#and working on fic today

[pulchramsolis]

When you wake up choosing violence because you want threads where your muse dies.

[frownyalfred]

thinking about the expert masseuse Alfred hired for the family that is paid a small fortune annually to provide massage services and ignore so, so many things. No questions, no remarks, just quality service and an ironclad NDA that, if broken, would probably topple said masseuse’s entire family line.

Things Alfred is paying them to ignore, in no specific order:

Bruce’s spinal hardware courtesy of Bane :)

weird amounts of muscle on everyone, even the kids (despite them allegedly not working physical jobs)

scars

FRESH scars

the fact that every joint in Bruce’s body clicks when moved/manipulated at the tender age of 42

Olympic athlete level physiques

rotator cuff injuries across the whole family

scars that are definitely from bullets and/or acid splashes

old signs of what looks like torture (Bruce)

Dick’s entire left arm is basically screws and plates (he “fell really bad” once)

every single family member takes deep tissue massage with max pressure with 0 complaints

calluses

no really, the weirdest fucking calluses

[kirishwima]

JJK guys pre-relationship texts: When YOU go on a date with someone else (Part 2)

TW: Very suggestive at Toji's part. MDNI!

Nanami:

Toji:

[courfee]

it's been exactly a year since the last chapter of Operation Walburga's Arbitrary No Kissing Ever Rule and I still miss it. This scene is probably one of my favourite things I've ever written and I've wanted to draw it for forever, so now seemed like an appropriate time

[starrystevie]

steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

[lighteyed]

can it be easy this once? / steve harrington

summary: steve accidentally gives a stupid answer to your honest question. (best friends with benefits pining idiots to lovers, fem!reader)

unedited we die like men & title from the alcott by the national ft taylor swift hehehe enjoy

It started as a means of comfort after Starcourt, when he was bloody and bruised up but you took him home and got closer, closer, closer, until it turned into a mess of blurred lines and panting breaths, lips swollen for reasons other than being hurt, for better reasons, reasons that brought forth safety and relief for the two of you. You both tend to hunger for such things. It’d been good, easy, for a bit there. Lately it’d felt like the intimacy was threatening to choke you. Like you’d never met a form of  closeness you didn’t cling to. And God, did it feel like you were clinging. Craving an unwarranted change. Was it so unwarranted? You weren’t sure, you could never tell.

    The air in his room is hot and sticky with summer, the ceiling fan providing the barest relief, your bare skin providing the slightest bit more. You stare all around his room, taking in all the stark traces of him, though in truth it doesn’t betray much, just as he attempts to. It’s a plain room, plaid walls, matching curtains, his desk messy and cluttered, all the dresser’s drawers slightly ajar like he spent a touch too long shuffling through all his clothes to determine which outfit would be best, which, knowing him in the way you do, he probably did. You knew he wasn’t as secure as he liked everyone to believe. Steve Harrington tried his best, but sometimes you saw right through him.

     Other times he was harder to read. It was probably purposeful, layers of protection built around himself. Don’t love anyone, don’t let anyone love you, and you won’t get hurt. People can only hurt you if you let them. Steve wasn’t letting anyone anymore. Definitely not his parents, definitely not Nancy Wheeler, definitely not random girls who would inevitably end up disappointed with him. He swore it all off. He was a hopeless romantic who never wanted to be in love again. You understood it for the most part. Or you attempted to. It was hard when you were halfway (maybe more than halfway) in love with the guy, in his bed most nights, in his company most days, acting like a couple without being an established couple because he was too hesitant and you were too gentle to be pushy.

    He nudges you lightly, naked chest peeking up from his covers, naked everything else kept firmly underneath. “You okay? You’re quiet.” He sits up so he’s level with you, and you avoid eye contact by leaning down toward the floor to grasp for the shirt he let you borrow, a faded Spider-Man one he insisted was from middle school. You didn’t entirely believe him, but maybe it was just funny, and kind of sweet, to picture Steve sleeping in a Spider-Man shirt and keeping it a secret just for himself. You pull the shirt on over your head, and before you can do it for yourself, he reaches for your hair and takes it out from where it’s caught under the shirt. The familiarity of it makes you flinch. You can have sex with him all you want but God forbid he’s the slightest bit loving outside of that. It confuses you, the softness in the touches that aren’t in bed with him. If he holds your hand in any context other than bringing you as into him as possible while he slips himself in and out, you lose all sense of normalcy between the two of you. You can’t be normal when he’s holding your hand and stroking your cheeks and being kind, soft, adoring Steve, without being your Steve.

     “I’m fine, I’m just…” You reach for your shorts at the end of the bed. Steve watches you get dressed with his eyebrows scrunched together, confused. You’re not usually in a rush to leave after you have sex. Not that he wants you to. He likes that you stay until day sinks into night and he drives you home and waits to repeat it all again. Waits to see you, generally. And it’s not sex every single time. You drag him to see whatever’s playing at the Hawk and he makes you sit with him at Family Video on slow days when it’s just him on the clock and a single tumbleweed blows through the store instead of any customers. He drives you just about anywhere you ask and he lets you put on any cassettes you want in his car even if he hates what’s playing. It’s nice, the friendship part of all of it. If you had to give everything else up and just keep the friendship you’d be willing. He’d be willing. You consider it. “Nothing, just tired, probably gonna head home,” you smile at him over your shoulder before pulling on your socks and it’s half-hearted and he knows it.

    “What? You can sleep here, you know that,” he waves a hand around the room, trying to catch your gaze, but you avoid his eyes again. Descending light slants in through the curtains and envelopes him in gold. He glows, he’s so pretty. His hair is messy from where you heatedly ran your hands through it, but it still looks nearly perfect. The fact that he always looks so good infuriates you.

    “No yeah, I know, I wanna like shower and stuff too, and I left my new book at home and I wanted to do some reading,” you bluff calmly, standing up from tangled bedsheets and roaming the room in search of your sneakers.

   “That Stephen King scary clown book? I’ll take you home and you can come back and read it here, so you don’t get scared,” and he knows you won’t get scared and that you love horror far more than he ever could but he just really, really doesn’t want to be alone. Why would you go when everything’s right here? His parents aren’t home and something about you leaving makes him antsy and desperate. When you still refuse to look at him he feels himself, his confidence, growing smaller and smaller. “Did I- did I do something?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as pathetic as it does.

   You whip around to face him, finally, finally, and touch a hand to his face. Relief floods through him at the heat of your fingers. “No, of course not, it’s all me, okay? I’m all sweaty and awful.”

    “You look beautiful, I swear,” he squeezes your hand and you feel like you’re drowning. It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me, it’s me.” He scoots closer, if that’s possible. “You’re one of my best friends, we tell each other everything.” You look up toward the ceiling, inwardly groaning. Best friend.

   “You do this with all your best friends?”  

    “Well, no, Robin wouldn’t touch me even if she didn’t like girls-“ He feels himself starting to grin, teasing smile lilting at his lips.

