#so far in the fic I just know it involves those four | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruskaroma · 1 year

Text

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name.��

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present.

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow.

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows.

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again.

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her.

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him.

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him.

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her.

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!”

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it.

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women.

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep.

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls.

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off.

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x you #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #john wick smut #ochl #my works

1K notes · View notes

mercuriians · 3 months

Text

do you feel like a young god?

synopsis ☆ blade wishes that his path had never collided with yours.

content info — NSFW (minors stay away 😡 i'm warning you), angst angst angst, fem! reader, regular fic but with a twist on the format. violence at the very end so be aware of that.

word count — 2.1k words.

author's note — this has been in my drafts forever. normally i don't write angst but i was listening to halsey's badlands album & it instantly gave birth to this fic. the entire album is so blade coded that it hurts. anyways this is just 100% pain and smut, there is no comfort. nonetheless i hope you enjoy this drabble and its unplanned christmas theme (i apologize in advance 😓) ALSO i'm working on reqs as we speak i swear

BLADE has never had time to entertain romantic affairs, or even indulge in spontaneous sexual encounters. such matters reeked of the kind of superficial sentimentality that he's long discarded due to its blatant, disgusting lack of appeal. since he’s remembered, all he’s ever really wanted is to taste death, to be enrobed within its earnest invitation and to finally relieve himself of his all-consuming burden. there was no room for anything else—especially something as trivial as fulfilling the human heart’s wishes.

YOU didn't plan to get involved with the agenda of the stellaron hunters, but perhaps your hopes were ultimately futile when your older sister was their very leader. really, what's funny was the fact that even though you two were related by blood, and were raised together, you only shared two traits: a sharp gaze tinted with magenta and the useful gift of perception. otherwise, you might as well have been nameless strangers. you were kind, forgiving, and preferred to heal rather than harm; kafka was the complete opposite, her manicured fingers gleefully stained with scarlet.

BLADE remembers finding himself in an unusual state of confusion when he had first met you. your appearance in itself contrasted against your team members; whereas they wore dark shades of black, purple, and red, you were clad in smooth clothes of pure silver, which didn’t make sense since they would end up dirtied and tainted either way. he remembers disapproving of your very presence because you seemed entirely unfit to fulfill your job—to kill mercilessly and to follow elio's script without an ounce of remorse or hesitation. "you don't belong here," he'd sneered, his vexation only increasing when he saw the docile smile you'd given him in response.

YOU weren't ever truly angered by the blatant acts of disrespect that blade displayed during the earliest stages of your connection. some would argue that you possessed the patience of a saint, and though you wouldn't exactly disprove such a claim, you'd say that it extended far beyond that. there was something you saw behind the scarlet hue of blade's gaze, something that lain dormant behind all the hostility. for a reason unknown, you soon grew the desire to discover it, and to maybe in turn help the man in some way. it didn't matter if a part of your soul had to be sacrificed—you would do it.

BLADE found it all too easy to decline your attempts. it was a continuous, repetitive process, where you’d seek him out and offer a few questions that seemed unassuming at first, and he’d respond by pointing out the obvious holes ruining your facade. he didn’t know why you were suddenly so eager to uncover information about him—or, to “properly acquaint yourself” as you’d innocently described it—but he didn’t care either way because it wasn’t worth trying to. at least those were the words he told himself for the first four months.

YOU managed to break down the weakest parts of blade’s walls by the fifth month. it was slow, and arduous, and yes, a bit frustrating—hearing him curse you out wasn’t really a motivating experience—but ultimately your efforts prevailed in the end. finally, if only a little bit, he opened up to you, and he began giving short but actual responses instead of a mere grunt or a simple click of the tongue. and so he started filling in small snippets about himself. how he found pleasure in the familiarity of a sword. how he despised the way your sister called him ‘bladie.’ how kuding tea was one of his preferred drinks. how he couldn’t remember the last time he dreamt in his slumber.

BLADE was rather astounded by the change in behavior you seemed to have withdrawn from him. at first he denied the reality and brushed off the occurrence as him simply taking the easier route, so that he didn’t continue to waste unnecessary effort on dodging your pesky questions. but here was the truth—he wasn’t lazy, ever. he always did things for a reason, always justified his actions with some kind of logic, no matter how immoral. something strange was happening, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but he still tried to maintain a form of apathetic distance. blade convinced himself that things were remaining strictly professional. even as his pale hands somehow found themselves entangled within your soft hair during one stormy night, and even as his chapped lips pressed against yours.

YOU were surprised but not at all unwelcoming of the unorthodox suggestion that blade gave you one day. in a tone that betrayed no emotion, he asked—well, perhaps demanded—that you two enter a sort of arrangement that he called “being each other’s respective stress relief.” in a more straightforward, explicit manner, you two would use each other for physical pleasure whenever needed. that was where the intimacy started, and it was where it ended. with your heart beating a bit more than it should have, you agreed. blade smiled—a small, predatory kind of smile—before engulfing you in a harsh kiss, backing you into the wall as his hand squeezed around your neck.

BLADE relished the sounds that he was able to elicit from you—sweet, pretty little moans, desperate, high-pitched whines, and of course, the breathless mantra of his own name. every ounce of it made him swell with smug pride, and made his cock harden even more. your eyes would shut tightly whenever you felt particularly overwhelmed with pleasure, and of course he’d always force you to open them. after all he needed you to see just how much of a slut you were for him, just how much he’d ruin you with the marks he’d leave all over your skin and the countless orgasms he’d trigger within you. somewhere in the very back of his mind, there was a faint voice that warned him of the territory he was threatening to cross, just barely short of touching the edge. but he ignored it in favor of savoring the depraved sense of exhilaration that electrified his veins, knowing that he was the one corrupting his colleague’s sweet, innocent, naive little sister.

YOU found your heart beating impossibly faster every time your lips met his, every time he quietly snuck into your quarters and whispered things that were only for you to hear. of course it was only inevitable that you fell in love with the man himself. long forgotten was your goal to solely fix him because in a strange, almost twisted way, it was like you were healing yourself with every scorching touch of his fingers, every relentless thrust of his hips. and for better or for worse, it felt like he was starting to care for you against all odds, and you saw it through the littlest of things. how his dull scarlet eyes seemed to brighten just for a second when he saw you, how he started to stay the night after he ravished you, how his fingers traced your beautifully bruised skin with an uncharacteristic gentleness when he thought you were asleep. you loved it, and soon his embrace was the only thing you learned to crave.

BLADE seemed like he was caught in a peculiar trance ever since you two had agreed to the "stress relief" arrangement. it was unimaginable, really—or at least it should have been. not once had he felt such unbridled emotion for a woman, or for any person in general. he detested the sensation at first. hated how vulnerable it made him feel. so, whenever he felt particularly exposed, whenever you smiled at him for too long, he used your body as a distraction. he'd mark your skin as if he was nothing more than a mindless animal, would pin both your wrists above your head as he snarled, hips smacking against yours. the strategy would work for some time, but the moment he saw you fall into a peaceful slumber—exhausted from all the rigorous activity—the emotions would come rushing at him again, full force. soon there was a voice at the back of his mind, whispering of how he was falling into a trap. one that he had arrogantly, unknowingly set for himself.

