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#Day 10
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Big hoodie they can share
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DAY 10
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autisticaradiamegido · 3 months
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day 10
this counts as constructive criticism
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cubur · 6 months
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"Thank you for being my light…" Happy Birthday Naruto!☀️🧡 @snsmonth23 - Day10 「Birthday」
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ky-landfill · 6 months
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Some angsty pit withdrawal Jason and batfam? 🤲
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“Dad…?” I’m here, Jay.
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hermitcraft-daily · 5 days
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[10] i like when people draw grian with regular eyes and like when they draw canon huge blocky eyes. can’t choose what to draw myself so why not both
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mysteryspit · 2 months
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my tits are so sore but that just makes this feeling better!
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steviewashere · 2 months
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Cuddle Bug
Rating: General CW: None apply for this one! Tags: Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Cuddling, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Fluff, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship
For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is feeling safe."
💕—————💕
The first time it happens, Eddie doesn’t say anything. Sort of just reigns himself for a night on the sofa, stiff to the cushions, hands spread and tight by his sides. Steve fell asleep on top of him. His snores directed right over Eddie’s heart. And Eddie is hopeless, really, helpless, too. He didn’t say anything or do anything. Even though he had to pee. But, when he thought about it, Steve had been especially tired—beyond spacey the entire day they hung out. So it was for the best that he just ignored whatever was happening. Eddie let himself fall asleep, too.
However, it kept happening.
Almost every time that Eddie came over. When he would lay on the length of Steve’s couch. Arms loose by his sides. The television on low. Steve would enter the room with a bowl of popcorn. He’d sit on the floor, make Eddie comb his fingers through his hair, and eat his little bowl of food. Then, at some point, he’d let out a jaw cracking yawn, stand to his full height, pop every vertebrae of his spine, and gently ask, “Can I lay on top of you? It’s okay if that’s too—“
“Just lay down, dude. You’re blocking the show.” And sure, maybe Eddie would be a little snippy with it. But not too rough. Not too dejecting. Because he liked Steve, loved really, and he would let Steve do anything to him.
Steve would lay down on him. His right arm tucked between Eddie’s body and the couch, his other arm dangling to the floor. Head cushioned on Eddie’s chest. Eyes pointed at the television. Yet, fifteen minutes in, he’d close his eyes and begin snoring. He’d jerk with the movement. Go boneless against Eddie’s torso. And Eddie would just have to deal with it. Because in no way is he going to be the one to make Steve lose even more sleep. No way. No how.
So it happens. And it keeps happening. And maybe Eddie’s heart is starting to do stupid things. And maybe Eddie just gestures to his body when Steve is done with the popcorn. And maybe, sometimes, his hand hovers over the back of Steve’s skull, ready to land on his hair, ready to just cup him there and hold him gently, like he deserves. But he doesn’t allow himself to touch. Not at all. Just wondering what it would be like. To just hold him. Not play with his hair. To carefully embrace him, that’s all.
Except, it happens one night when Robin’s over. And Eddie knows he won’t be able to explain the dynamic.
They’re watching something on the TV, as usual. Steve’s on the floor. Eddie’s hand is in his hair. They’re eating from the same bowl of microwave popcorn. Robin’s honk laughing in the recliner. And all is well.
Until, “Can I lay down on you?” Steve asks. And Eddie, without really acknowledging much of anything, just waves his hand to his torso. Steve stands from the floor, pops his spine, wipes his greasy hands on his sweatpants, and settles down over the length of Eddie’s body. He cushions his cheek. And he sighs contently.
The colors on the television reflect on his face. Blue and pink and purple and pink. Pink and red and red and green. Then, pink and pink and pink and pink. And then he’s snoring. He’s snoring. His body is jolting with it. Relaxing into the tight line of Eddie’s body. And Eddie holds his hands up from his sides. A hand hovering over the slight curve to Steve’s spine. The other, over his head, fingers twitching to settle in his hair.
Robin must look over at some point. She whispers, raspy and gentle, “He only does that around the people he loves and is most comfortable with.”
