#autistic fics by me

[smoft-demons]

MC needs some extra love

_______

You’re having an off day. Your demons have asked to make sure nothing’s actually wrong, just to be safe, but they’ve seen you like this a few times before. They understand. You’re just feeling down for no particular reason. Just sad and low energy. Extra tired.

Nothing happened, no one hurt you, nothing’s wrong… you just woke up in a low mood. Because it simply be like that sometimes. You just… need some extra affection today. No reason. It’s okay, they’re not judging. They’ll do what they can to cheer you up a little—they love you, you know. They want to see you smile at least once today.

_______

Lucifer:

When Lucifer notices your mood, he softens towards you a lot. He asks if anything is wrong first of course—they all do—but once he learns that there’s nothing he needs to correct and no one he needs to punish on your behalf, he just softens. He treats you more gently than usual.

He expects you’ll get fed up entertaining all his brothers, with their endless chaotic energy. So he invites you to hide out with him in his office. You are invited to just sit with him and read, or put on some music, or play a game on your DDD, or just rest… or whatever it is that will help.

He’ll even let you curl up in his lap and cuddle with him if that’s what you want. That cheers him up too.

He quietly redistributes the most taxing of your chores for today amongst the seven of them, to give you time to recharge.

You’ll find Levi and Beel doing the dishes for you when it’s your turn, or if you’re supposed to make dinner you’ll find that Mammon and Asmo have already ordered everyone takeout, and they’re already in the middle of setting it all out on the table. You won’t have to do a thing! If you were supposed to clean up a common space in the house, it’ll already be done by some of your assorted pact partners. You might even find sticky notes placed amongst your homework in Lucifer’s, Satan’s, and Belphie’s handwriting, suggesting edits and books titles to check for better information, and pointing out any parts in your work that are particularly well done.

When you check your DDD later, you see that Lucifer had instructed his brothers to take on what they can from you to make your life easier today. He was not planning on letting you know that, clearly—because he sent that in the brothers group chat. You only know because Karasu’s spy feature showed you.

His support is shown in all these soft, quiet details. Peaceful moments. Simple, but unmistakable reminders of how loved you are. It’s okay if you don’t smile today, even though he would like you too. He will verbally remind you that loves you anyway.

_______

Mammon:

Mammon’s first instinct, of course, is retail therapy. He offers to take you shopping. He’ll even pay for your stuff! He doesn’t mind if it makes you happy!

You appreciate that very much—and maybe you’d be happy to take him up on that if you were sad for a reason, but… you just have no spare energy. Just thinking about going out exhausts you more. You’d have to deal with looking at things! And forming opinions, and deciding on stuff to buy! There’s crowds and cashiers and bright lights and just… stuff outside! You can’t, you just can’t. You have no energy and you can’t.

The first time Mammon sees you like this, he’s confused. You don’t wanna go out? You don’t want any new stuff?? He sure hasn’t felt like that before!

He puts effort into figuring out what will actually help cheer you up instead. He’s considerate that way.

He tries taking you for a long drive. He tries taking tasks off your to-do list. He tries trailing after you all day to keep you company, holding your hand, chattering all day so you can’t hear your thoughts, staying quiet so you don’t get overstimulated. He cycles through every possible approach over the months, on every random day you happen to wake up like this.

It’s all greatly appreciated—and hey, some of his ideas work better than the rest! You feel loved and cared for regardless. It’s impossible to miss how much he adores you.

Eventually though, he strikes gold!

That particular day, he had been telling you a stupid joke every time he ran into you, in an attempt to make you smile. He gets a weak grin for his troubles just about halfway through the day. He beams at you triumphantly at that, impulsively scooping you up for a hug and repeatedly kissing the top of your head, and—aha! THERE’S the smile he was looking for!

From that point on, he knows what to do!

The next time you wake up in this mood, he takes the first opportunity to give you a playfully over the top show of affection. Over the course of the day, he keeps doing it!

He runs into you in the hallway between classes, he (gently) aggressively ruffles your hair as he passes you. He finds you aimlessly walking through the house, you immediately get snatched into his arms for a nice long squeeze. You sit with him as he’s scrolling through devilgram, he sets it aside for a moment to squish your cheeks between his hands and cover your forehead and nose with loud, playful kisses. You go up to him and request attention? You get kiss attacked, and he won’t let up until you crack a smile!