YOU started to feel a shift in blade's behavior, noticing how he became more distant as the days passed. your conversations shortened and shortened until they became almost reminiscent of the ones you'd have at the beginning of your relationship. your nightly sessions dwindled in frequency, eventually reaching the point where he barely even knocked on your door at all. all of it drove you to the brink of insanity, worry consuming every ounce of your being until you couldn't handle it anymore. "what the hell?" you had hissed, pulling the man aside once silver wolf and your sister had retreated to their quarters for the night. "why won't you talk to me, blade? what did i do?" but even that didn't work. all he did was scoff and push past your figure, shaking off your grip when you reached out for him. the next day, you were so distraught that, in a fit of desperation, you asked your sister for help. but the only thing you received was a look of warped pity and an obscure comment. "once the candle burns out, the room grows dark again." kafka murmured.

BLADE couldn't handle any of it anymore, his seemingly endless endurance having reached past its limit. he hated the way you looked at him in confusion and anger, and most of all, betrayal, as if he had stabbed you in the back. he might as well have. but above that, he hated the way you reminded him of his curse's weight. in another life, he had thought of immortality as a gift—a gleaming trophy awarded only to those who had gone above and beyond to prove their superiority. how foolish he had been. immortality was a burden, its pressure so insurmountable that it felt heavier than holding up the sky itself. from the very beginning, he'd known that being immortal meant that he'd have to watch the people around him fall prey to death's embrace, but somehow that simple fact evaded his mind when he—it still pains him to admit this—developed feelings for you. he wasn't quite sure if what he felt was love in its raw form, but he was pretty damn certain that it was the closest he was going to ever get. because as selfishly and disgustingly sentimental as it was, the last thing he wanted was to see you wither with age, until you were nothing more than another corpse. and so with a shaky breath, and an unstable heart, he decided to handle the situation in the only way he knew how to.

the truth was that YOU truly were one of the most perceptive people out there, even as heartbreak dulled your senses. so you heard the muted footsteps and saw the swiftly approaching shadow. you knew who it was, even without sparing a glance. still, you remained motionless, your movements almost painfully frozen as your eyes slid shut. tears silently rolled down your face, staining your skin even before the sword pierced through your chest. crimson seeped through your silver blouse like ink on a blank canvas. you fell to the ground, exhaling unshakily, unrivaled pain blooming within every inch of your body. you felt the strength being drained from your spirit, but you mustered the will to meet blade's scarlet gaze. "guess i should have expected this, huh?" you murmur, fingers moving to feel where he'd stabbed you. silently, blade crouched down to your level, his expression unreadable. you reached for his hand, neither of you flinching when his skin became stained with your blood.

"all of this was a mistake," BLADE muttered, tone betraying not even an ounce of emotion. still, he kept his fingers intertwined with yours, and that action alone was enough. "my fate is already determined, but you sealed your own the second you approached me." the wind was cold and unforgiving around the two of you, its invisible talons recklessly combing through the man's ebony strands of hair. but blade paid it no mind, not even when a particularly harsh gust threatened to overwhelm your last words. and as time would tell, those were the very words that would haunt him in the future.

"i'd seal my fate over and over if it meant that i'd see you happy again." you whispered, and for once you failed to notice one crucial detail.

for the first and last time, blade's vision grew blurry from his tears.

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr blade #blade honkai #blade x reader #blade smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr angst #blade angst #hsr kafka #kafka honkai star rail #hsr silver wolf #silver wolf hsr #✎— ❝devon writes❞

246 notes · View notes

mossycobblestonewrites · 1 month

Text

DC X DP FIC,, THING

Based in the Allegheny AU from this post.

Danny had a plan. It was not a good plan, in fact, he was pretty sure this was the worst plan he could have come up with. You see, he knows others have tried this, and he knows that they failed. But Danny's different, okay? He's got the panache, the oomph, the moxie - he's a dumb teenager, and he's leaving. He's taking Sam, and Tucker, and Vlad, and Ellie - fuck, Ellie - and he's leaving. It's going to work. It has to work.

He's stayed up for two weeks straight, coming up with ideas and strategies with Tucker. He's prepped with Sam, leaving her in charge of all the physical prep involved. He's told Vlad to pack up and be ready.

Tonight's the night. Tonight they were going out through the Southside woods - the ones with the least amount of agent traffic and the most danger. It was the only way (Tuck had run the numbers.) Originally, they weren't supposed to leave until next week, but the GiW had come far to close to wait any longer.

He almost got caught - Danny had almost got captured. They couldn't wait any longer. So Danny took his designated bag, strapping it against his back. He took Ellie's hand, and he snuck them off to the designated meeting place. Sam was the only one there when they arrived, chouching in a shroud of darkness over the additional run bags. It only took a few minutes for Tucker and Vlad to join them.