     “Steve!” You’re laughing a little and so is he as you push his arm back. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

    “What’d you mean, then?” He’s still smiling, that entrancing, deliberately pouty, lazy smile. Vaguely smirky. You don’t know if it’s deliberate, a ploy to distract you, con you into staying, make you less prone to saying what you want to say, but you press anyway, even though he’s making you want to lean forward and endlessly kiss the smirk off his mouth.

   “I just think, I don’t know… you’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

   “’Course not, why, you got other plans after this?” He grins again. You roll your eyes. He makes it so hard sometimes.

    “Steve,” you whine, “I’m so serious right now.”

    “Okay, okay. No, you’re the only one for me.” He means it. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you seeing anyone else?” He asks you like it’s the easiest question in the world for him to ask but honestly he’s shitting his pants a little. He’s not sure what’d he say if you said yes, I am, and I think we should end this, which is where he’s assuming the conversation is going. You’ve got we shouldn’t do this anymore written all over you in his eyes and he’s steeling himself for the heartbreak.

     “Does it look like I am?”

     “Does it look like I am?” He repeats back, and he reaches for your hand in that too intimate way of his, takes it all careful and slow. “What’s this about?”

     “I just, I just think, that, you know, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re not seeing anyone, but we’re sorta… seeing each other, yeah?” You gesture between the two of you. He nods. He’s staring at you very intensely, waiting for you to get your words out. He’s still waiting for you to say you think this whole thing has been a very bad mistake, a miscalculated judgement on your part, you should go back to the way things were, so he’s not expecting what comes out of you next. “Shouldn’t we be, like, official, then?”

     And instead of throwing up all the ways he so badly would love for that to happen, he chokes out, because he’s stupid and speechless, “Official?” And the way he says it, like it’s a curse when it’s only his disbelief that you’d want that with him after all this time, makes you immediately go into panic mode.

    He quite literally sees the way you lose any sense of confidence in your question and he immediately tries to take it back as you stand from his side and start trying to force your words back in your mouth, too. “Fuck, forget I said anything,” you mumble, spying your shoes shoved under his desk where you’d comfortably kicked them off. You hasten to put them on as Steve scrambles up from the bed and starts dressing, matching your frantic speed.

    “Hey, wait, that’s not what I- I didn’t mean it like that-“

     “It’s fine, Steve, I get it, I totally do, this isn’t that for you, it’s fine-“

      “It is, it is-“ but you’re not hearing him, your mind is already elsewhere. It’s in your own bed in the quiet, alone with your thoughts and not with him, mercifully not with him. You need this one mercy, “I’ll drive you home, babe, c’mon, I’ll explain everything, please-“

    “I got it, it’s fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to explain, okay? I got it,” and you don’t just walk out of his house and down the block to yours, you absolutely flee. You take Steve’s heart with you.

      He’s pacing the floor behind the register at Family Video three days and three shifts later, practically clawing at the walls of the place, and Robin is pulling her hair out at the sight of him in distress this way.

     “What did you do?” She finally breaks, flipping her magazine shut.

      “What? How do you know it was me?” He stops pacing. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

       “You’ve had three shifts and she hasn’t visited one single time. She always visits. And I know I didn’t do anything wrong, because I never do anything wrong, so, what’d you do?” Robin places her hand under his chin and stares at him expectantly.

      He huffs, his hands on hips. “Maybe she did something, Robin, did you ever think of that?”

     “Definitely not,” Robin retorts, waiting for Steve to be serious.

      He deflates. “Okay, it was me.”

      “I know that, now continue.”

      “We were, you know,” he tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes.

     “Having sex, sure,” Robin bobs her head. A customer in the nearest aisle frowns and shuffles toward a different section further away from the two of them.

     Steve shushes her. “I wasn’t trying to say it so loud.”

    “Having sex,” Robin repeats, louder this time, not bothering to fight back a laugh at Steve’s exasperated expression, “continue.”

      “Well, after that, she started asking if, if I was seeing anyone, which of course I’m not, because, you know, I’m into her, obviously, so I told her I wasn’t, and she said she wasn’t, so she said maybe we should be official.” Steve hesitates to say the rest of what happened. He still can’t believe all he could do when you said the words was repeat them back to you with that stupid look on his face instead of giving you the biggest, loudest declaration of love in a big, messy, pathetic, devoted way, the way he pictures himself when it comes to you, messy and pathetic and devoted, and he replays that moment back to himself all day long, thinking of everything else he could’ve said to make you understand.

    “That’s what you want, isn’t it? She’s all you talk about all day long, you want to be with her, don’t you?”

    “Of course I do!” He snaps, dragging a hand across his face. “But when she said it I just couldn’t get the words out and she got, she got so sad and she left without me being able to explain anything and she hasn’t answered the phone which, yes, I’ve been calling, and I don’t know how to do this.” He’d never been good at school but he knew he’d get a Grade A in Pitiful.

    “Do what? Tell a girl you love her? You’ve been in relationships before, Steve.”

    “I know, but…” he sighs. “I’m different now, like, it’s not as easy anymore, for me, and I- I don’t want her to get hurt, and I don’t want to get hurt, it’s like, everything used to be my fault, and I wasn’t as good as I could have been, and I don’t want to break anything, I don’t want it to get fucked up, because it’ll be my fault, and I can’t do that again. Not to her.” He swallows, the words harder to come by than he would care to admit. “I’m a little… I’m a little in love with her, I think.” This is said quietly. It frightens him to say it out loud. He’s gone over it in his head, those words, so few of them, but they say so much, and it’s scary. He hasn’t said them to someone in years. The last time he did he got so brutally hurt he thought he’d never recover. But he had. So why was it still so scary?

    “A little bit?” Robin teases, but it’s all love for him, truly.

    “Alright, a lot in love,” he concedes. He wants to get used to saying it. He wants to say it to you. For real. Loudly. “I still don’t know how to do this, though. Not anymore.”

   “Come on!” Robin gets up from her stool and places her hands on his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington. You were using those…” she pauses for a beat and then, “charms,” the word is said with the smallest hint of sarcasm but she persists nonetheless, “on tons of girls in high school and at Scoops! Now whip them out again for our very nice friend that you sometimes go to town with!”

   “When did any of those charms,” he says it with a matching sarcastic tone, “work aside from when I was sixteen and an idiot?”

   “You might not be sixteen anymore but you’re still an idiot, if that helps.”

    “It doesn’t but thank you for the encouragement.”

    “I’m just saying!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up and returning back to her seat. “Putting yourself out there is always gonna be scary, but you can’t let that stop you. You’d actually be an idiot if you let that stop you. Are you just never gonna see her again? No, because you’d go insane. It’s not like what you did was all that bad anyway.”

    “You really think so?” He perks up a bit, needing that confirmation that he isn’t a totally awful and irredeemable person. It’s easy for him to fall headfirst into that spiral of thinking. It was a trap set with the most accessible, perfect bait and he somehow always found himself walking straight into it without stopping to think if he was being fair to himself.

