY AND MAYBE REPAINT MY NAILS AGAIN CUZ IM NERVOUS BUT EXCITED OKAY HERE WE GOOOOOO #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie blurb #Fates Endless Inkwell #fei #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #my writing #mine #my fic

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 months

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I think for all the discussions we have of "everyone hears the jokes and the piano; after that, they stop listening" surrounding Louis, we tend to still simplify his connection to the piano.

Yes, it's very cute that he sings Clementine a little song when they first meet, and it's very cute that he plays a little prank on her while "tuning" the piano. It's super cute that they carve their initials into the piano and Clementine carves a heart around them. It's mega cute that he names his song he wrote after her when she confesses her feelings. Louis playing Don't Be Afraid at the party is, in my opinion, one of the best moments in all of TFS.

But here's the thing: That piano is Louis' heart.

I don't mean to go all metaphorical on you, but I'm dead serious—the piano is Louis' heart, and when you think about his arc and his romance route with that in mind...?

That piano is his one comfort in a world where the dead walk. It's been with him from the beginning of the outbreak. We know from his backstory that Louis wanted to take singing lessons so he could be a real musician, and his father denying him of that was what set him off to be a "vindictive fuckhead." Louis never got those singing lessons, and it's a very real possibility that Louis taught himself how to play.

Sure, others could've taught him; we know Minerva was musically talented, perhaps she showed him a thing or two. But learning piano, or any instrument, is brutal even with professional guidance. It takes hours of practice until numbness wears fingertips raw; dedication to memorize every key and finger placement to make music pleasing to the ear; self-discipline to keep going through every fumble, every failure, every single cruel thought of self-doubt; intelligence and a creative ear to write his own songs.

And yet, it's severely under-appreciated by everyone. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's unimportant. It's an excuse for Louis to mess around and not do any real work. He doesn't have any actual talent. The music and the piano are brushed off, unheard.

Yet, Louis keeps playing. He keeps singing. He keeps making jokes.

Creating music, the one thing he wanted so badly as a kid that he destroyed his parents marriage, was possibly the greatest comfort he had... a welcome distraction to disassociate from the horror and death happening around him.

It's bittersweet, like a purpling bruise that you can't stop pressing on; it hurts, but there's something else below the pain. The piano is out of tune and it's something that brings him joy... but will always act as a constant reminder of who he was and what he did, why he's at Ericson to begin with.

We first meet him while he's playing; Louis' heart is exposed, but is it really? Is he playing to his true potential? Louis hides behind the mask of a charming, charismatic goof. It's what is expected of him, so he plays a silly song intended to poke and prod at Clementine, to gauge a reaction. That's something we see him do at multiple points in episode one. In fact, we can consider a majority of episode one to be like the song he's playing when we meet him; it's mostly cheery or fast-paced.

Louis is able to soothe AJ with his "alluring" music after the kid bit Ruby is an indication that the two of them will share a bond. Louis is a natural at communicating and bonding with the younger kids [another talent that's overlooked] so it's interesting that he praises AJ for being a natural at piano, as well.

But the song stutters just a bit when Louis and Clementine are in the woods together, though; "There's only one guarantee: this moment. That's the only you got, only thing any of us got. Might as well enjoy it." ...Only for Louis to compose himself and send her away.

It's only when Clementine has a gun in her face, held by Marlon, that the music isn't fun anymore; it's rainfall and thunder and the words "I thought you were more than that" sung through the wind in a melody only Louis can hear.

Then Marlon's dead. The song is over, and reality has arrived.

I've talked at length about Louis in ep2 and his vote in the past. It's one of the most compelling things about Louis' arc and romantic route. It's a tragic mistake driven by trauma and guilt. It's people simultaneously telling him to shut up and telling him to be angrier than he is. Telling him to stop burying his head in the sand when he's never been more aware of everything happening. It's AJ peering up at him with pleading eyes that Louis can't stand to look at. It's Clementine wrapping his heartstrings around her fingers and tugging just enough to hurt, but not break.

Louis missed Clementine. He says as much when Clementine admits she missed him first. I don't even know where to begin with that! I can think of no other way to describe it other than they are half agony, half hope over this... and if you get that reference, you get a gold star. I just- the ache, the tension, the conflicting feelings of finally having a quiet moment to talk but Louis not being ready yet.