“What?” Eddie squeaks back, attempting to be quiet.
“He only does this with the people he loves,” she explains, “when he hasn’t been sleeping well. And he feels like he can trust you. Like he thinks that you’ve got him? He cuddles like this.” She makes the recliner creak. Her footsteps soft on the carpet. She’s crouching in the corner of Eddie’s eye. Her face looking onto Steve softly. “He says it helps him with the nightmares. He gets them too much. Doesn’t sleep through the night unless somebody is there with him. To hold him. You should hold him.”
And, she does the oddest thing, she stands up and leaves.
Like, leaves the room, leaves the house kind of leaving. And Eddie panics a little, because, What? What is he supposed to make of that?
The only logical thing is following her advice. One hand on Steve’s spine. The other cupping the back of his head. His middle finger tickling over Steve’s exposed temple. He sighs into the hold.
But then Steve stirs a little. “Robbie?” His sleepy voice slurs.
“It’s Eddie,” he says. “How about we get you to bed upstairs, cuddle bug?”
“Mh,” Steve grunts. “Tired.”
“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Eddie assures. “We can go to sleep upstairs. I’ll cuddle with you, if you want.”
“Really?” Steve murmurs, voice going quieter, nearly back asleep.
Eddie shifts his hold. Squeezing a little. “Yeah, Stevie. Let’s go upstairs and sleep, okay? I’ll keep you safer up there.”
“Okay,” Steve mutters.
“I got you,” Eddie promises.
“Got me,” Steve utters back. “Hands got me.”
“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, “Hands got you.” And resigns himself to carrying Steve to his bedroom. Plopping him down on the bed. Getting under the covers. And holding him to the side of his body. Warm and content. With something, he can taste it, like love.
💕—————💕
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eridude · 7 months
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the madness continues
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inktober day 10: fortune // beelzebub
2 PARTER !! ILL EDIT THIS TONIGHT I SWEAR
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so many of these r turning into 2 parters omg
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es-draws · 6 months
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"This doesn't fit me like it used to"
~ ~ ~
Day 10 was delayed thanks to life, but I hope to have day 12 up by tonight to as I get back on track!
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angstober (6)
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Prompt: "Can't Go Home"
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
A/n: Whew 😮‍💨
angstober masterlist here ♡
~~~
“After this one, we’re getting our own place.” 
Bucky’s sweet words found a home in your head. They nestled into the unkind parts of your brain as the battle went on, fear and pain and confusion mingling. Threatening to take over. 
“I don’t care what the rest of them have to say about it. I’m sick of sharing you. Sick of living in this tower with forty million people.” 
“I don’t think forty million people live here, Buck.” 
“Shut up.” 
You could feel the smile against your neck, the memory of his lips there as he spoke. Something blew up a few feet away from the hand-to-hand fight you were struggling with. You felt the heat along your side. 
“I’ve always pictured a brownstone. Even back then.” 
“Back then as in… before you were as old as my great-grandpa?” 
“You’re awfully mouthy tonight.” 
A truck flew overhead. You had no idea which side threw it. Banner jumped over it, grunting at the force. Not your side, then. This fight wasn’t going well. 
“Well, back then,” Bucky playfully stressed, “I thought it’d be just me in there. Bachelor in New York City and all that. But now that I have you—” 
He rolled over, encasing your head with his arms. His nose brushed yours as he spoke next, eyes achingly soft. 
“Now that I have you, I’m thinking something else. Something far away. Maybe more upstate. We can get a horse.” 
“A horse?” you laughed. 
“Maybe ten horses.” 
Pain erupted across your ribs. A boot imprinted there, pressing and deepening the bruise that had already been inflicted. You cried out, arms tightening around the creature thrashing against you. It eventually went lax and the pinch at your ribs subsided. 
You hobbled into a sitting position, clutching your side. The battle around you raged on, screams and commands hurtled into the comm at your ear. 
“How will the team contact us while we’re out in this vast, open countryside? Carrier pigeon?” 
Bucky ran his fingers along your cheeks. “Don’t care. Hope they don’t contact us, actually.” 