    “You’ve both been in bad spots, you reacted the way you did and she reacted the way she did out of what was most likely panic and embarrassment. She’s definitely not even mad at you. Probably just, again, embarrassed. If you explain I think it’ll all be okay, Steve, I swear.” Robin can’t take much more of this conversation circling around, as much as she loves Steve and wants to be there for him, she would love him even more if he acted on his feelings and allowed himself some happiness for once.  “So do you think you can you, like, maybe go tell her so she can keep visiting us at work? I need more company than just you and Keith and these customers with no taste,” she complains, glaring at the closed door that hides Keith, in all his absolute glory. The customer from before hears her comment and storms out. Robin rolls her eyes.

    “Right, yeah, tell her I love her, tell my best friend I love her,” he frowns, nerves creeping up the back of his neck. “Maybe you could just call her first and ask-“

     “Steve! I am not meddling in your love life like that when you already know everything there is to know!” She throws her magazine at him. “She said she wants to be with you, go be with her!”

    “Alright, alright!” He waves his hands dismissively. He begins to pace again, this time his eyes held to the clock. Robin groans. There’s still three hours left of their shift.

     You’re in your room wallowing, or doing what’d you call attempting not to wallow but failing at it miserably. You haven’t touched a single page of your book, mostly content to just listen to sad records and more or less stare at the wall. It was stupid, you knew, to behave in such a way over some guy. But it didn’t feel like some guy. It was Steve, after all. It all felt deeper than just some guy. You two had been through a lot together, more than most people have been, and if you’d just ruined your friendship with someone you always felt safe, felt at home with, over feelings you couldn’t control and probably would be better off not having, you were going to need some serious therapy.

     It probably was silly of the two of you to start this thing up anyway, you reason, fighting back your urge to do any further crying into a pillow. You try to focus on painting your nails a nice shade of dark blue but it reminds you of Steve’s old Scoops uniform and of that night (and all that nights that followed) so you stop in the middle of your second thumb and grab nail polish remover and start scrubbing away at your finished right hand.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you mutter, the cotton ball in your hand soaked through with blue and your nails discolored and muddy. “I am ridiculous,” you say to yourself, shaking off your wet hand. Your room is filled with the smell of acetone and disappointment. You think about lighting a candle when your doorbell rings. You debate answering it before it rings again. And then again. And again, more frenzied this time.

    You open the door to a distressed Steve. His cheeks are red and he’s breathing like he can’t anymore. He’s not the multi-star athlete he was in high school, he realizes in this moment. “Did you- did you just run here from work?” You ask him, but he’s already too close to you, not answering your question, gazing at you because simply looking isn’t enough and has never been enough. He is gazing. He is flush with adoration. It’s hard not to bloom under that radiance. He makes you want to forget everything and go back to plush lips on hot skin and the quiet contentment that came alongside being with him in those first few months. You back up a little into your doorway but he steps up to you, following your steps. “Where’s your car-“

    “Forget that for a sec,” he says, and you stop talking out of surprise. “Just, just tell me if we do this it’ll be okay, and we won’t be terrible for each other, and we’ll be good,” because he needs to hear it, even if it’s ridiculous and he’s jinxing it before it’s begun he needs to know you’re right there with him. “Like, just tell me it can be easy this once. If you broke my heart I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. ‘Cause I love you. I do. And I want this.” And you get it. He’s letting you get it. He’s letting you all the way in. You realize, flustered and basking in it, that he’s the first one to say those words. That you hadn’t even said them when you posed your first question. But he’s saying them out loud and it’s brilliant and beautiful. He is beautiful.

    It makes you want to weep, the love that swells here, out in the open. “Fuck, Steve, what type of girl do you think I am, breaking the heart of the guy I’ve been in love with since he started sneaking into my bedroom?” He smiles. He glows. It’s so beautifully Steve. Maybe it can be easy.

    When he kisses you, he proves it: the ease, the tranquility. He is fervent and burning. Everything is urgent with Steve. Especially kissing. He captures every bit of you immediately. His touch is light when he urges you out of your doorway and into your living room so he can shut your front door and quit giving the neighbors what he’s sure is the show of a lifetime. It is for him, at least.

[mangostarjam]

by your side — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, gn for the most part but referred to as "sweetheart" (and "girlfriend" at the end), hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, written in response to this ask, 1.8k words

"Vice Captain! Vice Captain! VICE CAPTAIN!!"

You wince as Okonogi's voice pierces through the gunfire and explosions surrounding you and your officers. You shouldn't even have access to the Vice Captain's radio channel with Operations, but you've been friends for so long Hoshina Soshiro had simply shrugged and offered you a smirk.

"How else are ya gonna learn the ropes and beat me someday?" he'd asked. "It's not like lettin' ya listen'll keep your shots any steadier."

He was right, of course. Letting you listen doesn't do anything for your aim — but hearing the channel now, knowing he's fighting a kaiju that can talk — that's strong enough to control all these wyvern type kaiju? It's a testament to all these years of training together that your shots are deadly and precise, your heartbeat ricocheting in your ribcage as you breathe and brace your shoulder for recoil.

Another wyvern kaiju dives towards your group and you huff, planting your foot on a block of rubble and notching the rifle against your shoulder. "Minase! Hibino! Get out of the way!" you order, squeezing the trigger rapidly.

Your breaths are loud in your ears.

Static crackles down the line.

You wince as a yoju crashes into a building nearby, sending dust and concrete tumbling down. Your officers — Soshiro's officers, normally, except he's busy so they're yours, now — are tending to the wounded and taking down yoju behind Officer Shinomiya's two man squad with Officer Ichikawa.

You want to run.

You want to sprint.

Your fingers are clamped so hard on your rifle that they ache. The talking kaiju, the leader — Kaiju No. Ten — is huge, even from a distance. There's no way Soshiro can take it down on his own — he specializes in miniature and mid-sized kaiju, not this giant monstrosity with an itch for fighting. You should be there.

"Vice Cap—!" Okonogi's voice is hoarse from yelling. Does she have a visual of him? He must've been knocked through a few buildings or something, based on the smoke and sounds you can catch from their direction.

Not knowing is the worst.

"Okonogi… don't worry… I'm still kickin'," Soshiro's voice is way too cheerful in your ear.

"Are you alright? Hoshina-kun?" you ask.

Soshiro switches to your private channel with a hum. "Aw, are ya worried 'bout me? That kaiju really packs a punch! How're my lil fledglings doin'?"

You watch as Officer Ichikawa freezes another yoju out of the sky. "Shinomiya and Ichikawa could probably make platoon leader, sir," you slip back into formalities automatically, though your chest aches. You flex your hands on your weapon. "In fact, it looks like it's pretty much handled here. I'll head over to your location now."

"Platoon leader," Soshiro's voice is sharp. You wince and freeze. "Your orders are to lead my platoon. Don't worry 'bout me."

"But sir, that's a giant class kaiju now, and —"

"And I've got a job to do," he says. "I intend to finish it. Follow my orders, sweetheart. I'll be fine."