"We must go, I tried to lose them but I may still have been followed." With that, they took off into the woods.

~~~

There was a buzzing sound that had only gotten worse through the years. It was driving Clark insane - he had to find it. Noone else in the league (besides Bruce) had really believed him, pushing it off as electrical wires and such. And yeah, Clark could hear those - but this was different! This was worse! It was somewhere between high pitched and warbling and it was just constant.

Clark was going to find that noise. He was going to do it tonight even if it took until the sunrise. He didn't need sleep! It's not like he would be getting any with the ringing in his ears!

What used to be a simple one pitched hum turned into a three pitched wail (sometimes four) and it was going to be what made Superman evil. Superman couldn't be evil, so finding the source it was! Clark had managed to narrow down the general location, Americas, Midwest, isolated, ending in Illinois, but when he looked for it in a map nothing came up. There was literally nothing there, not even from salitlites. Maybe it was a natural phenomenon? (He hoped not)

He followed that god awful noise till he reached something that surprised him. A full fledged settlement, one that didn't show up on anything he had every seen before. The town was in a black out, the only light being that of a spinning spotlight in the center. He didn't know what to make of it.

Clark could hear the footfalls of patrolling men - soldiers, ones with guns of some kind. He could hear the resting hearts and breathes of the residents. He could hear the small group making a break for it in the woods.

Why was a small group fleeing?

#:)#brainrot go brrr #the hum is the resident half ghosts #dan stays in the realms #running away #danny phantom au #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #both of em lol #part 1 👀#maybe #giw has been running amity park for a long time

197 notes · View notes

allforhee · 3 months

Text

*ੈ✩ — 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (TEASER) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secgen!lee heeseung x journalist!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — high school au, secgen!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, rivals in public but lovers in secret

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms, cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung makes fun of the reader a LOT, reader is feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, huh yunjin, and jang wonyoung

୨୧ word count — tbd

୨୧ release date — tba

୨୧ author's note — my baby! i love muns and as a press girlie myself, i had to make an mun-themed fic for my boy. mind you that i don't really understand the ACTUAL muns (unsc, who, etc.) cause i highkey don't want to get involved i just like writing!! this teaser is kind of short and sweet cause i know that the actual fic will be LONGER! so excited for you guys to read my works and what my imagination has to offer!!!!!!! enjoy this lil teaser. press 4 fanfic writers arise!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies that stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against him. whenever it was, whether it was moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

it was no doubt that no one has ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general. and those who chose to go against him either get crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with a simple, "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

back to my masterlist?

166 notes · View notes

awyeahitssam · 3 months

Text

My Writing Masterlist

Since I post on here far more consistently then on ao3 for reasons, I figured I would compile a list of my writing for those who don't like sifting through fandoms they could care less about to get to the good stuff.

Separated by fandom, and somewhat by trope.

Harry Potter:

Harry eats a God.

Harry just can't seem to stay dead. TW: Suicide, character death, frequent character death, torture, murder, disjointed snippets, discontinued + Harry dissociates. Connected, same warnings may apply.

First Encounters: Time loop, Voldemort-as-Quirrell visits the Dursleys and is less than pleased.

First Encounters: The first time Harry meets Voldemort, the man he's been trained to kill all his life, he's nineteen, and Voldemort recognizes him.

Prisoner Harry tells Voldemort about the Dursleys like it's a bedtime story.

Except for the incident, Harry really doesn't tend to talk a lot when he has a concussion. Stream of thought narrative, character injury.

Literally just Empath!Harry spoilers. Harry, at his trial, allowing himself be petty to an extent.

Harry gets drunk, pulled into Voldemort's mind, and decides he wants to share his good mood.

Tea shop AU. + more Tea Shop (weather) AU. + something actually Tea-based under the cut

Four of a Kind AU: Learning to kiss split-scene. Harry/Harry, referenced Harry/Horcrux + They meet. They kiss. What if. Voldemort/Harry + In the aftermath Voldemort/Harry

Kid Fic: Harry ‘dies’ as a child. Mentor!Voldemort, absolutely not a pairing ficlet.

Kid Fic: Harry and Voldemort’s kid lands in the past during a duel at the Ministry. Pre-Harrymort, Micah, not quite the kiss you'd expect.

Female Harry, world-jumping, rationally angry. Tom/Harry intended, if Harry will chill out on the murder.

Harry likes to feel pretty. Horcrux/Harry, Harry wears makeup, etc.

Tom and Harry jump through time to each other. Tomarry, growing up, fluff, brief kissing, Harry’s older

Dragon AU, I have a lot more of this one written, I should dump that some day. Harry/Horcruxes

Harry/Tom: pillow forts, soft angst, unresolved, broken promises

Harry's really fucking sick and tired of being told what the fuck to do.

Tom-after-Voldemort is the first person Harry has ever spoken to. Isolation, lighthearted, odd, old and forgotten.

Harry never imagines the effect getting a boyfriend would have on Riddle. Jealous Tom.

Harry messes with Diary!Tom

Harry and Voldemort have to complete a task based on the colour of the others' robes, for some reason?

Harry is kidnapped and wakes up in an incredibly comfortable bed. Voldemorts knows Harry is his horcrux.

Harry ruthlessly defends Hogwarts against encroaching Death Eaters. Sixth Year.

It's one paragraph guys.

Prompt-based: Tom possesses Harry when he's afraid. Hermione POV.

Prompt-based: Santa forgot about Harry, again.

Prompt-based: Tom watches Harry draw dirty, dirty things at church.

Teen Wolf, all at least peripherally intended as Stiles/Peter

Kid Fic + Genderbend + Time Travel: Stiles is in the past and nobody is raising Malia, so she sure as shit will.

Stiles has known about werewolves since he was nine, and now that he's off the college it seems his dad has gottten involved. No Hale Fire, Protective Stiles

The first thing Kate does when she comes back to Beacon Hills is kidnap Peter. Human!Alpha Stiles, eventual Steter, pre-slash

Stiles has the curse of obedience. Stiles/Peter

Flower shop AU! Ft. Petty Peter and insulting bouquets.

Peter says he hates Stiles. Stiles begs to differ.

Werewolf Stiles wakes up in the middle of Beacon Hills woods naked, and tries to keep it low key from there. Bakery AU, kinda. Peter/Stiles

First Encounters: The Hale pack summons Stiles to the past.

First Encounters: The first time Stiles meets Peter he is drunk. Stiles is a rude, very straight-forward drunk who steps all over issues like dead family and psychosis. It’s like he had a minefield map and is intentionally stepping on every trigger.

Stiles meets Peter in the hospital.

Stiles pulls back because he doesn't want Peter to mess up his dress shirt, not because he doesn't want the bite.

Stiles crochets magic shit. Fluff.

Negotiations go well.

Peter being the literal worst, holy hell, this hurts to read. Have some angst. Past-Stiles/Peter

Okay, my bad for that last one. Have some comfort. Crying, comfort, Stiles & Peter

Dragon Stiles is constantly underestimated.

Stiles beats Peter, sore loser extraordinaire.

Me acting like Stiles has shame for some reason.

Female Stiles gets forcibly genderbent and is not putting up with anybody's shit. Body dysmorphia, shitty friends, anger issues, sexism. Peter/Stiles

Female Stiles and Peter. Shower, soft.

Stiles writes smutty fanfic, as he should.

Stiles being a bad influence on his little self, ft Knowing Himself Too Fucking Well. Time travel AU, torture

Peter walks away.

Peter/Stiles, marking, one of the sexiest things I've ever written imo

Peter is dumb, stupid, silly villain.

Peter’s timing is about as good as Stiles’ filter. Dumb, stupid villain antics.

Stiles threatens Peter, /lh

Stiles is justifiably sad after a movie.

Tony Stark-centric:

Gen: Tony takes after Maria. Few people recognize a predator wrapped up in such Tony packaging.

Gen: Tony bantering with, and teasing, Peter.

Tony Stark uses the infinity stones.

Tony survives the stones.

Tony proposes. In public. In a way that undeniably affirms his feelings. Loki/Tony