You shot up as gunfire littered the ground around you. Your break was over. It had only been about thirty seconds, but that was enough time for you to be targeted. The bullets were different though—bigger, almost…charged? You didn’t have a word for the current that seemed to run through them. 
Didn’t want to have a word for it. 
“How do you propose we do our jobs then?” you asked, humoring him, loving being under his gaze. 
But Bucky became serious, brow lowering. After taking a moment, watching his thumb as is passed over your skin—
“I want to retire,” he whispered. “This is the big one, but then I want to be done. I want it to be just us. I want to be home. With you.” 
Your name ripped through the air like a siren. You turned, craning your neck to catch the call, but it wasn’t fast enough. 
You heard the shots before anything else. Your body braced for impact, braced for the end, but was met with nothing. A small groan was all you were left with, followed by the decimation of whatever had been shooting at you. Tony flew by in its wake, hands still flaming red from the blast. 
When you turned your eyes back down, the battle ceased to exist. There were no sounds, no guns, no danger. There was just Bucky, pressed against your chest, breathing heavier than you’d ever seen him. 
“Buck?” you whispered, reaching out to brace his arms. “Bucky?” 
Bucky didn’t answer you. His knees buckled instead, and you fell to the ground alongside him. Maybe if you were stronger, faster, anything other than what you were, you would have been able to catch him. But you weren’t, so you fell with him, beside him, as you would be with everything in life. 
You positioned him along your thighs, leaning back on your ankles as you examined him. You went to pull at this suit, but he stopped you, brushing your arm away. He reached up but didn’t make contact with your face like you thought he would. He grabbed your comm instead, missing it the first time in an uncoordinated shuffle. 
Bucky was never uncoordinated. 
“Steve,” he said into the device, urgency mixing with an incoherent slur you had never heard from him. “I’m down. I’m—pal, I’m done. You gotta get to y/n. She’s—” 
The rest of his words were nothing but a buzz. The entire scene, the world around you, turned into white noise. Later, you would recognize this as shock. In the moment, it felt as if you ceased to exist. As if everything was ending.
And maybe everything was ending. Because when Bucky put the comm down—when he gripped at the back of your neck and his lips began staining red from blood you couldn’t see yet—it felt as if there was nothing left of you. 
Your hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. 
“You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky whispered. His voice sounded distant, weak. “Stevie’s gonna take care of you.” 
His hands guided your forehead down to his. His labored breath brushed across your lips. 
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” 
Something snapped within you. Something sharp and cruel. A panicked cry left your throat and you pressed back from Bucky in one quick movement. Your hands whipped around him in desperation.
“No,” you gasped, tearing at his vest. “No, no, no, no. You’re fine. I can fix it. I can fix it, Bucky.” 
But the more you shifted his clothes, the more you saw that you wouldn’t be able to fix it. There was so much blood and it wouldn’t stop flowing from his body. You pressed your palms to the wounds to staunch the flow, but it only ran in between your fingers. 
Bucky wasn’t normal; he could heal from most things. That fact had sent him into the line of fire more times than you could count. 
He had also been in this situation an infuriating amount of times, throwing himself in front of you to take the brunt of a hit more often than you had actually been injured. 
But this time… this time he had grabbed your comm before sending you a sheepish laugh. This time he had apologized and asked his friend to take care of you. 
This time he wouldn’t stop bleeding. 
“It won’t stop. It won’t stop,” you cried, shaky and broken and disbelieving. “I’m trying, Bucky, I swear. Why won’t it stop?” 
“Look at me.” 
You kept up with your ministrations, pressing into his stomach even when he had no response to it. Couldn’t he feel it? Didn’t it hurt?” 
“I can’t make it stop.” 
“Please look at me, baby.” 
With a ruined cry, you did as he asked. His eyes were lidded, but his mouth turned up on one side when you entered his view. 
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed out, straining to touch you. “Love you so fucking much.” 
Your sob was harsh and painful. “I love you more.” 
A scream pierced the sky not too long after that. Steve was only able to find you because of it. 