Warmth blooms along your cheeks even as dread sinks into the pit of your stomach. Fuck.

Your earpiece clicks back to Soshiro's channel with Operations and you bite at your lip as Soshiro informs them of his plan to keep fighting. Okonogi protests immediately. "But sir, you're in no condition to fight any longer —!"

She's right. His maximum release is deactivated and it's a giant now — at least if you're there, you can expose the core with your shots and Soshiro can cut it down. But —

"She left me in charge of the base," Soshiro mutters. Your stomach twists. You can barely see clearly as Officers Izumo and Kaguragi take down another yoju.

Instead, in your mind's eye, you're picturing Soshiro racing along the large limbs of his foe, slicing and slashing even with his diminished combat levels. Fuck. He's really going to do it — he'll let himself die before he gives up, and normally you admire his conviction and resolve, but right now you're sending your hopes out to anyone who'll listen to please save your stubborn stupid Vice Captain.

"Platoon leader, we'll be moving the wounded now!" Officer Minase shouts. You blink to clear your vision and nod.

This is not the time to lose focus.

"Vice Captain!"

Okonogi, again. Not good.

"Fuck," you bite out, swinging your rifle into place and shooting down a yoju. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I swear, Hoshina, if you die I'll kill you. Who else am I supposed to share coffee with in the mornings? Who else is gonna tease me about the books I read?"

You hear Soshiro's choked laugh and your heart clenches. You squeeze the trigger again and the yoju in your sights dives out of the way. Soshiro sounds bad — he sounds like cracked ribs and breaths wheezing and you hear him spit what must be blood.

"Platoon leader! The path is clear!"

You provide cover fire anyway as the officers transport the wounded. The rest of the battle is a blur — Captain Ashiro's steady voice and the loud, decisive boom of her cannon echo in your ears, but you're protecting the infirmary when her order comes to hit the deck.

The blast washes over you like a wave and you shudder against the force, bracing against it even with your shield cranked to max. Your earpiece crackles and Soshiro sighs. "He's been arrested."

"I can't believe it," you murmur, climbing back to your feet with a wince. "Sir, are you alright?"

"What, back to formalities already?" Soshiro teases. You roll your eyes. "I'll be in the medic bay for a bit, sweetheart. Are you injured at all?"

"Just some scrapes and bruises," you promise, fighting off the blush creeping up your neck. "Did you check on all of your other officers already?"

Did he check on you first?

"I know you took care of 'em," Soshiro says easily. His confidence in you makes you want to cry. "Had to make sure my favorite platoon leader was alright."

The line goes dead and your heart stops. On the ranked officer channel you hear Captain Ashiro snap, "Get him to the med bay, now. I'll take Kaiju No. 8 into custody."

Your heart wrenches itself back into pumping as a sharp pain shoots through your chest. Did Soshiro collapse? Did he seriously — seriously — check on you with the last bit of strength he had left?

You spare a precious few moments to make sure your platoon (Hoshina's platoon) is accounted for and understand their orders to rest and help with securing the base, and then you bolt.

You're panting and dusty and there's still dirt smeared across your forehead when you make it to the med bay, but Soshiro's in an operation room and you're forced to pace in the hallway outside. Thoughts tumble through your brain like rocks, memories of training together and joking over drinks and shared morning coffees and all the times he's draped his jacket over your shoulders during late nights going through reports together. All the cracked jokes over your private radio channel and the silly smiles sent your way any time you laughed at one of his stunts.

You know you're not supposed to — he's your Vice Captain, after all — but fuck. You love him.

Platoon Leader Ikaruga is the one who finds you and sends you off to get cleaned up. "He's not going to be happy seeing you all banged up, and it'd be easier on his recovery if you're clean."

You can't argue with that, so you hurry to wash off the sweat and dirt and dust. As soon as you're done, you're back in the medical ward, pacing a hallway until one of the doctors finally emerges and directs you to the Vice Captain's recovery room.

"Soshiro —" your voice catches in your throat at the sight of him. His purple hair is splayed across the pillow, his bandaged chest rising and falling shallowly with every labored breath. You make your way quietly to his side and settle into the chair, resting your head on your arms as exhaustion creeps into your bones. It's been a long night.

He's okay. Soshiro's alright — a few cracked ribs and lots of bruises and stray cuts, but he's going to be fine. Dawn glides into the room slowly, lighting up the smooth skin of his neck and catching along the contours of his bandaged biceps and chest. The blanket is drawn up his torso and it's soft beneath your arms.

You fall asleep.

There's a hand patting gently at your hair, fingers sliding through the strands as you slowly blink yourself awake a few hours later. "Hey, sleepyhead," Soshiro's voice is low and a little rough. "What're ya doin' here?"

Someone's drawn the blinds shut, but sunlight filters into the room and makes his red eyes glow. You blink. "I'm here for you."

Soshiro's mouth twists. "You should be sleepin' in your own bed, sweetheart. I'm fine."

Your hand clenches into a fist on his blanket and his gaze drops to it. "You almost died, sir."

He stops petting your hair and reaches for your hand instead, tangling your fingers together and pressing his palm to yours. Your face warms at the rough scrape of his callouses against the sensitive skin of your hand. "That's nothin' new," he murmurs. He looks at you again and you can't bring yourself to look away. "We're Defense Force officers."

"You — you're more than just a Defense Force officer, sir," you choke out.

"Right, right, I'm a Vice Captain."

"Yes, but. Sir, you're also…"

Soshiro's gaze sharpens. "What's with the formalities, sweetheart? You called me by my name earlier, didn't ya?"

Your face feels like it's on fire. He heard that??

"You were asleep!"

"I was a lil drowsy on painkillers, but I heard ya loud and clear," Soshiro smirks. "C'mon. Lemme hear it."

You stare at him. He can't be serious.

Soshiro's smirk softens into something a little hesitant, a little nervous. "C'mon. I wanna hear my girlfriend say it."

Oh.

"Soshiro…"

His smile lights up the room. "Yeah?"

"Soshiro," you're blushing so hard it's a minor miracle nothing's caught on fire. "I'm gonna kiss you now."

He laughs and tugs you closer by your clasped hands. You plant your free hand beside his shoulder and hover above him awkwardly, mindful of his many bandages and the cotton taped to his cheek. "Well?"

"Shut up, or I'll dump you," you mumble, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips. You feel his free hand come up to slide around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. He laughs into your mouth as you pause, mere breaths away.

"Don't be mean," he murmurs. "I just wanna kiss my girlfriend."

[california-112]

[chronicowboy]

Maddie humbles him pretty severely in their conversation. Look, he knows it's stupid, knows it's selfish really, knows it's just plain crappy of him. But. But he hurt Christopher. And there wasn't some big uncontrollable variable like a tsunami that Eddie can explain it away with.