Loki meets Morgan for the first time. Loki/Tony, kid fic

Hair Kink—I mean braiding! Aha, ha, ha… Loki/Tony

Female Toni doesn't take well to her children being threatened.

Soulmates? Tony/Loki

Rhodey gives Loki the shovel talk ft. Parks & Rec

Tony saves the day…?

Bleach / Time travel: Ichigo isn't supposed to be here.

The 100: Cage Wallace stages a coup before the forty-eight arrive. (Or: Dante Wallace dies before his time.) This changes everything.

Tagged: 10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Shorts

#My writing #masterlist #all snippets compiled #all but one #heheheh 😈

77 notes · View notes

bettsfic · 9 months

Note

hi beth! i've got a fic that i've been struggling with for some time, and i think i could feasibly it scrap for parts and come out with a few smaller and (more likely to be finished) oneshots. i loved your advice that nothing is wasted when writing and not to be precious about ideas/words, so do you have any advice on whether it's the right idea to scrap a fic, and if so, how to do it?

i think if you're considering scrapping a fic for parts, it's worth it to try, just to see if you like the result better than what you already have. you really have nothing to lose, you know? either you'll get some good one-shots out of it or you'll get some new insight into the form you've already chosen.

one of the hardest skills to develop in writing is being able to feel and acknowledge when a story is working and when it's not. it's so amorphous and clouded by either doubt or enthusiasm, and you never know for sure until you get to the end.

going back to my knitting analogy, it's the point at which you realize the sweater you're knitting is not going to fit its recipient. so do you undo the whole thing and start over? use the yarn for socks to give to multiple people? or do you find someone slightly smaller to give it to, knowing you'll be a little disappointed in yourself for not doing what you set out to do?

i think the activity i'm about to lay out is good to do not just in this situation but also any time you feel very lost about a big project that you've been working on for a while. i've done it many times and i hope it helps you as much as it has me.

step one: go through the piece and highlight all the parts you like. this can be anything from entire chapters to maybe just a single sentence. these are parts that make you go "yeah this is working" or that you're particularly proud of. your darlings, if you will.

optional: in a different color, you can do this also for the parts you really don't like, that you'd be embarrassed to show someone else. what's left un-highlighted is what you feel neutral about.

step two: either zoom very far out on the document or do a multi-page view, however you can to see as much of the work as possible at once. notice the ratio of highlighted to un-highlighted text.

step three: brainstorm. i have to do this part with pen and paper, but however you get your big-picture ideas down is fine. at this point you haven't made any major decisions yet. it's just an experiment. IF you were to scrap a story for parts, what would it look like? and so you can start writing down your one-shot ideas.

at this point, you should have a better idea about how you want to proceed. maybe the highlighting activity brought to light the fact that there are really only a few spots you don't like and maybe you can rewrite or cut those; or maybe you have an idea for some restructuring. or you really like the one-shot ideas you've written and want to start the first one.

it's important to remember that there's really no loss here. you can write the one-shots, post them, and then come back to the longer version of the fic maybe years later and finish it. it's fanfiction; your audience will not complain about overlapping parts of stories. they'll just be happy to have more to read.

so if you've decided to play around with the one-shots, here's how i've done it in the past.

step four: open a new document. i call this document the stitch draft. the stitch draft is used for situations like this, but also for major structural edits. you need a bridge between the old draft and the new one. the sole purpose of this draft is to copy and paste over the parts you've already written that you want to keep for your first one-shot, in roughly the order you want them in.

step five: open another new document. put it side by side with the stitch draft. start writing the one-shot by bringing in the work from the stitch draft while also writing the connective tissue of the new context of the story. this may involve editing the stitch draft elements at the same time to make them relevant to your new story.

the stitch draft method has never really steered me wrong. in fact when you're very stuck i think highlighting and moving stuff to a new document is a way to help inspire new ideas, simply because you're fiddling with the text and getting out of your own head about it.

#writing advice #revision #structure #stitch draft

67 notes · View notes

heichou-dancho · 2 months

Text

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand from stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma rang absolutely true.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.

#rufus shinra #tseng #ff7 rebirth #ffvii rebirth #spoilers #ff7 rebirth spoilers #shinra #the turks

21 notes · View notes

sunshinesdaydream · 6 months

Text

Pairing: Hardcase X Reader Event:@clonexreaderbingo for Hardcase and Dinner spots (cards at bottom) AU: Matchmaker AU (RTL not mentioned) Rating: SFW Summary: Hardcase is home for the holiday. Warning: None. Word Count:2370

Yes I ripped the title off of a Britney Spears Mariah Carey Christmas song. (In my defense I am sick) However the fic was not directly influenced by it.

Terrible Life Day Dividers by me. If you use, please reblog.

Surprise! Your boyfriend is on planet for life day. The downside? It was unplanned and you had to work.

“It’s okay, Babe, I’ll be here waiting for you when you get done!” Hardcase said as you headed out. You had just apologized for about the twentieth time since he had surprised you the evening before. “Besides, I’m on leave for the next four days! And you already have taken the rest of them off. And we’ll be on planet for at least two weeks after that,”

“I know, I know, I just…” you begin.

“Want to stay in bed and sleep. I know you, babe.” He kisses you with a laugh and says, with a smack to your butt “now off to work with you!”

“Fine, take out and snuggles when I’m done?” You ask with a pout.

“I’ll take care of getting dinner, you just get yourself home,” he tells you.

Once he was sure you had gotten far enough away he raced to the next block over. A beautiful twi’lek woman answered the door with a huge grin. “Hardcase!” She said as she threw her arms around him. “It is good to see you home!”

“Tani! Happy Life Day!” He exclaimed, returning her hug and kissing her forehead. “Jess up yet?”

“Of course he is, all of you boys are early birds,” she answered.

“Not all of us, she hasn’t seen Kix in the morning,” Jesse said, appearing behind his girlfriend.

“Or Fives,” Hardcase agreed.

“You two be nice to your brothers,” she said with a playful smack at Jesse’s chest. “Let me go get those groceries for you,”

“We’ll get them, cyar’ika,” Jess told her.

Tani gave Hardcase another hug, and headed back to get ready for the day.

In the kitchen Jesse handed Hardcase bags out of the fridge. “Are you sure about this, ‘Case? You haven’t even had a traditional Life Day meal before,” he asked.

Hardcase shrugged,”I did some searching on the holonet, and I got some simple stuff to do. I can follow a recipe,”

“I don’t know, it just seems much more… involved,” Jesse said, doubtfully as he handed Hardcase the last bag. “Just, don’t burn down the kitchen,”

“Not going to burn down the kitchen,” Hardcase huffed.

“I know, I know,” Jesse said, as they headed to the door. “I was just joking. We will both have our coms, if you need a question answered you know Tani will help,”

Hardcase grinned, “I know, she’s a good vod’ika. Her taste in men is questionable, but HEY!” Jesse had pushed him out the door.

“Good bye, Hardcase!”

Back at the apartment he started cooking. Baking actually. Cookies first, your favorite. Not exactly a standard Life Day dessert. But cookies were, from what he saw on the holonet. It went smoothly, if a bit messy, something he had done before so it reinforced his confidence. While they were baking he started on the tip-yip.

His original plan was to go to the shipyard and use a fighter engine to roast it. But Echo had talked him down from that. If it had been Dogma, he probably would have went anyways. But Echo had a talent for knowing which regs you could bend when. He was probably right that the Corries would be cranky today and in no mood for shenanigans.

So he propped his datapad up on the counter and started prepping the tip-yip to roast in the oven according to the directions on the holonet. It did not go as smoothly as he hoped. Some of what seemed simple when he was in his bunk reading about it on a screen was more complicated when there was an actual tip-yip in his hands that was slippery with oil and the chrono was sounding for the cookies to come out.