Y'know how someone carved "you suck at playing" in the side of the piano? It's something you might not initially notice while playing the game, just as Louis' insecurities aren't apparent at first.. but they're carved in him; never fully healed, still scabbed and bleeding... Until Clementine offers him a bandage.

She won't clean the wound for him, but she'll be there. She'll help him figure out how to do it himself so he can heal. She'll listen to him, not belittle his feelings or pain. She'll make an effort to know his keys and notes and practice playing his song until she understands.

When Clementine chooses him to spend time with him, it's a mirror of their first time meeting... but this time, Louis plays something real: a song he wrote, one that I believe he crafted during the two week time skip... a song he wrote with Clementine on his mind, for better or worse.

If the piano is Louis' heart, he literally asks her to sit there and try to tune it, which ends up being a joke but I say she's already tuned your heart, my guy. It's there before them, changed in the warm candlelight. He plays for her and opens up about how no one actually listens, but Clementine did.

And remember, this is the night of the raid. They don't know it's coming, but they know it'll be soon. Louis understands that he could very well die, so what does he do? He carves his initial into the one thing he's always had, and he asks Clementine to do the same.

I'm sorry, how are we NOT more feral about this? Prior to this scene, the only thing we see carved into the piano, into Louis' heart, is an insult. This thing that Louis cares so deeply about, this instrument that's become so intertwined with who he is... he wants to leave his mark on it just in case he dies. A reminder that it was his and he belonged to it just as much. Something so important, and he asks Clementine to carve herself into his heart where no matter what, they will be immortalized together in this moment.

And when Clementine carves a heart around their initials? Yes, his reaction is very cute and that's great... but she's not ashamed of him, or her feelings for him. She wants everyone who looks upon his heart to know that. She tells him how she feels and Louis is so giddy, and warm, and he names the song after her and I am going to start biting anything that moves, I can't-

Oh, and let's discuss the party scene in episode three, shall we? Y'know, where the heart covered initials are on full display? Where Louis tells the story of why he was sent to Ericson to everyone?

Louis is so... vulnerable. Sincere. Ashamed of what he did. This is the exposed nerve, the one he was so afraid of showing Clementine but there it is... and she doesn't reject him. Sure, she can say it's fucked up if you choose to, but she doesn't break up with him over it.

Also the fact that everyone sitting around him finally listens when he's at his most unshielded only for Tenn to ask him to play Don't Be Afraid for them after...? How do you not see the connection? Are you trying to make me cry? In that moment, Louis' heart was heard and appreciated and beautiful and strong and-

Listen. I am fine. I'm so normal about this. And fine. I'm fine.

But I also have to add that during the walk in episode four, if you let Louis choose what to add to the imaginary house, he picks a brand new piano because he wants a new heart to reflect the confidence and growth Clementine helped him achieve and because he loves her and AJ so much that wants the new heart to not just be his but also theirs and I am so fine with this, okay.

#twdg #twdg clouis #twdg clementine #twdg louis #clouis #long post #happy valentine's day y'all i got you a totally normal louis/clouis analysis #i initially got you flowers but then i ate them sorry #real talk though I started out normal and slowly descended into unhinged waters while writing this... I don't know how it happened #years later and clouis still pierces my soul i am half agony half hope tell me not that i am too late-#I'm fine okay it's only louis asking clementine to carve herself into his soul it's fine #i can already hear 'it's not that deep bro' like i dunno try getting out of the shallow end and learn to swim you coward #2024 is the year cj goes full gremlin. no self-control. writes whatever bullshit her very normal mind comes up with.#apologies in advance for my bullshit skskskss

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xxlovelynovaxx · 5 months

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The whole point is you don't know if they're fem cis men. You don't know if they're trans men. You don't know if they're trans women deeply closeted for their safety. You don't know if they're trans women whom misgendering will drive them further AWAY from their egg cracking and harm them. You. Don't. Know.

Misgendering is bad. "Clocking" someone is bad. Making assumptions about someone's identity and then turning it into a "joke" is bad. What's funny about misgendering someone?

Also, this discourse is literally in the context of the queer community. It's literally in the context of the queer community having an antimasculinity and gender essentialism problem. It's also in the context of gender stereotypes and the fact that smelling like flowers or painting your nails making you a girl doesn't become less of a harmless stereotype because it's a trans woman saying it. Like oh wow we went full circle from "girls play with dolls and like pink" to "trans girls play with dolls and like pink". Congrats on alienating every non-femme trans woman and femme trans non-woman.