Your brain hurts, he says, echoing your very first explanation. It’s okay though, he says. He’ll kiss it better, he says.

He is MORE than happy to completely discard the tsundere façade to lean into this… over-the-top affectionate silliness, as long as it continues to make you laugh and smile like that.

He won’t admit it, but… this is more honest. This is much closer to who he is at heart than his usual behaviour is. Try as he might, he can’t hide how much he cares to save his life.

The realest aspect of Mammon is not the dumbass, not the money-grubber, not the uncaring cool guy that he pretends to be… no, it’s the goofy dork who loves you SO much that he’d go to any amount of effort to cheer you up.

He’s damn good at it too! HE was put in charge of your well-being for a reason! He’s the best big brother/guardian/friend/pact partner ever, and you’re his to take care of. He’s not letting HIS human go without smiling once for a whole day! You’re the sole member of his family he can openly dote on, and dammit, he will!

_______

Levi:

Levi’s go-to is, of course, distracting you with media. He tries games first, but if you’re too low-energy for that, he gets it. He tries anime, movies, shows, videos, manga, whatever you seem to respond best to.

You’ll notice a theme of letting others help, confiding in friends, opening up to people. There are repeated instances of characters asking for support from the rest of the cast and then being helped and taken care of. Lots of power of friendship stories, lots of hurt/comfort and “it’s rotten work” “not to me, not if it’s you” and team-as-family.

Maybe, just maaaybe, he’s trying to tell you something!

He relaxes when you explain that you just woke up like this, sometimes this just happens and it’s no one’s fault, there’s no problem, he doesn’t have to worry about you. He gets that! Sometimes he wakes up like that too. It does happen!

But… you’re his player two! He wants to worry about you!

So he takes care of you the way he wishes someone would take care of him when he gets like that. Gives you the extra love he knows first-hand that you need right now. He lets you choose the entertainment, he holds your hand, and mirrors what you do to self-soothe.

If you wanna lie on the floor and stare at his jellyfish decorations, he’s right next to you. If you wanna tell Henry how you’re feeling, he’s right there with you doing the same so you don’t have to feel self-conscious. If you’re stimming, he will too. That one makes him happy as well! If you wanna burrow into a pile of blankets and plushies like a hognose snake, he totally gets it and will also do that. He does that anyway sometimes, just because it’s comfy.

There’s not a hint of judgement from Levi. Ever. He gets it.

When you guys HAVE to leave his room, like for meals and such, he lends you his headphones. So you don’t get overstimulated from all the noise his brothers make. He never goes far from you, either. He always stays close enough that you can reach for him if you want to.

After dinner, when you’re tired and done with trying to act normal (not that even one of your demons is fooled), Levi brings you back to his room. He asks if you have any requests, anything you want to do, anything he can do to help you. If you know what you need, he’ll just do it. If you don’t, he’ll offer comfort in some form that makes sense to him. He understands that all you really need is some extra love when you’re like this, so he’s not at a loss. He gets it, he feels the same way sometimes, he can do that!

You end up curled up in his lap, hiding your face in his shoulder as he watches an anime you’ve both seen before at a low volume. Familiar and comforting. He’s happy to just sit and chill with you until you feel like you’ve recharged enough. He knows you’d do the same for him.

_______

Satan:

Satan’s instinct, once he learns what’s going on, is to bring you to the quiet spot outside where the stray cats he has befriended gather and then plonk the chillest one in your lap.

Cats are perfect fluffy little warm purring bundles of free therapy, after all. How could you not be recharged by this?

He’s not wrong, the cat definitely helps. It is in fact a perfect creature.

But… well, you don’t bother to spend the energy on saying so, but being outside isn’t really helping. You cringe at every loud noise. The wind ruffling your clothes every so often is annoying you. You’re sitting on concrete and it’s making you cold. The streetlights feel particularly aggressive to your eyes today. Very stabby. There are smells outside! No one wants that!

You love the cats, but Satan is giving them all his attention and you’re getting just a little bit jealous. You as well are giving the cat in your lap all your attention, and—as stupid as you feel about it—you’re getting a little bit jealous about that too. You want attention too! All the cat has to do is be cute and soft and it can have all the petting and cuddling it wants! As it deserves, yes, but… don’t you as well, though..?