When he tried to hurriedly put it in the pan it slipped from his hands. It nearly hit the floor, except he was just able to get his arms under it before crashing onto the floor himself with a grunt. “Kriff, at least I saved it,” he muttered as he set it down in the pan and washed his hands to quickly get to the cookies. With the chrono sounding the entire time. With a sigh of relief he pulled the trays from the oven, not burnt. Stopping the chrono, he got back to the tip-yip.

It was finally calm enough for you to take a break. It was busier at the supply depot than Life Day had any right to be. Several emergency orders for supplies had been put in at the last minute the night before and your skeleton crew was scrambling to get it together before the supply shuttles docked that afternoon from the cruisers in orbit. Really, if they hadn’t come in two days early you would have loved the business to make the day go quicker.

Sitting down you com Hardcase, grateful on this stressful day to be able to hear him just because you commed. You didn’t have to work around the scheduled times for the long range transmitter on the resolute. You didn’t have to make do with texts.

“Babe!” he exclaimed the second he answered, and some of the tension slid out of your body. “How’s the day going?”

“Busier than I thought,” you answer. “Just got a break, evidently half of the cruisers in orbit and about a third of the ships in general are going out tomorrow and everyone forgot something,”

“Definitely a dessert night,” he said, “I’ll take care of that too,”

“What did I say about spoiling me,” you sigh.

“That I don’t do it often enough,” he answered, you could hear his grin through the com.

“I’m not sure that’s what I said, Love,” you laugh.

“It’s what I heard,” you could hear the pleased sound in his voice at getting you to laugh.

Once off the com with you, Hardcase looks around the kitchen. It’s a minor disaster zone. Checking the chrono, he decides he has plenty of time. He preps the Plicated Orga Root to roast later, checks the tip-yip, and does some disaster control on the kitchen before moving on to the burb berry sauce. Only to find that he didn’t have enough sugar.

“Kriff,” he swore, trying to think through options.

The stores would be mostly closed, it would take time to find one that was open. Jesse and Tani would have been the closest, but they had left to see Tani’s family hours ago. Neighbors maybe? There was the lady that lived two floors down. She was nice and definitely liked him, much more than he thought of her. Probably, but it would encourage her and he really didn’t want that.

The upstairs neighbors, the Quizans. They were really nice and Hardcase knew they didn’t like to travel far,they might be home. He gathered up some of the cookies on a plate and a container and ran for the door.

Upstairs he hit the buzzer. An elderly human lady answered the door. “Hardcase! When did you boys make it back?” Mrs.Quizan exclaimed. “Come in,”

“Yesterday morning, ma’am,” he grinned, following her in.

“I told you not to call me ma’am! But just in time for Life Day!” She smiled.

Mr. Quizan stood up from the couch and came over and shook his hand, “Hello Hardcase, good mission?”

“Yeah, there were mudslides on a planet in the midrim. Helped them clean up and recover.” He answered.

“So how can we help you sweetie?” Mrs. Quizan asked.

“I was making Life Day dinner, but ran out of sugar and I was wondering if I could trade you some cookies for some sugar for the burb berry sauce?” He asked with a sheepish grin.

“Life day dinner for your sweetheart? She had to work today, didn’t she?” as Hardcase nodded she continued, “Come to the kitchen, dear. We’ll get you some sugar and I’ll plate up some of my cookies and trade you cookies for cookies,”

“But…” Hardcase began.

“You heard her, go on,” Mr. Quizan said.

While Mrs. Quizan bustled around the kitchen getting cookies and sugar, Mr.Quizan talked with Hardcase. The older man had been in the military in his younger days and enjoyed talking to Hardcase about his brothers.

A little while later he was on his way back with the sugar and cookies, having promised to bring you up for dinner with them later in the week. Hardcase checked the time, he was close but it would still be on time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just pick up something on the way home?” you ask as you are walking out the door.

“I told you I’ll take care of it, just come home please?” he asks plaintively.

His tone tugged at your heart and you started walking even faster, “‘K, I’m on my way,”

The commute home seemed like it was taking three times as long as usual, even though your chrono told you it was the normal amount of time. The transport you took across the GAR compound seemed to crawl. And if that was bad the one you took from there to home seemed like it was going backwards. The lift even felt like it wasn’t moving. By the time the door opened on your floor you buzzed with anxiousness to get home, but was also worn by your long busy day.

Hardcase must have been waiting just inside the door, because as soon as it opened he had you in his arms. You immediately bury your face in his shoulder and breathe deeply. Instead of the usual smells of him and his soap and the detergent he smelt of spices and sugar. You look up at him in slight confusion only to be met with a kiss.

He pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours, “Welcome home,” he grins, holding you tighter to him than usual. “Missed you,”

“Missed you too, babe,” you say, noticing a smear of something on his cheek. Reaching up, you wipe it away with your thumb. “What have you been up to?”

Smiling wider he answers, “Life Day dinner,”

“Hardcase,”You gasp lightly, “I told you,”

“To spoil you, I know,” he laughs.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could have just brought something home and helped you make it tomorrow,” you try to tug out of his arms to head to the kitchen.

“Well I made it for you today,” he answers, still holding you close. “So we could have the rest of Life Day together,”

You tiptoe so you can give him another kiss, “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome, babe,” he pulled you into a hug again, as you try to slip from his arms to the kitchen. “But you are staying out of the kitchen, go get cleaned up after work, I got it,”

Dinner is delicious, and after some persuading he surrenders and the two of you clean up together.

“I’ll get the cookies, you go find us a holofilm to watch,” he said.

Instead of choosing the film right away you grab his gift from its hiding place and bring it to the living room. Even so you have enough time to pick the film and become curious why it’s taking him so long, when he comes into the room with a large plate of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate.

“What?” he asks as he sets them down and grabs a cookie, “it’s for me too!”

“Uh huh, well this is for you,” you tell him, giving him the gift.

His forehead crinkles in confusion, “Why?”

“Because it’s Life Day and I wanted to get this for you,” you say, pushing it closer to him and then snuggling into his side after he takes it.

When he opens it a small gasp escapes him.

You can’t hold back the words your anxiety insists you spew out, “I know the GAR datapads aren’t great, neither are the stylus. I thought that you should have good ones to be able to do your art on, so I found ones that are meant for it…”

Before you get any further in your rambling explanation he has you in his lap and is kissing you all over your face while saying, “You are wonderful, amazing, thoughtful, beautiful, brilliant,” while you turn red and start to giggle. “Thank you so much, I love you,”

“I love you too,” you finally take the opportunity and kiss his cheek.

“Do you mean it?” he asks, earnestly.

“Of course…Why,” you try to ask, but he is holding your hip with one hand so you don’t tumble to the floor while he reaches into a spot just next to the couch. In the dim lighting you hadn’t seen the shoebox size box there.

“I…um, I mean,” he fidgeted the package a moment and then put the package in your hands, rubbing the back of his neck.

You undo the wrapping, your fingers buzzing with energy as if your body already knows what your mind is refusing to grasp. Opening the box you see his left vambrace, one that had been damaged. It was cracked and put back together with a shimmery silvery metal. Draped across it was a silver chain with a pendant obviously made of another piece of plastoid armor in the shape of a heart, carefully pinstriped to match the markings on his helmet. Then your mind catches up, he’s gifting you armor, one of the customs the clones had adopted. The meaning had adapted to their existence, but it still meant a proposal.

When you look up from the box to his anxious eyes, he begins to speak. But you don’t give him the chance, you barely are able to gasp, “Yes” before you are kissing him passionately.