It's not fucking transmisogyny to tell you not to misgender people or assume liking frilly things makes someone a girl. It's not fucking transmisogyny to tell you that the QUEER and especially TRANS communities have an issue with valorizing femininity while demonizing masculinity. It's not fucking transmisogyny to acknowledge this while acknowledging that actual transmisogyny demonizes transfemininity while infantilizing and erasing transmasculinity.

I'm putting the word transmisogyny on a high shelf until the rest of y'all learn what it actually fucking means. Transmisogyny isn't when an entitled white trans woman gets called out for doing actual harm. Like "joking" about misgendering someone. Or "joking" about being racist and going through a "nazi phase". Or "joking" about "raping cuntboys". It might be affirming that some queer people take your white woman's tears at face value, but here's the thing:

You're lovely women who deserve to have every access to transition, to resources, to be treated equally to cis people. You're just really fucking shitty people. You're bigots, you're cruel, you're cliquey, and you're like every boring high school mean girl who never grew out of pettily bullying other vulnerable people to get over the pathetic inadequacies of your own life circumstances.

People like that deserve community and kindness too. They also deserve not to have their behavior tolerated and to have to deal with compassionate rehabilitative justice. Those things can both be true, especially when the people they are hurting explain until our throats are raw how they're hurting us and they just keep doing it. Because the thing is, it's not actually about any "societal pressure to transition", and the fact you think it is shows you haven't listened to a single actual criticism anyone has had of the whole "egg discourse".

Other people have already explained more patiently and eloquently than me what exactly the problem with calling someone an egg is. I'd think you'd be concerned minimally with how it hurts actual transfem eggs more than anything, even if you don't care about how it very much does hurt transmascs and GNC cis men and the movement of transfeminism as a damn whole to insist "haha liking fem things=woman".

Explain what's funny about that. I'll wait.

Anyway, this was reblogged from someone I long ago considered a friend, someone I thought was better than this. I really thought most trans people were better than this when I first entered the community. I still hope some are. You deserve to be told that this is wrong, because you deserve to be reminded that you're better people than this kind of bullshit.

-your utterly over it neighborhood intersex transneufemmasc

#I AM a fucking trans woman and you'll never fucking convince me that joking about misgendering people is okay #regardless of their actual identity #or that joking about clocking people is okay #or the harm this does to actual eggs is okay #or the harm this does to transmascs and GNC folks is okay #or the ways this sets both cisfeminism and transfeminism back to the fucking 90s at least is okay #y'all are as bad as bigoted comedians clinging to the same unfunny jokes and crying bigotry just bc people tell you it's bigoted #like seriously y'all fucking get over yourselves #discourse cw

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flowercrowngods · 7 months

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⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt.

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not.

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts.

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest.

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned.

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so.

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets.

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom.

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests.

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors.

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better.

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family.

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache.

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead.

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be.

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy.

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm.

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand.

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness.

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering.

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything.

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over.

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now.

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him.

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time.

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her.

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.”

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that.

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.”

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind.

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?”

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list.

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.”

“But—“

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.”

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand.

“He sought you out, then.”

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony.

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.”

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.”

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand.

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.”

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him.

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling.

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.”

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.”

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past.

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.”

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands.

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.”

God, I hope so.

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath.

It will be fine. I know it will.

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is.

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already.

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence.

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it.

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave.

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must.

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose.

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave.

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving.

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity.

But he can’t.

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them.

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike.

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.”

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue.

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips.

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.”

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces.

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words.

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack.

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver.

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.”

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in.

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough.

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence.

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes.

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.”

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.”

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said.

It makes Eddie weak in the knees.

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation.

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike?

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him.

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.”

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words.

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him.

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness.

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin.

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be.

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him.

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that…

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does.

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness.

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it.

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil.

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.”

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?”

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself.

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.”

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing.

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more.

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.”

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes.

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.”

He stops.

And so does time.

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again.

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off.

“I…”

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies.

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before.

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #bard/knight #steve harrington #eddie munson #knight!steve harrington #bardknight #bard!eddie munson #i feel like this is more of a 6k words intermission but hear me out the bard is pathetic and needs to stew a little bit #live with the consequences of his actions and realise just what he has done and how he feels about his knight and lord harrington #skjdfsk i hope this is okay i really really hope so i am so worried that it's gonna disappoint y'all who've been waiting #dio words

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