Even if you moved now, you wouldn’t be able to go home. You’d never be home again.
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danikatze · 6 months
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[ID in alt text]
Inktober day 10: nocturnal.
There it is, my first Inktober comic of this year haha. I have another one planned, but that's only going to be one page. :3 I don't know if it's clear (probably not), but on the second page Hinoe steals the book of friends from Reiko's bag and she gives it back in the last panel.
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[ID in alt text]
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day 10
a followup for the asocial headache homies
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sidekick-hero · 2 months
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(steddie | teen | 3.2k | tags: werewolf!Steve, Human!Eddie, hurt!Steve, Eddie taking care of Steve, minor characters death | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is feeling safe by @novacorpsrecruit | AO3)
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He runs for his life, his paws hitting the snowy ground with heavy thumps. His flank hurts where the bullet buried itself, but it's distant, drowned out by his instinct to survive. He can't afford to slow down, so he pushes through, letting his instincts carry him as fast as his legs will take him.
His pursuers are only human, not equipped to keep up with a nearly grown wolf. But he's hurt, and he's exhausted, and they have guns.
Part of him wonders why he's even trying to save himself.
They killed the whole village. His parents, his friends, his neighbors. They all burned to death, and those who managed to escape the flames were slaughtered by the hunters. All except him, who managed to escape through the secret tunnels beneath their home, while his parents stayed behind to fight off the invaders.
The Harringtons had been the alphas of their pack, and it was their responsibility to protect the pack with their lives.
None of them deserved to die. No one in their pack had ever hurt a human. They hardly ever saw one, choosing to live as far away from their settlements as possible while still being able to trade with them for the goods they couldn't produce.
It didn't matter to the hunters who came late at night and ambushed them in their sleep. In their eyes, they were monsters. His parents always warned him that humans would never understand them, would always fear them, and fear breeds hatred. Humans couldn't be trusted, they weren't safe.
Back when that meant he couldn't be friends with the daughter of the blacksmith his parents did business with, he refused to believe them. But now it seems that they were always right.
Humans are not to be trusted. They're not safe.
It feels like Steve has been running for hours and still he hears them following him, following his bloody trail. They're not even stealthy, branches snapping, shouts and the occasional gunshot. He's not sure how much longer he can keep going, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up with him.
He's so focused on listening to the hunters behind him that he doesn't really look where he's going, just runs and runs and runs.
Suddenly the world turns upside down, the pain in his flank flares up, white-hot, and then everything goes dark.
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He comes to slowly, his senses catching up with reality one by one.
It's warm where he lies, the sharp smell of burning wood heavy in the air. Panic rises in his throat and he can't stop the whine falling from his muzzle, it must mean he didn't make it out after all, he's still trapped in the burning ruins of his home. He's going to die here, burned alive like everyone else he's known since he was a pup.
His ears pick up other sounds over the crackling of a nearby fire. Someone is here, Steve can smell them. Smell him. It's a human, a man. His scent is strong, clinging to the soft blanket Steve can feel beneath him. He's humming a familiar tune, his voice deep and melodic, and Steve can't believe he's about to die with the tune of a nursery rhyme stuck in his head.
Heavy footsteps are coming toward him, and Steve hasn't opened his eyes yet, but he thinks the guy is wearing heavy boots. It's winter, after all, and humans don't run as hot as wolves, completely unprotected from the harshness of the season.
His whole body aches, every limb is heavy, and exhaustion is trying to drag him under again. Steve knows he's in no condition to fight, that he won't last more than a few seconds before the human kills him, but he won't die without a fight. That's not who he is.
So when he feels the human stop in front of him and fall to his knees beside Steve's motionless body, Steve attacks.
Well, he tries. But his body won't cooperate, the pain makes him so dizzy that he almost loses consciousness as he tries to rise enough to sink his teeth into the human's soft flesh. He sinks back down, with pained whimpers he tries to suppress but can't.
"Shh, hey, it's okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise. I'm trying to help you, but you are gonna have to stay still and let me, okay?"