After a moment he pulls back, “I didn’t even ask yet,”

“You can ask if you want, the answer is yes,” you tell him before kissing him again. His laugh interrupts you before you get too involved though.

“Will you marry me?” Hardcase asks, “We keep having fun, and adventures, and lots more Life Days together?”

Thank You for Reading!

❄️Love & Wrecker Hugs❄️

@sleepycreativewriter @523rdrebel @cloneloverrrrr @trappedinlimbo15 @merkitty49 @cdblake1565 @littlemissmanga @skywlker-sluvtt @the-bad-batch-baroness @padawancat97 @clonemedickix@dystopicjumpsuit@moonlightwarriorqueen@idontgetanysleep@littlemissmanga@starrylothcat@sinfulsalutations@anxiouspineapple99@clonemedickix@multi-fan-dom-madness@wolffegirlsunite@sev-on-kamino@dickarchivist@secondaryrealm @wings-and-beskar @captain-rexs-cyare @cw80831

#CFB2023 #star wars #the clone wars #sunshine writes #clone trooper hardcase #bingo fill hardcase #bingo fill dinner #life day #life day 2023 #x reader #hardcase x reader #hardcase x you #hardcase fic

32 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 5 months

Text

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: ptsd, trauma recovery, kink negotiations, fetishes, fantasies, body modification, objectification, degradation, self-harm, destructive sexual urges, heavy bdsm, bondage, 24/7 D/s, dom Steve, sub Bucky, sadism, masochism, castration fantasy, dark comedy, oddly sweet relationship dynamics (idiots in love)

Summary: Steve and Bucky reach a compromise, but Bucky's got "some work to do" to prove to Steve that he deserves his treat.

🖤Disclaimer: Nobody gets castrated or otherwise body-modified in this fic, okay? It's Steve and Bucky, kink negotiating and sceneing w/ regards to Bucky's very strange fantasies.

Wait! I haven't read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 yet!

Part 4 - Back to that Morning, Months and Months Later, When Steve Finds Out What Bucky Wants to do to His Dick:

Bucky sits on the floor and chews his lip with big eyes, staring down at Steve’s phone. The options he’s currently salivating over are all piercings. Specifically, genital piercings—something he’s gone googly eyed over for a long time, now. Steve’s finally worked up the nerve to consider it, and he’s giving Bucky options because:

1. He really does adore him and just wants to make him happy in every possible way. 2. He needs to positively reinforce Bucky’s streak of expressing his wants and asking permission for things. 3. He knows that Bucky getting in a car crash and losing his dick isn’t a realistic fear. 4. He’ll be forever–ever–ever grateful that Bucky did not sneak off and get his nuts removed, way back when.

Bucky grips Steve’s phone and swipes back and forth between all the pictures, looking like Christmas is about to come early.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and Bucky’s eyes flick up to him, amused, before returning to the phone. Steve fights not to fidget. “So … Which one do you like?” he asks, anxious about it. In the seventy or so years since he went into the ice, humanity has devoted—in Steve’s opinion—far too many of its collective brain cells to inventing a myriad of ways in which to stick needles in dicks. Human beings are remarkably creative, remarkably fucked up creatures. Steve’s in love with exhibit A.

He sits there and watches Bucky’s reactions, wary of the fact that he’s probably going to choose the most extreme option. Suddenly, Steve wishes he hadn’t given him all the choices. “Um,” he clears his throat nervously. “I like the fourth one. In terms of, ah, aesthetics.” Bucky looks up at him, and Steve nods. “Yeah. That one’s … that one’s my favorite” (‘favorite’ is a loose term here — it doesn’t involve sticking a needle through the head of one’s dick, so: ‘favorite’).

Bucky surprises him by agreeing right away, but then he gets a devious look on his face and amends, “Oh, but maybe I could do a couple of ‘em.”

“What.”

“Yeah! Like number one and number four,” that’d be fun. Bucky grins and snickers about it. “Shit. I’ve never been so glad my ma kicked the mohel out.”

Steve cringes as he’s hit with an odd combination of mental images—freshly circumcised babies and Bucky’s grown-ass dick, pierced to smithereens. “We can talk about it,” he says, voice coming out a little weak.

You look like you’re gonna throw up,” Bucky observes dryly.

“Yeah well. What can I say? I don’t feel the urge to go poking holes in myself.” Steve shakes his head as Bucky just continues to smile placidly. What has he gotten himself into? he wonders, amused. Oh well, at least he’s gotten Bucky off the idea of stuffing freaking pearls into his dick. He holds his hand out for Bucky to give him the phone back, then slides it into his pocket with a sigh when he does. “Get up,” he orders, loving and long-suffering. “Go pick out a pighole and lie face down on the bed. You’ve got a lot of work to do if you want me to take you out this weekend for any one of those god awful—”

“This weekend!?!” Bucky all but shrieks. He jumps to his feet and shouts, “Steve! I love you!” then scampers away to go get his pighole.

About an hour later:

Steve pulls back with a gasp, too close to the edge to risk staying inside, and wanting to stave it off. He kneels back in the sheets and looks down to where he just had his cock buried. The obscene gape that greets him makes him groan and curse lowly. “Fuuck. Look at that.” He can actually see his previous two loads, pooled deep up in Bucky’s ass, because Bucky’s got the pighole in and it’s holding him open and making him into the easiest, most useful fuck-object Steve could ever want to put his dick in. “Such a good cocksleeve, honey,” he praises, because he knows Bucky loves to hear shit like that (and, okay, maybe Steve doesn’t exactly hate saying it either).

True to form, Bucky groans and squirms, not moving from where Steve’s got him ass up and face down on the bed.

Steve grips himself hard, staring into that filthy abyss. “God.” He taps the length of his dick against the rubber rim of the plug, where it’s all but turning Bucky into a fleshlight for his enjoyment. “Wish you could see this, Baby. Fuck. Mmm.” He squeezes his dick, presses the head hard against the lip of the plug and watches as precum oozes out over black rubber. The sight takes his breath away. “Jesus,” he curses quietly, licking his dry lips. “I don’t think I’m even gonna put it back inside, you know that? M’ just gonna jerk off right here, like this.” He works his hand in a tight ring underneath the head of his cock. “Put it in you that way. Won’t even have to aim much, will I? Mm mn. You’re so fuckin’ open.”

He jerks off a little more while staring at Bucky’s wide open asshole, only pausing when his balls give another dangerous spasm, threatening to end his fun. He gathers saliva in his mouth while he waits it out, aims and lets it drip down to join the white of his cum. “Holy shit,” he whispers, watching it hit the pighole and slide in. “Oof, buddy, you’re killin’ me.”

“M’not even doin’ anything,” Bucky rasps, in something that might’ve been sass, if he wasn’t so far gone already.

Steve scoffs and grips an asscheek while he jerks himself, fingers digging into the fat and muscle, then lets go and watches his fingermarks fade from white, to pink, to nothing. He can’t stop himself from smacking it, then, swatting his entire handprint onto one cheek and watching it jiggle. “Best ass in the western hemisphere,” he murmurs. “Should smack it cherry red.” Not that it would last, but he knows Bucky would appreciate it.

He says as much, making a dumb, happy noise into the bed where he’s bent over in front of him. Steve smiles. He grabs the bulge of Bucky’s balls and his caged cock, drawing the handful back between his thick thighs. “And how’re we doin’?” he asks cheerfully, giving Bucky’s collective junk a shake. With his dick kept soft (or mostly soft, anyways) inside the cage, Steve can’t gauge it as well as he otherwise could. All he has to go on are Bucky’s moans and shivers and how fucked out he’s acting. With the plug in, Steve doesn’t even have the feedback of his asshole clenching and fluttering around him—sex toys don’t squeeze back, after all.

A glance down shows that his balls are pulled up tight, but Bucky’s always super responsive like that. Steve swats them harshly a few times while he gives himself another slow, tight stroke. “Fuck,” he whispers, eyes sliding covetously over the gorgeous slope of Bucky’s back. He wants to run his hands all over that smooth, tanned skin; wants to savour it and drag his lips everywhere he goes. He wants to dig his fingers into those fat hips and fuck in and in and in, until the backs of his eyelids go technicolored and he’s emptied of everything he has to give.

But he’s already done that twice in the past hour, so he’s trying to stave it off.

“Sir,” Bucky croaks, voice muffled from where his head is turned on the mattress, metal fist clenched and pulling the bedsheets into his face. Unlike Steve, he hasn’t come yet. Because he’s “earning” it. He squirms restlessly, back muscles shifting under the skin. “Please, please, c’mon.”