Sure, it was an accident, but it still happened. Sure, it was only a few scrapes that he'd cleaned up almost immediately with the little first aid kit tucked into the glove compartment of his Jeep - and, well, maybe part of the guilt is the way Christopher had grimaced at the added sting of the antiseptic wipes. But he'd done it. He'd made Christopher cry. And he'd ran as soon as Eddie swept in to take care of him. He'd ran before either of them could tell him to get out.

Christopher is injured, and Buck hasn't been to see him once. Christopher is injured because of Buck, and he's only checked in through a much too knowing Eddie. Because he's a coward, especially when it comes to Christopher. Jesus, nothing in the world scares him more than Christopher. Everything's so big and inconceivable with him. Buck feels it all, feels it all so strongly. The things he'd do for that kid... Well, that scares him too. Almost as much as Christopher's anger does, but he can't run from it forever. He can't stay away forever, so he shoots Eddie a quick text as he leaves Maddie's.

Can I come see Chris at some point?

He's just buckling himself into the driver's seat when his phone buzzes with a reply.

Get over here

Another buzz.

Now

His already knotted stomach twists into an even more complex shape as he turns the key in the ignition, but he has to face the music some time or another. May as well be now.

It takes him an inordinately long and nauseating time to get to the Diaz door, an even longer time to actually knock and then a terrifyingly short amount of time for Eddie to be appearing before him with those big, understanding eyes he can never seem to escape.

"Hi," he mumbles, suddenly struck with what image he must make out there on the porch. A naughty dog with a guiltily hung head and a tail between his legs just waiting to be patted on the head and told he's forgiven.

"Buck, come in." Eddie rolls his eyes and practically drags him inside. Buck had been about ninety-nine per cent sure (okay, maybe more like eighty) that Eddie's texts had been fond exasperation and not actual anger, but it's not until he hears Eddie's voice that he knows for sure. He was never a bad dog in Eddie's mind. Buck's tail wags just a little as Eddie leans back against the hallway wall with his arms folded over his chest. "He's in his room and he misses his Buck."

"Even after I almost killed him?" he mutters petulantly.

"Buck, you tripped over his crutches. The both of you went down and, honestly, you walked away worse than he did." Buck opens his mouth to argue, but Eddie ploughs on. "Don't lie to me. I saw those bruises on your ribs last shift. I know how weaponised those elbows can become."

"I'm fine."

"So is he," Eddie says seriously. "You know how many times I've tripped over his crutches?"

"Did you feel guilty about it afterwards?" Buck pries, eyes trained on his shoes where they kick lightly, sheepishly at the carpet.

"Of course, I did. I always do. Hell, I accidentally got some salt in his eyes when we were cooking the other day and I almost took myself down to Athena's station." Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. "I'm his dad, I'd send him outside in a bubble wrap suit if I could. But I've been informed that isn't 'cool'," Buck snorts, "so I'm trying my best to make peace with the fact that that he's going to get hurt and I'm not always going to be stop it. But." Eddie steps closer, drops a hand to Buck's shoulder, ducks his hand to catch his eye. And Buck feels the echo of a wave and three ragged scratches across his face. "But I can always be there after it happens, to pick him back up and tend to his wounds, yeah?"

"Yeah," Buck whispers, nodding against the whirring of his brain.

"He's already mostly healed up. Go and see for yourself." Eddie leaves with a pointed look at Christopher's door, and Buck stays staring down the hallway like he can will it into something that feels a little less like a walk on the plank.

As he takes his first step, for just a moment, he wishes he was back in the endless labyrinthine hallways of his coma dream just to postpone his fate a little longer.

See, what he hadn't told Maddie was that he had actually tried texting Christopher a few days after their tumble. A sorry and an I hope you're okay and a jokey maybe we should leave basketball to the pros which had only gleaned a thumbs up emoji in response. So, he's not feeling very optimistic when he knocks on Christopher's door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Buck, buddy." Silence. A sigh maybe, if he strains. "C-can I come in?"

Another pause.

"Fine."

Buck pushes into the room with his heart in his throat. Christopher doesn't look up from his textbook where he's propped up against his headboard, just carries on reading. Buck approaches carefully, hovering at the end of the bed where he'd normally just sit.

"How are you doing?" he asks uselessly.

"Fine."

"Yeah?" Christopher only shrugs, and Buck sighs in defeat. "I'm really sorry, bud. I didn't mean to do it, you have to know that. I'd never ever do anything to hurt you-"

"Wait." Chris finally looks up from his book with his frown. "Do you think I'm mad because you tripped me up?"

"I-I, well, yeah." Buck blinks. "So, you are mad?"

"Yeah, I'm mad, but not about that." Chris groans and slams his book shut. "Why'd you disappear?"

"B-because I thought you'd be mad at me for, you know, hurting you," Buck says dumbly. Christopher rolls his eyes so similarly to Eddie's earlier expression that Buck aches with it.

"You didn't hurt me. Gravity hurt us."

"But you're mad at me."

"Because you disappeared!" Chris bursts. Buck's mouth snaps shut with a click. "Everything's changing. You and me and dad barely ever hang out anymore. And I know I'm getting older, so I shouldn't want to, but I do. But you're both dating, so it's always just the one of you. Or the three of us and a stranger. And I hate it. And the last time this happened, you promised you weren't going anywhere, but you did! And I want you both to be happy, and I really don't want dad to feel so lonely now I'm growing up, but I wish..." Christopher ducks his head as if suddenly realising he'd revealed too much.

"You wish?" Buck asks on the exhale of a breath he'd been holding since Christopher's little outburst, something fierce and jagged latching itself to his sternum.

"I wish you both could be happy with..." He shrinks into himself a little, and Buck wraps his hand around the footboard like a lifeline - like whatever Christopher is about to say will turn the world upside down. "I wish this was enough. I wish the three of us could make you both as happy as-as it makes me." He flushes and cracks his textbook open. "It sounds dumb when I say it."

"No, no," Buck croaks, something big and unwieldy expanding against the inside of his ribs, something that could choke him if he let it. "It doesn't sound dumb at all."

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[eggcats]

I saw a radioapple fic where Michael (Lucifer's twin brother) comes to visit (Hotel Stay by CBM_NotWeedGuys)

and a really funny fic similar to that would be just Michael thinking that demons are kind of like, a "vacation hookup" if you will - like nothing serious but a fun way to pass the time esp bc demons are exotic to angels, and so he spends So Much Time just flirting with Alastor bc cmon if you're gonna get a demon you're going to go after mister fancy voice sharp teeth occasional eldritch horror, right?

And Lucifer is SO Jealous but he has no idea that's what he's feeling. He's doing everything in his power to take up as much of Alastor's time and attention as possible, under the assumption that this is holdover resentment from the Fall - and not that suddenly he has potential competition and it's driving him insane.

He thinks he's upset about Michael upsetting the balance of the hotel, not respecting his people, and how DARE he show up and just harass the people who work for his daughter?! (him@himself: I'm ignoring me doing the same exact thing here)

He spends every second trying to get Michael away from Alastor because only ONE person is going to bother and have all his attention, and he was here first dammit!