It doesn't make any sense, none of it, but he's so tired and the voice talking to him sounds so nice, warm and soothing. It makes him want to lie still and let it wash over him. With the last of his strength, he blinks his eyes open to look at the man who is about to end his life, no matter what his alluring voice promises.
The last thing Steve sees before the pain and exhaustion pulls him back under are the man's eyes. They were a rich, dark brown, like melted chocolate under a gentle heat. Their warmth held a soft depth, inviting and comforting, reminiscent of a cozy fireplace on a chilly evening. With each gaze, it was as if the soft flicker of candlelight danced within them, creating an aura of quiet reassurance.
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The next time Steve is awake, he feels better. He's still weak, but the bone-deep exhaustion has eased. So has the pain, a dull ache rather than a white-hot agony that sets his nerves on fire. As he comes more and more to himself, his brain clearing the haze of sleep, he takes stock.
He's still alive.
He's still surrounded by the scent of the man who found him.
He's comfortable, a soft surface and blankets beneath him.
He's starving.
As if he heard Steve's thoughts - or more likely his growling stomach - Steve hears the man approaching again. Opening his eyes blearily, Steve sees him standing in the doorway with a plate in his hand, and the smell that hits Steve's nose makes his empty stomach cramp with hunger, and saliva floods his mouth. Roasted chicken, Steve's favorite.
"Look who's awake," the man says, and Steve wonders if he knows who Steve is or if he's one of those guys who talks to animals. He really hopes it's the latter, because that makes his chances of survival at least a little better.
The man takes another two steps towards him, but then stops and looks at him cautiously.
"Okay, last time didn't go so well, huh?" He asks, but Steve thinks it's more rhetorical. "I've got food for you, so please don't bite me? God, it's a good thing Wayne isn't here or he'd think I'd finally lost it, talking to a wolf."
Shaking his head, the man comes closer and Steve takes in his appearance. He doesn't look particularly dangerous, rather slender with dark curls and a pale complexion. He doesn't carry any weapons, but he does have an ugly scar on his face. It must have been a deep cut, and it runs in a jagged line across his cheek.
Steve tries to lift his head when the man is close enough to strike, but he only manages a few inches before sinking back down with a soft whine.
"Hey, hey, hey, you shouldn't move yet, sweetheart. It's a miracle nothing's broken, as far as I can tell, but that bullet really did a number on you, almost like it was poisoned. Bastards to do this to another being."
Silver bullet, Steve thinks. That explains the intense pain and weakness.
Then he forgets all about it the moment the smell of the chicken intensifies as the man reaches out to Steve's muzzle with a large chunk of meat between his fingers. The man, if you can call him that, probably about Steve's age, looks terrified as he does so, but he doesn't stop until Steve can close his teeth around the meat and pull it into his mouth. When the meat is gone, Steve chewing happily and the guy still in possession of all five fingers, his host breathes a sigh of relief.
"Shit, man, that was scary," the man laughs, his dimples popping. He beams at Steve as he hands him another large chunk of chicken.
This human is so weird, Steve thinks. Talking to a wolf like it's a human, chastising hunters for wounding it with what he thinks is a poisoned bullet. Feeding it its own rations by hand, during a harsh winter, no less.
Whatever plan is behind this: Steve doesn't understand it. But he's too weak to think much about it, because as soon as the plate is empty and his stomach comfortably full, Steve sinks back under.
He dreams of soft hands stroking his fur, and of someone softly singing to him the lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was a pup and woke up from a nightmare.
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It becomes routine as Steve's body fights off the effects of the silver bullet.
The man, whose name was Eddie, as Steve learned during one of the many times he was sort of talking to himself, fed him meat by hand, and sometimes broth and potatoes. Every two days he would also dress his wound, always clicking his tongue at the state of it and muttering about asshole hunters.
Eddie always talked while tending to Steve, at first telling him how his body was healing and what Eddie was doing to help him. But after a while, he began to tell Steve about his days and his chores, regaling Steve with tales of his adventures while gathering firewood or preparing meals for them. It was surprisingly comforting to listen to Eddie talk, his stories always funny and dramatic, with a hint of self-deprecation.