Steve slaps his ass again, though it isn’t harsh by any means. For Bucky it’s practically a love tap. “Please what?” he goads. He spits into his asshole again, just so that Bucky can hear him doing it, and in counterpoint he speaks gently, “‘Please’ what, baby? Hm?” He waits, but Bucky doesn’t seem capable of much more than little sniveling, fucked-out sounds; ‘Sir’s, and the occasional grunt or gasp when Steve hits him. Steve smiles at the dark mop of his hair that’s covering his face, in love. “‘Please’ … what?” He sticks one finger into his hole, not touching. There’s actually enough room that he can hold it there, inside, and still not have it be touching anything. And that in itself is obscene, like he’s touching a wound, like he’s reaching into someplace that isn’t meant to ever be exposed. He can feel the heat of Bucky’s body all around. “Come on,” he coaxes, mock–sweetly. “You can tell me.”

“Nnnh.”

“What’s this nasty hole need?” he purrs. “Mm?

Bucky seems to realize that Steve’s actually waiting for an answer, and responds with a slurred string of begging: “Please … Ss-sir. You, you. I need you. I do, oh, please, I … I need—”

“I?” Steve mocks, letting go of his cock to grab both asscheeks and pull them apart. He lets another fat wad of spit drip from his mouth down to its target. “What’s ‘I’? I’m not fucking an ‘I’.”

“Oh. I … ” Bucky’s breath stutters out of him in a broken moan. “Oh, Ss-teve,”

“Aw, Sweetheart, you’re confused,” Steve coos, chuckling, voice like velvet over top of razor wire. He leans over Bucky fully—hips to ass, chest to back, forearms braced to either side of those broad and mismatched shoulders—so that he can be intimately close when he purrs, “You think I’m fucking ‘you’, Baby?”

“Mmn, ooh … nno,” he moans.

>Steve kisses the shell of his ear, then whispers, “Tell me what I’m fuckin’.”

Bucky is hazy by this point—strung out on whatever it is that fills up those nooks and crannies in his mind, those fucked-up spaces that can only be intoxicated when he’s in pain or when Steve treats him like this—so it takes him a minute. Steve can’t see his face, but he can hear him licking his lips and swallowing a couple of times, can hear him struggling as he wades through the thick soup of his own thoughts before he manages to rasp, “This hole.” He sounds high, like he’s in love, like he’s about to wither and die, or come.

Steve hums in approval and kisses the spot just in front of his ear, where he can feel the emerging dampness of sweat. Even though he’s doing most of the work, it has been a while of this: teasing and taunting, slipping in and holding still, fucking Bucky just enough to make him really start to want it, then pulling out. Steve’s balls feel like they’ve been beat up in a back alley, and he just wants to come again. He pushes back to kneeling and reaches for the lube. “Exactly right,” he praises, flicking the cap open. He proceeds to squirt a disgusting amount directly into Bucky’s ass, squeezing the bottle hard on purpose to make sure it squelches loudly. “So,” he coos, mockingly sweet and patient, “What do you think this hole needs?” He guides his cock back home, pushing in slow, the seal of the pighole creating luxurious suction and filthy noises as he buries himself in Bucky again. “Oh baby,” he groans. “Fuck. You hear that? You hear the sounds it’s making?”

“fuck”—Another one of those tiny, tight little ‘fucks’ that Steve relishes so much. Bucky’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, face down and ass up on the bed, dark hair all over the pillow, floating in snot and subspace, whining and crying every time Steve isn’t actively inside his body (and even sometimes when he is). “S’it good?” he slurs, the words mashed into the bedding. Other than Steve’s name and nonsensical gobbledygook, it’s the only real unprompted thing he’s been capable of saying for the past ten minutes at least; asking Steve if he’s good, begging and pleading to be good. “Please, Steve … I’m good, m’good, ff-feels so good—”

“Shhhh.” Steve fucks in all the way and grinds his hips against the meat of Bucky’s ass. “Yes, Honey. It’s so fucking good. S’the fucking best. Best thing I’ve ever had.” He pets a soothing hand down the center of Bucky’s back as he rolls his hips in deep, hard strokes, fucking him steady again. “You’re so good at this, such a good hole for me. Doin’ exactly what you’re s’posed to do. Lettin’ me feel your insides, takin’ it all.”

Bucky sobs. “I am, I am,”

Steve hushes him. “You are, baby. Doing so well. Just gotta hold still. Just gotta be a hole n’ let me jerk it right in there. A nice, sloppy place ta’ put my cum.”

Steve changes his angle minutely and Bucky sobs and jerks in place, then he starts pushing his hips back frantically. “Oh, ohn shit … oh shit, Steve, yes, pleasepleaseplease, oh—oh! I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum, ohmygod I’m gonna cum! Fuck, fuckfuckfuck!

Steve reaches around and cups his caged genitals, jostling them. “Yeah?” he goads, snapping his hips harder. “This gonna make you cum, honey? Just this? You sure? Just bein’ my good little thing? Getting used like a little cum dump?” Steve can feel his orgasm coalescing, gathering like a stormcloud—deep in his gut, in the base of his dick, the root of his balls. His hips slam harder as the pleasure spikes and goes molten inside him. “Ugghn!”

A high, inelegant noise sounds from Bucky’s throat, and then he’s crying and writhing, sobbing out strings of “I’m good, I’m good, I’m good!” as he falls apart.

Steve can only feel the fluttering of his orgasm deeper in, past the rubber grip of the pighole. He shoves all the way in so he can feel it ripple on half his dick, grinding furiously in–in–in and reaching his peak. He clenches his teeth and roars, hips pumping nonstop as he unloads inside Bucky for the third time in ninety minutes.

Just like always, it feels like it lasts forever and not at all. “Holy … fuck,” he eventually pants, when he’s ridden it out and is left slumped over Bucky’s back. He’s still got one hand between Bucky’s legs, holding his caged cock and balls. Bucky came while soft in the cage; Steve can feel the ejaculate wetting up his hand. He gives him another jostle, eliciting an overstimulated whine from the other man. It makes Steve smile breathlessly, and he releases him. He pats his hip. “Stay down for a minute.” Bucky makes a weak noise of no-contest as Steve pulls back and starts to clean them up.

Steve removes the pighole. He feels his dick make a valiant attempt at a fourth salute, at the sight of Bucky’s asshole winking itself closed. “Jesus. Next time I really am jerking it into you.” Next time, he wants to yank the plug out and shoot his load on Bucky’s wrecked asshole when it’s still trying to close back up like it’s doing right now. He reaches down and swipes his thumb over the stretched-out pucker, whispering “Shit.” Bucky grunts softly and then Steve’s cum is being pushed out, bubbling white and hot out around his thumb. Steve groans. He smacks him on the butt. “Stop that. You’re filthy.”

“Sure am,” Bucky purrs, smiling with his eyes closed and stretching out to lay prone on the bed.

Steve lies up against his side and lazily fingers between his cheeks, at the still-lax hole as it continues to twitch and push out cum. He lets his eyes slip closed. “You realize you just came just from being fucked, right?”

There’s a smile in Bucky's voice when he hums, “Mmhm. Sure did.”

Steve wishes he had the energy to demand anything of Bucky right now. He’d tell him to roll over so that he could inspect the cage. Instead, he just asks. “Did it feel like you got hard?”

“No,” Bucky says dreamily. “No. It kept trying and failing, and then I just stopped thinking about it and focused on you.”

Steve plays with Bucky’s hair. “Did that help you feel less …”

“Yes.” Bucky peeks over at him. “I just came from freaking sex, Steve. I didn’t think I—” his voice breaks with emotion, and he takes a steadying breath. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do that again in my life.” He sniffles, tearfully happy. “I worked right.”

Steve’s old junker of a heart gets another ding in it. He pulls Bucky in close to be the little spoon, and lies there kissing at the back of his neck for a long, long time. “You always work right, Buck. You’re always perfect. I love you.” He traces the edges of the star that’s carved into the nape of his neck, and eventually he whispers, “We’ll go to the piercing shop tomorrow.”

Masterlist

For those curious about the cock sheathes and pigholes that Steve and Bucky play with in this fic: Oxballs products

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

23 notes · View notes

hairstevington · 1 year

Text

mysterious ways (Steddie Week 2023)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Hello all! I am participating in Steddie week this year, and I am doing a seven part series reflecting each of the seven prompts. Thank you @steddie-week for the challenge! I will only have this first part on Tumblr, but will post the next six chapters each day on Ao3, so follow along over there if you're into it! :)