(Them being twins makes this even worse, bc while Lucifer looks more hellish and Michael more angelic, they still look a great deal alike, so Lucifer once again is like I WAS HERE FIRST 😠)

Alastor, meanwhile, cannot figure out why him playing nice - LIKE HE WAS SPECIFICALLY TOLD (AND THREATENED) TO BY BOTH CHARLIE AND LUCIFER - keeps making Lucifer even more upset every time. Even when he does something unnerving and demonic towards Michael, Lucifer isn't any more pleased. Every time he turns around, he's practically underfoot and attached at the hip, like he thinks he's a wild animal who can't be trusted on his own.

I don't think either of these idiots will figure it out on their own. I think Lucifer will only realize when he blows up at Michael, having no idea why, and Michael is like, dude, if he's your boyfriend, you should have just told me? And Lucifer is like "he's my WHAT????!"

[delta-piscium]

Steddie | 1.7k words it is (swedish) midsummer so I wrote this based on my favorite old tradition because I can and will make anything steddie, so like glad midsommar (happy midsummer)

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as he follows Eddie to the hallway where he’s frantically putting on his shoes. 

“I almost forgot,” he mutters under his breath not acknowledging Steve at all.

“Forgot what?” 

“I can’t believe I almost forgot.” 

“Eddie,” Steve says a little louder, more adamant.

He does look up at Steve then and almost looks surprised to see him. As if he’d forgotten he was there, as if they haven’t been hanging out for hours. 

“Oh,” he says. “Uhm,” he squints at Steve who waits for him to continue, to explain. He doesn’t.

“Yes?” Steve implores because he would really like an explanation. Eddie had just abruptly stood up halfway through telling Steve about some folklore he’s using in his new campaign, just cut himself off mid-sentence and walked off. Steve doesn’t think it’s especially weird or demanding of him to have questions. 

“Did you have other plans that you just now remembered?” Steve frowns, starting to feel unsure when Eddie still isn’t saying anything. It’s just past eleven at night and Steve doesn’t know what plans those would be but he had showed up unannounced earlier in the evening so it’s not impossible that Eddie had plans that Steve interrupted. 

“No, no, no,” Eddie assures him finally breaking his silence, “it’s- okay it’s a little silly but I read this thing researching and I want to try it.” 

And well, okay then.

Steve raises his eyebrows and waves his hand gesturing for Eddie to go on. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light pink and he resolutely looks somewhere above Steve’s shoulder instead of at him. 

“Midsummer, which is today, is supposed to be this magical night and there are all these traditions and old myths about it.” 

Eddie glances at Steve and he smiles. Tries to show he’s listening and wants to know whatever thing Eddie read about. 

“And well, okay so there’s this one tradition where you pick seven different kinds of flowers before you go to bed and then put them under your pillow and you’re supposed to dream about who you’re gonna spend your life with.” 

Steve blinks, wasn’t expecting that and doesn’t know what to say about it, so, he blinks again. 

“Maybe it’s dumb, but with all we’ve seen magic and folklore don’t seem so far-fetched and,” he shrugs, “I wanna try. And like, it’s close to midnight and I don’t know if that’s a rule but I don’t wanna risk messing it up.”

“It- huh,” Steve frowns slightly and looks at his shoes then back at Eddie. “Yeah alright, let’s do it. Can’t hurt right?” 

His voice is light, like it’s not a big deal and just a fun thing Eddie read about because that’s what it is, isn’t it? But something about it settles deep in Steve’s gut. Makes it feel important in a way he’s not sure he could explain if he tried. Maybe it’s just the fact that Eddie is getting so worked up about the possibility of dreaming about the person he’s gonna spend his life with when Steve maybe a little bit wishes it would be him, but like, only a little. 

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes like he didn’t expect Steve to want to join, like maybe he expected Steve to make fun of him for wanting to do it. But then something seems to switch in him and a slow smile spreads over his face and he gives Steve an exaggerated once over. 

“Looking to find your true love huh, Harrington?” 

“I thought you said it was the person you spend your life with, not the same as true love necessarily.” Steve quips back because technicalities are easier to argue over than answering that question, especially when Eddie is the one asking.

Eddie shrugs. “Different sources say different things, sometimes it’s true love sometimes it’s who you marry.” 

“Well, then I guess we’re both looking to find our true loves?” Steve hedges, drags Eddie down with him if they’re gonna go there. 

A soft look passes Eddie’s face before a responds, voice quieter. “Guess we are, yeah.” 

They pick their flowers in silence, something about the magic being broken if you speak. Walking around the edge of the woods behind Eddie’s trailer a couple of feet apart, every once in a while coming together or crossing paths. 

After, Steve stands in between Eddie’s trailer and his own car. Holding on to his bouquet of seven flowers unsure what to do. He could go home, he should go home, but he doesn’t want to. He did have some beers hours ago and if he was allowed to speak he’d use that as an excuse to not drive and ask Eddie to crash on his couch. Right now he can’t though so he sighs inwardly and turns to his car. 

He makes it about two steps before a hand reaches out and grips him around his free wrist stopping him. When he turns around Eddie is giving him a look that very clearly says ‘stop being stupid’ and jerks his head towards the trailer silently telling Steve to go with him. He doesn’t let go though and uses his grip on Steve to drag him along like he can’t be sure Steve will actually listen and follow. As if Steve would ever not follow Eddie. 

They quickly get ready for bed. And again when Steve walks toward the couch Eddie grabs him and shakes his head. He waves his arms around a bit like that’s supposed to explain anything but Steve isn’t too bothered about an explanation anyways and easily follows Eddie to his bedroom. 

They’ve shared a bed before but always when they’ve been drunk or high so this feels different. Steve is a little glad they can’t speak or he’s sure he’d blurt out something way too revealing about it all. 

He avoids looking at Eddie as he tucks his flowers in under his pillow, knows Eddie is doing the same next to him. Is aware of it only being an old myth from a region halfway across the world but there’s a weight to it. Something real and tangible. 

He expects it to take a while for him to fall asleep like it always does. For him to twist and turn and lay awake until the early morning. For once though, that doesn’t happen. With the weight of Eddie next to him and to the sounds of his soft breathing and small movements, Steve falls asleep.

And he dreams. He dreams of big brown eyes and bright laughter. Of wild hair and warm arms embracing him. He dreams of growing old next to someone and how every wrinkle on their face tells a story of their shared love. 

He wants to stay in the dream forever, desperately tries to hold onto it even as he floats into consciousness. He turns and groans, gets a mess of someone’s hair in his mouth and nose and that’s enough to startle him into full wakefulness. 

Eddie grumbles next to him, clearly also just waking up. Steve looks at him, with his wild hair and his big brown eyes that are slowly blinking open and of course. Of course, it was Eddie he dreamed about.

Their eyes meet and Eddie freezes. Eyes widening as he looks back at Steve. 

“Oh,” he says. 

And yeah, oh.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, unsure of how to bring it up, to ask about it. If he even should? 

He puts on a teasing smile, even though he feels like goo inside, but making it lighthearted is all he can think of because what if he’s taking this whole thing way too seriously? Jumping to conclusions? 