It didn't make sense to Steve why Eddie was doing all this until one night he started talking about his uncle, who had gone to the city to find work to better support them and hadn't been home in months.
It was then that Steve realized that Eddie was lonely.
He'd been alone in that cabin in the middle of the woods for months until he found Steve lying in a ravine and carried him home.
Steve was the closest thing Eddie had to a companion in months.
Knowing that eased some of the apprehension he felt toward Eddie, because it seemed that as long as the man didn't know that Steve wasn't an ordinary wolf, he didn't have to be afraid of him.
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Three weeks after Steve first woke up in Eddie's cabin, he manages to get up on weak legs and take a few tentative steps before collapsing again.
Eddie is there to catch him and by then his hands are welcome on Steve's body.
They are always gentle with Steve, stroking his fur and snout, scratching behind his ears just right. Eddie touches him all the time now, and Steve has no idea how he feels about it.
That's not entirely true, he has an inkling of what the warmth means that spreads through his body when Eddie lies down behind him on the mattress he'd put in front of the fireplace so Steve would be warm while he healed. Every night, Eddie would bury his face in Steve's fur right at his neck, a vulnerable place only close members of a pack were ever allowed to put their snouts, and stroke Steve's side and belly with gentle hands until they both drifted off to sleep.
Everything smelled of Eddie. Steve smelled of Eddie.
And Eddie had begun to smell of Steve.
It made his inner wolf purr with satisfaction, and that was such a phenomenally bad idea.
That's why Steve is trying to get back on his feet as quickly as possible, so he can leave before these feelings that have started to grow in his heart get any worse.
Eddie is human.
Humans are not to be trusted. They are not safe.
But Eddie feels safe.
Worse, he is starting to feel a lot like mate, and Eddie has no idea what that even means.
"Careful, Koda. You're still healing. There's no rush, y'know. You can stay here as long as you want, okay? This is your home now, too."
Steve whines softly at the ache in Eddie's voice and licks his neck and face to comfort him. The wet tongue probably tickles because it makes Eddie laugh, and he buries his face in the thick fur at the front of Steve's neck.
And Steve just lets him, lets him press his mouth against his throat while he nuzzles behind Eddie's ear and breathes in his scent.
Steve is fucked.
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It all comes to a head a few weeks later.
Steve is now back on his feet and uses his new mobility to follow Eddie around and keep him company while he does his chores, often dozing next to him while he cooks or chops wood or sorts through their rapidly dwindling supplies. Soon Eddie will have to go hunting to keep them stocked with meat, and Eddie hates the thought. He doesn't want to hurt another creature.
That's why Steve decides to go hunting for his human. He can provide for him.
A week later, he leaves in the middle of the night, carefully slipping out of Eddie's arms around him and trotting through the little door that Eddie built into his door so that Steve could relieve himself whenever he needed to.
It goes better than Steve expected, his muscles still not back to where they used to be, but stronger and faster than he would have thought after weeks of lying around. He follows the tracks of a deer for almost an hour before he finally finds it. The hunt itself is short, the wind comes from the right direction, and the deer clearly doesn't sense him until it's too late.
Steve kills it as quickly and painlessly as possible, sure that Eddie would want him to. He thinks he would do anything to make Eddie happy.
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When Steve comes back from the woods, he's dragging the deer's body with his snout, wishing he could just shift back into his human body because it would be so much easier with his hands. But the shift takes a lot out of an already weakened body, and he can't risk it. In a few weeks it will be as easy as breathing again, he's sure of that, but right now it could be a serious setback in his recovery.
He can already see the cabin through the trees when he hears Eddie's voice calling for him. He sounds panicked and Steve immediately drops his prey to run to his mate.
Eddie is not even wearing a jacket, his breath coming out in clouds of condensed air as he stumbles through the glittering snow, calling for Koda.
He calls for his wolf with panicked tears in his voice and Steve barrels into him without a second's hesitation. Eddie falls to the ground, his arms full of Steve, his hands clutching Steve's fur as if he's afraid this is a dream and Steve will disappear again.