Summary: Steve feels lonely after the earthquake. Somewhere deep in the Upside Down, new life is born. (Prompts: Hunger - Pining - Somebody to Love by Queen)

WC: 1.4K (each part is going to be pretty short I think)

Warnings: Kas!Eddie/Steve, canon universe post-season 4, pining, angst, a bit darker than my usual fare but not by much, PS this fic will have a happy ending because all my fics do lol

A/N: I wasn't planning on doing Steddie week because I'm going through a bit of a tough time right now but I randomly felt inspired today, so I'm giving it a go. Shout out to @skjachukson for requesting Kas Eddie, I have a feeling I'll be writing him more after this lmao

Sometimes, when things are at their worst, Steve can shrug and say, “hey - it’s not the end of the world.”

Of course, in Hawkins, it often is the end of the world. So now, Steve has no idea what to tell himself.

His hometown, which - let’s be real - was never that glamorous, is now in shambles. After the “earthquake,” almost everyone fled, which was valid. The ones who stayed were mainly those who’d been directly involved, or those who have nowhere else to go. Many people lost everything, and Steve tries to give back where he can - they all do - but a lot of the time he’s just sad.

His hometown was split in four, and all of his friends are in love.

Steve feels so dumb for even caring, but he does. All he ever wanted was to be loved, really, and he’s gotten the short end of the stick the last few years. He used to feel on top of the world, and now he’s - well, he had been in the Upside Down, which was probably as close as he could get to the literal opposite of the top of the world.

His friends found happiness where they could - mostly through crushes and girlfriends and boyfriends. Steve doesn’t have any of that right now. He doesn’t even know where to look. Everything around him is sad.

Robin and Vickie had bonded over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, of all things. Since then, she’s been volunteering every chance she can with Vickie. Steve joins too, sometimes, but he feels very much like a third wheel.

Some random dude with incredible hair and an even more incredible name (seriously, who names their kid Argyle?) showed up with Mike, Will, El, and Jonathan in a pizza van. A day later, the guy decided to drive back to Utah to visit his one true love or something. A woman with an equally badass name - Eden.

Steve wasn’t surprised when Dustin wanted to join, because apparently Eden lives with Suzie. Still, Steve was baffled by the whole thing. Usually, some sort of alarm would go off in his head about his surrogate little brother going on a road trip with a stoner, but Argyle seemed nice enough.

Although, he did unironically use the word “brochacho,” and Steve didn’t really know how he felt about that.

Steve knew Dustin was taking - uh, things - super hard, and so Steve encouraged any sort of break for the guy. Visiting Suzie seemed like the perfect way for Dustin to decompress, especially after what happened.

So, Dustin took off. Robin’s busy. Steve is too mortified to even look at Nancy after he’d basically professed his love for her and she brutally rejected him and stayed with Jonathan. Lucas spends all of his time with Max. El and Mike are inseparable.

That leaves Will. Steve doesn’t know Will that well, but he’s so lonely he doesn’t care if he comes off desperate or weird or whatever.

Steve shows up at the Byers’ residence one Saturday morning, looking like a total dork. Hopper answers the door, even though Steve would have far preferred Joyce. She’s less, uhhh -

“Steve?” Hopper asks, gruffly. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um - I’m looking for -”

“Is that Steve?” a familiar voice calls from the living room.

Ah, shit.

“Hey, uh, Nancy,” Steve says, giving a small wave.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, joining Hopper at the door.

“No, I -” Steve sighs. He’s mortified to even be in this situation. It was such a stupid plan in the first place. “I’m looking for Will. Is Will here?”

“Umm, yeah,” Nancy responds, retreating back into the house to presumably get her boyfriend’s little brother.

“What do you need Will for?” Hopper asks, suspiciously.

“Jeez, relax, Sheriff,” Steve replies. “I just wanted to talk to him. I’m the babysitter, remember?”

This explanation seems good enough for Hopper, even though Steve hasn’t really interacted with Will much prior to this. Not directly, anyway. He’d let the kids in to see movies for free back when he worked at Scoops, but that was it.

After a full thirty seconds of awkward, painful silence, Will comes to the door.

“Hey, kid,” Steve says. Hopper and the others had thankfully walked away to give them some privacy. “Do you - do you want to go to the music store with me?”

Will stares at him blankly for a moment, then shouts to the others behind him.

“Mom! I’ll be back later!”

Steve smiles, triumphantly.

“Okay, have fun!” Joyce’s voice rings from somewhere in the house. “Be home by 5 for dinner!”

“You got it, Mrs. Byers!” Steve yells into the void. “Okay, let’s go.”

Will hurriedly walks out of the house and shuts the door behind him, then sighs in relief.

“Thank god you’re here,” he says. “All the couples are driving me crazy.” Steve chuckles.

“You and me both.”

Will turns out to be excellent company. He has good taste in music, and he’s funny. A little nerdy, like Dustin, but much quieter about it. They get along great, and end up spending a few hours together.

“My brother said he’d be there for me, and now he’s back to spending all his time with Nancy,” Will complains.

“Yeah, well Nancy broke my heart into a million pieces, so,” Steve replies.

Then, they riff on how annoying Jonathan and Nancy’s relationship is for a while. They aren’t saying anything out of genuine dislike for either party, but it’s still some much needed venting. Steve listens to Will talk about Mike and El, and that’s when he picks up on some things in between the lines.

Maybe having a gay best friend makes him better at detecting that sort of thing.

They pick out a bunch of music and listen to it as they drive around for a while. They both are big fans of Queen, so they blast that first. They get a little too into singing along to Somebody to Love, but neither of them poke fun at the other for it. As much as Steve and Dustin tease each other, and as much as he complains about being the babysitter, Steve loves these kids with all his heart. All of them, even the ones he doesn’t know as well, like Will. He would do anything to protect them. He’d done quite a bit already.

He drops Will off before dinner as promised, then heads home. It’s only after he passes by Forest Hills that he starts to think about Things again. The Things that he tries to suppress. The Things that bubble beneath the surface at any given moment.

The Things that led up to the Earthquake. He isn’t ready to think about them. Not yet, maybe not ever.

So yes, it’s far easier to reach out to other people who understand, and to cling to them as long as he can. And then he goes home, and instead of letting his mind drift to those dark places, he starts singing Queen under his breath.

It’s stupid. It won't fix anything. But still, the need is there.

All he wants is somebody to love.

Hawkins has begun to crack open, and soon what lay beneath will rise.

It’s a dark place - somewhere that’s always on the verge of a storm. The energy in the air is thick with dread and impending doom. The creatures that live there are something that people may cast off as fictional, because their eyes aren’t open yet to how terrifying and big the world really is.

Monsters, of all kinds. Some who had once been human, some who prey on humanity. Evil forces that keep kids awake at night. Forces that their parents insist are in their imagination.

How foolish to think an imagination could be so vivid. Then again, perhaps imagination is what created this place to begin with. It could also be what sustains it.

A flash of lightning. Bats scattering.

There’s a body somewhere in the fog, going through a transformation. Wings, teeth, and hunger. It takes several days for the body to resemble its altered form - one of strength, intimidation, and a deeply-rooted instinct for evil.

Once complete, the body gasps in its new life. The soul of a tortured boy once occupied this space, but now there’s something else within him too - something ancient.

Eddie Munson’s glowing eyes snap open.

He’s starving.

----------------------------

@paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingnscatworld @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @gregre369 @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @dangdirtydemons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @clumsiluni @hollysimone @swimmingbirdrunningrock @witchofhawkins @steddiegarbage @suddenlyinlove @ricekristytreaty @eddielives1986

#steddieweek2023 #steddie #steddie fic #kas!eddie #writing #eddie munson #steve harrington

95 notes · View notes