“Dream of anyone?” 

Eddie nods and looks away, “I did.” He says it simply, voice careful. 

And maybe it isn’t just Steve.

“Who?” He asks, dropping the teasing tone. 

Eddie swallows and looks back at Steve. “The person I wanted to dream of,” he says and it’s not really an answer but he’s looking at Steve so intently he thinks it still might be. 

He thinks about Eddie’s quiet but delighted surprise at Steve wanting to join him yesterday. About Eddie dragging him first into his trailer and then into his bed. How they’re so close on Steve’s side of the bed and Eddie must have drifted towards him in his sleep.

He bites his lip to stop his smile from spreading too wide, there’s still a chance he’s misinterpreting things, “yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And who would that be?” Steve asks, leaning in even closer until he feels Eddie’s small puffs of breath across his face. 

“You,” Eddie whispers but Steve hears it clearly. 

He takes a moment to bask in it, to let it wash over him before he responds.

“That’s good,” Steve tells him eventually and Eddie’s eyes are so wide and open, and so pretty, “because I dreamt of you.” 

He knows it’s cheesy so he doesn’t give Eddie time to respond, just leans in and closes the remaining gap between them. Slots their lips together. Eddie gasps into the kiss, grabs Steve by the hair, and pulls him in. Makes all these cute noises that make Steve want and want and want. 

He shifts, goes to put his leg in between Eddie’s to move on top of him and get a better angle. But he only gets halfway before Eddie grabs his hips and twists them around. Pushes Steve flat on his back and straddles him. 

He grins down at Steve. 

“You think the Scandinavian magic worked or was it just dream psychology and wishful thinking?” 

“Does it matter?” Steve asks, way too earnestly. But like, they’ve just spent this whole time doing some true love magic so he thinks it’s fine, “got what I wanted.” 

“It’s forever though,” Eddie points out, bending down to bite at Steve’s jaw, “if we believe the old Norse people.” 

Steve hears the question there, thinks this might be Eddie’s way of asking what this means to Steve. His way of telling Steve this isn’t just a hookup for him.

“God yeah,” Steve exhales, “I fucking hope so.” 

He feels Eddie smile into his neck and grabs his hair, uses it to pull him back and steer him into another kiss. 

[yandere-daydreams]

hi. so this is kind of a random musing that doesn't have anything to do with what youve been talking abt on your blog recently so feel free to ignore it, but i love how you write yandere nanami and between going live and an ask one of my followers sent me i kinda had a revelation. i wanted to see if you had any thoughts.

i think that before meeting reader nanami would be a virgin.

even if were talking non yandere nanami, i don't think he's ever had sex. i can't see nanami being the kind of person who likes hookup culture - he doesn't want to be used by someone - but i don't think he'd be able to justify getting in a romantic relationship because his job is so dangerous. he wouldn't want to die one day and leave his partner widowed. so he stays celibate, he's come to terms with the fact that he'll die untouched.

(he just jerks himself to freaky ass porn to get his fix (maybe even a camgirl hehe))

at least, until he meets a woman who makes all of his morality fly out the window.

suddenly, his sex drive is higher then ever. he's cumming into his fist every night to the thought of this special girl doing abhorrent things on his dick. he loves her. he's never loved someone this much in his entire life so she has to be the one to deflower him. that's probably one of the most romantic things someone can do in his mind, so it has to be her. she's his soulmate

all of this to say, i think nanami would kidnap reader and force her to teach him how to have sex through some fucked up means. it just tickles something in me imagining how stupidly giddy he'd be, so unabashedly pathetic as he undresses a woman for the first time.

like, him holding her hand with his forehead pressed to hers, cumming inside of her, jumping through as many mental hurdles necessary to justify what he's doing (or maybe just not caring bc she'll come around eventually, right?)

i love your work. thank you for listening to my ramble. <3

tw - non/con, kidnapping, manipulation, delusional behavior.

no no no i agree entirely,,, no amount of propaganda can convince me that any of the jjk men every had their dicks touched before the age of twenty-five at least, with nanami probably being the worst offender among them. i mean, he doesn't really connect with people outside of the sorcerer world, not really, not in a meaningful enough way to lead to that kind of intimacy, and as for other sorcerers... no. just no. he'd rather die a virgin than resort to anything as desperate as that, which is quickly becoming a very tangible reality.

and then he meets you (or, alternative, stumbled onto your stream at some ungodly hour, his cock already in his hand and his pleasure-deprived brain frantic for something soft and pliable to latch onto), and he decides that it might not be so bad to consider alternatives after all.

i can see it going one of two ways: if he has any reason at all to believe that you're also a virgin, whether or not it's true, he'll immediately lose all patience. if that wasn't the case, he might be able to take his time, stalk you for a few months before consummating your blooming relationship, but now he's on a clock, now he has to get to you before someone else does. he still tries to make it romantic, lights candles and brings you flowers and all that, but he's rushed, panicked, babbling incoherently about 'being each other's firsts' as he haphazardly undresses you. it's a miracle he remembers to do any prep at all - he's just in such a rush to be inside of you, to be the first and only person to every know what it's like to fully, genuinely actually be with you. if there's any pain, he'll comfort you later, make up for two and a half decades of abstinence with his tongue and hands, but only after he's already ruined you for anyone else.

if you're not a virgin and he can't make himself believe you are, then he'd probably go a little less absolutely feral (at first, i mean). don't get me wrong, you're still getting kidnapped asap, but rather than a beacon of innocence and purity that he can taint, you're the corruption forcing him to fall from grace, and he's going to want you to act like it. he's got a list of virginities he needs to to take (his first handjob, his fist blowjob, the first hickey, etc.), and between every milestone, he's going to want you to teach him how to pleasure you, even if you're still insisting you'd rather not let him touch you at all. he wants your full participation - it doesn't matter how many times he makes you cum on his tongue while you're sobbing into your pillow and trying to block him out, he's not going to stop until he hears your sweet voice encouraging with the little 'right there, kento's and 'good boy's he's made you rehearse. by the time you actually take his virginity, he's going to have made you feel dirtier than you ever could've made him feel, but so long as he's the one you're feeling dirty with, nanami doesn't really mind. not when he's buried inside you, his chest pressed into yours and he's too lost in his own pleasure to think the tears staining your cheeks are anything but beautiful.

anyway loser virgin nanami you will live forever. perhaps loser virgin gojo will pay for his crimes next.

[myokk]

the summer before Hogwarts🫶

in my mind, Sebastian is a huge planner & he always insisted on bringing too much along whenever he and Anne went on adventures. It’s always better to be prepared than to realize you forgot something at home😤

the next drawing will be Anne so you can compare the two😂💓

[piningpercussionist]

Weed smoking girlfriends! But they can just be hanging out if you prefer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Happy 4/20!