"Koda? Oh my God, where the hell have you been? I was worried sick. I thought you just disappeared." Eddie sits up, his arms never letting go of where they are wrapped around Steve, and Steve can smell the tears on his face. He carefully licks them away as more and more follow. "Please don't leave me, please, please, please," Eddie keeps begging him, his whole body shaking and Steve wants to shift so badly. He wants to take his mate in his arms and hold him, soothe his pain and fear and promise him that he'll never leave him.
So even though he knows better, he does.
One moment Eddie is holding a big, brown wolf in his arms, and the next he is holding a very human, very naked man in his lap.
If Steve wasn't scared to death of how Eddie will react, he would laugh at the high-pitched squeal Eddie lets out when he realizes what has happened.
"Hi," Steve says, waving at Eddie with fluttering fingers. Not his smoothest moment, but to be fair, this isn't how he usually approaches someone he's attracted to. For once he is usually wearing a lot more clothes.
"Uhhh, hi?" Eddie asks, stunned. "Who... Wait, not important right now. Where is my wolf? My Koda. I just got him back."
Steve is pretty sure that Eddie must be in shock and not thinking clearly, but it warms his heart how attached he is to Steve's wolf. He hopes he can get him to like his human side just as much.
Deciding it's best to just come clean with Eddie, Steve exclaims, "Tada," and does a very silly imitation of jazz hands.
Eddie just blinks at him with big eyes.
Okay, Plan B it is, Steve thinks. "I'm him. I'm Koda. Or, well, no, I'm Steve, but you couldn't know that. But, um, yeah, I'm your wolf?" Steve cringes at the your, but it's too late to take it back, and besides, he really wants to be Eddie's wolf.
He wants to be Eddie's everything.
"I knew it!"
Eddie's sudden outburst startles Steve so much that he almost falls off Eddie's lap before Eddie's arms tighten around him.
"Sorry, sorry. It's just... my mom told me about wolves that could turn into humans. She used to tell me stories about how they used to be the protectors of villages and towns, the friends and companions of humans, before some humans turned against them, jealous of the admiration and status they had with the villagers, and drove them away. Mama said that when a wolf chooses you as a mate, you are blessed for life. She always wanted to meet one of you."
Steve knows about Eddie's mother, another story he told Steve under the protective cover of night as they lay on their mattress, Steve's fur soaking up Eddie's tears as he talked about losing his mother when he was only ten.
"Aren't you afraid of me?" Steve still has to ask, his heart beating as fast as the wings of a bird taking flight.
Eddie looks at him as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Afraid of you? Koda... I mean, Stevie, can I call you Stevie?" at Steve's nod Eddie continues, "Are you going to hurt me?"
Now it's Steve's turn to look at Eddie in disbelief. "What? No! Never! Eddie, I promise I would never hurt you. I just thought that you..."
"That I would hurt you if I found out what you are?" Eddie asks quietly, his thumb stroking Steve's collarbone.
"Yes," Steve admits in a low voice. "But not anymore."
"No?" He sounds so hopeful when he asks this, so trusting in the way he holds Steve in his arms, even after learning of Steve's true nature. Steve smiles down at the man who saved him, who tended to him, who cared for him.
His human.
His mate, if Eddie will let him. Steve thinks he might.
"No, I feel safe with you."
Eddie's answering smile is blinding, and Steve has to kiss him, right here in the snow, sitting buck naked in Eddie's lap, the morning sun bathing them in its hopeful light.
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ikaishere · 6 months
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Love of my life
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flufftober day 10, and, of course, it could be no one else but them:)
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lady-lostmind · 2 months
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Bittersweet
Love is: Missing each other.
a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!
WC: 891 | Rating: T
ao3 link
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Steve hurries in the door, throwing his bag down and rushing to the phone, snatching it off the hook. “Eds?”
Eddie’s voice rings through the line. “Hey, Sweetheart.”