[starrystevie]

eddie figures out that he likes steve all because of nancy fucking wheeler.

it isn't often that they find themselves hanging out just the two of them, quite the opposite. this is the first time they've ever done it and the only reason nancy is even stepping foot inside the munson's new government-provided trailer is because she's having a crisis.

"but what does it mean," she asks, voice muffled as her lips wrap around the opening of her beer bottle before taking a swig. her cheeks hollow and her eyes shut against the feeling of the carbonation bubbling up before she fixes eddie with a glare that he doesn't think is for him. "it didn't... feel this way with barb."

and eddie's just sitting there on the couch, rolling a much needed joint for both of them, trying to follow along with what nancy is saying. she's pacing a hole in the carpet and her hands are flying around in a way that eddie himself does when the wheels in his brain are spinning too fast.

"... what didn't feel what way?"

nancy glares at him again and he gets the feeling that it's directed at him this time. he feels himself shrink under her eyes and wants to raise his hands up in surrender (he gives in and does indeed raise his hands in surrender).

"i think i'm in love with robin, please try and keep up."

eddie stills, his hands in the air and mouth open in shock. nancy's still muttering about something but his brain is stuck on the being-in-love-with-robin part of her tirade. it's not an issue, not in the slightest, and sure he's heard of people who... but he's never met someone who actually-

"are you even listening?" nancy asks, her tone firm. she has a hand on her hip while the other is clenched tightly around the neck of her beer. "what am i supposed to do?! am i just supposed to kiss her and tell her that her eyes are my favorite color and that i miss her when she leaves a room even for just a minute?"

"how should i know?! i'm not in love with robin!" eddie responds and he knows it's the wrong answer by how nancy's whole face falls in the span of .02 seconds. she looks like she's on the brink of tears, frustrated or hopeless or sad, and eddie doesn't know what to do with that either.

"but... you know. what about steve?" nancy's voice is soft now, and paired with her puppy dog eyes, eddie almost doesn't process what she says. "how'd you know with him?"

and if eddie thought he was stunned before, this takes the cake. a nervous laugh bubbles out of him, his face hot and heart pounding. his arms feel a bit like liquid and he doesn't know if he's even breathing anymore.

"nancy, i'm sorry but i think we're on two different wave lengths here." he needs to do something with his hands so he starts to fiddle with his lighter, flicking the zippo open and shut until the clink of the metal sounds too loud in the quiet room. "i don't.... love steve."

tears start to roll down her cheeks and yeah, eddie definitely messed up somewhere. she's wiping the drops away furiously like she's surprised they even dared to show up and she's biting her lip in a way that looks like it hurts.

"what are you talking about? of course you do." her eyebrows furrow which makes her look even angrier or disgusted and eddie feels like they're on a tightrope in his living room that's about to snap away from underneath them.

"well yeah, i... love him," he stutters over the words, "like i love you and rob and everyone. but not like... love love."

nancy's laugh sounds way too harsh for it to have come out of her. "are you sure? you stare at his ass more than i stare at robin's." she takes a deep breath, ignores the gasp of indignation that her statement gets out of eddie, and tilts her chin up like she's taking the high ground.

"i do not!"

"do too! and you're always looking for him when you walk into a room, like it doesn't matter if we're there, you only look for him. and you sit right next to him even if there's an open seat that's more comfortable. and you have this little, i don't know, tic when he smiles that makes you wiggle your fingers and you-"

"wheeler, you gotta stop."

"-always listen to him and he does all of that back for you and it's so obvious. i can't believe you didn't know you were in love with steve! you do everything that i do for robin and i'm in love with her so it must mean you're in love with steve and- holy shit i'm in love with robin."

the silence after nancy stops rings loud in his ears. honestly, he hadn't really given it any thought before but it makes sense.

the very idea of steve has his heart feeling a way it hasn't since he was nine and tracy nichols gave him a shiny rock on valentine's day. he does always look for steve when he enters a room, his very presence calming and dependable. he does sit next to him no matter what, their sides pressed together, heat radiating between them like a blanket. and god, when steve smiles, he does have to move his fingers, something to get out these jolts of energy that he feels licking through his veins.

steve is good and steve is a bit of an asshole but eddie likes that and suddenly the line between platonic and romantic seems to have vanished because holy shit, how did he live for the past year without spending every day loving steve harrington?

eddie reaches for the half rolled joint, licks at the paper to close it and lights up quickly. he holds the smoke in his lungs for probably too long but couldn't care less because he's now having a crisis of his own thanks to nancy.

"goddamnit," eddie hisses out as he exhales. "i'm in love with steve."

nancy looks smug, her arm extended as she waits for eddie to pass the joint to her before taking a hit. "that's what i'm saying."

"but i'm not... you know."

nancy rolls her eyes. "it's not going to bite you if you say it, eddie."

"i'm not gay."

the silence seems louder now as the paper on the joint sizzles. there's a dog somewhere in the park barking and he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"neither am i." nancy responds quietly with a shrug of her shoulders. "but i am for robin. and you are for steve."

she passes the joint back over to eddie and stands up from the couch, wipes off imaginary crumbs from her pants like she didn't just turn eddie's world upside down.

"i think i'm gonna go. i have a lady to woo." nancy looks happy. it's a good look on her, one he doesn't see all that often what with everything that's happened to them in the past year. she deserves it, he thinks, happiness.

"let me know how it goes," he calls to her as she stops at the trailer door.

"i will." with a tilt of her head and a with a gleam in her eye, she gives eddie yet another look that he doesn't know if he wants to try and decipher. "you should call him."

eddie snorts and takes a hit, rolling his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling so he doesn't have to look at nancy's all knowing eyes. it isn't that he's scared to call steve, it's that he's terrified. petrified. what would he say? what would steve say? he just figured out that he loves him, he hasn't had time to prepare a whole speech to declare it and-

"eddie." nancy's voice is sharp but certain and part of him thinks that robin is a lucky woman to have nancy wheeler falling in love with her. "trust me. call him."

after she's gone, he finishes the joint. he sits in the silence of his trailer and pulls hit after hit of sticky smoke until it's down the end and burning his fingertips. he stares at the ceiling some more, contemplates what to say, how to say it, how to do anything without throwing up.

he wonders if wayne knows, if he saw what nancy saw, what he thinks of eddie falling in with a guy. he wonders if this will change everything. wonders if it'll change for better or worse. wonders if he'll have to skip town and change his name like he imagined doing after he was cleared of murder.

picking up the phone is easy, dialing is easier when he has steve's number memorized like the back of his hand.

"hello?" steve mutters like he's been roused out of sleep. his voice is scruffy and somehow soft and eddie knows he's going to throw up.

"steve."

"hey, man. is everything okay?"

and it makes eddie's heart flutter in a way that a generic question shouldn't but damn it, he's in love. he's allowed.

"yeah, yeah. everything's good i just-" eddie sighs, scrubs a hand down his face to stop from twirling the phone cord in his fingers. "do you wanna maybe come over? watch a movie or something?"

eddie can almost hear the smile in his voice when he breathes out a yes, thanking whatever higher powers there may be for nancy wheeler.