Steve sighs, slumping against the wall, heart still pounding in his chest. “Thought I was going to miss you. I got out later than I thought.” 
Eddie sighs. “You kind of did, baby. I’m sorry. I’ve been calling for like twenty minutes. We have to leave soon. I just…really wanted to hear your voice so I’ve been stalling.”
Steve feels a lump form in his throat and he tries to push back the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, I’m sorry. I uh– fuck.  I miss you.” 
Eddie pulls away from the phone and Steve can hear a muffled argument happening on the other end of the line, probably with one of the guys from the band. Eddie comes back, full volume, and clearly frustrated. “I miss you too, Stevie. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll try to call tomorrow, okay?” 
“Okay, I lov–” Steve sighs as the dial tone rings out in his ear, and slumps against the wall. 
He hates this. Hates that he only gets to talk to Eddie for a few minutes every couple of days. Hates that every conversation is rushed. Hates that he feels anxious if he’s out of the house for too long, not knowing when Eddie might get the chance to call. 
He hates that he kind of hates the band. That he hates this tour. Because he’s thrilled for Eddie. He is. He’s so glad that he’s getting to live his dream. That the band got signed. That the tour is almost sold out. He is. Eddie deserves for all his dreams to come through. It’s just– things are moving so fast. And they were just really settling into a life together and now…
Steve just misses him. He misses him so fucking much. Misses coming home to his crazy loud music. Misses falling asleep in his arms. Misses the way he would hop up from whatever he was doing to give Steve a kiss goodbye. He misses him all the time. 
So, yes. He’s so happy for Eddie. And wants nothing more than for this to go well. He hopes he’s having the time of his life. It just also…really sucks.
Eddie shoves Gareth who just hung up on Steve, and tries to grab the phone back from him. “What the fuck, man. He’s going to think I hung up on him!”
Gareth rolls his eyes, holding the phone out of Eddie’s reach. “We’ve been waiting on you for like half an hour, man!”
Terry sticks his head out of the bus. “LET’S GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!”
Eddie sighs, dropping his hold on Gareth and rolling his eyes at him when he just stares at him, waiting to make sure he’s actually heading back. Eddie turns around and jogs over to the bus, hoping they make a pit stop early tomorrow before Steve heads to work. 
No one ever tells you that having all your dreams com true is going to like, kind of fuck up anything good you already had going on in your life. And Eddie had it fucking made, okay? He landed Steve Harrington. Steve motherfucking Harrington. And this tour is fucking it up. 
Sure, it’s fucking amazing. It’s everything he ever dreamed it would be. Playing to thousands of people a night, hearing them scream the lyrics to his songs back at him. Getting to do the whole rockstar thing. Which, okay. That’s maybe being a little generous still. They’re not playing sold out stadiums or anything. They’re not fucking Metallica. But like, they have fans. They’re selling out venues. Sure, small ones. But a sold out show is a fucking sold out show. And they’re making like, actual real money. Eddie can say that he is a professional musician. Because he is currently supporting himself with his music. And that shit is cool, okay. He is goddamn ecstatic about that shit. 
But he misses Steve. A lot. And he hates that he can hear the hurt in his voice every time they talk. He would never tell Eddie. But he can tell. That this is fucking killing him. And he’s not doing so hot himself. Turns out you get used to it when a pretty boy is constantly smiling at you and giving you kisses when you walk by. He’s in fucking withdrawl, okay? Plus like…he was getting laid. Like, regularly. That’s not something he ever thought he’d have. He misses snuggling up to Steve at night, their hands wandering, and getting to hear Steve’s voice turn all breathy. 
And it’s not just the sex. He misses the sex, okay? He’s only human. But he misses Steve. He misses their shitty little apartment. He misses going to pick him up from work and take him to dinner. He misses the way Steve hums in the shower. He misses when he gets all sleepy when they watch a movie on the couch, clearly dozing against Eddie’s chest but insisting that he’s still watching. He misses the way he lights up when Eddie walks in the door, going all puppy eyes and smiles. 
So, yeah. He gets to be a rockstar. But he misses his fucking boyfriend. 
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