You try to push that feeling away and just pet the cat. The cat did nothing wrong, you still love it, you’re supposed to be feeling MORE recharged from this! Not… whatever it is you do feel. At the end of the day you still enjoy petting the cat and you don’t want it to leave. That’s still true and that’s what matters, you tell yourself.

Eventually the cat decides it’s had enough petting for now, and gets up. Satan checks on you, fully expecting you to be thoroughly cheered up! Instead he sees you staring forlornly at your hands, mostly zoned out. Confused, he asks if you’re okay.

You nod once, giving him a hollow smile.

Now he’s concerned. He takes a minute to finish petting the cats surrounding him—noting the hint of jealousy in your eyes as you observe him—then comes to sit on the concrete stair next to you.

He gently points out that he knows you well enough to detect a lie. Especially an unconvincing lie like that. You give a noncommittal hum in reply. That’s all you have the energy for.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, letting you slump against his side. Your head leans against his shoulder. His other arm comes up to stroke your head for a moment, then drops down again to take your hand.

In a small, tired voice, you thank him. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze in reply.

Eventually he adjusts you so he can hold you more comfortably. Every so often he kisses the top of your head, or rubs your shoulder, or squeezes your hand, or says something quietly to you. Pointing out a interesting leaf shape, telling you something inconsequential about his day, prompting you to look when one of the cats does something cute, reminding you that he loves you and it’s okay to feel like this. That he enjoys your company no matter what mood you’re in.

This helps a lot more. Eventually you have enough energy to reply to him in full sentences! He’s visibly relieved at that. Still, he continues to hold you.

It’s after this point that a different cat comes up to you. It sniffs your shoelace then rubs itself against your leg. It flops over your shoe, stretching adorably with its little paws reaching up. It looks up at you all wide-eyed and cute, and finally you give a short puff of a laugh. Satan feels it more than hears it, but still!! He feels successful!

You pet this cat as it stands up and sniffs at your free hand. You look at it with a little smile. There’s a bit more soul in this smile, to Satan’s relief.

Later, as the two of you are leaving, he slips the cat a treat and whispers a thank you to it. Then he takes your hand again and leads you back home.

(He makes a mental note to himself for next time: pet the sad human first!! Then go see the cats!)

_______

Asmo:

Asmo notices that you’re having one of those days today, and he rushes to spoil you. Like Mammon, his first instinct is to take you shopping—but specifically for clothes and makeup and skincare products. Stuff that would cheer him up.

But you’re tired, and he understands that. It’s okay, he still knows what to do!

Asmo brings you into his room. You curl up in a sad, tired lump on his bed. He lets you chill there while he gathers up the stuff he wants.

He returns to you with his arms full of stuff! Nail polish, face masks, a hairbrush, moisturizer and hair oil, etc etc. Stuff for taking care of you.

He makes a point of only doing stuff that doesn’t sting at all. No plucking eyebrows or messing with your cuticles or anything like that. Just the stuff that feels nice.

Asmo quietly chatters about people he knows and stuff he’s used and whatever the latest gossip he’s heard is. Not even really to inform you this time, because he knows you’re probably not gonna remember much when you’re like this, but more to provide you with a constant, grounding backdrop of his familiar voice.

He speaks softly to you as he wipes your face with cleanser and then proceeds with his skincare process. He gently brushes your hair, spending twice as long as necessary just because it feels nice. He insists you don’t bother to move as he sits next to you and paints your nails.

At some point he runs out of stuff to do, so he ends up just brushing over your face with a clean makeup brush. No product on it at all, he’s just doing it to make you relax, because it’s soft and it feels nice. It’s meditative, honestly. For both of you.

He spends a good long while doing that.

He finishes up and lies down next to you. He pulls you into a cuddle. You offer to return the favour for him. Do his skincare and hair and nails and stuff for him, spoil him back—because he deserves the best.

For the first time ever, he declines. He shushes you and holds you tighter. This is the only situation in which he would ever refuse that!

He says you’re more than welcome to return the favour tomorrow if you like, but for now he just wants you to rest. He did all that for you to get you in this relaxed state you’re in right now, don’t get up and un-relax yourself so fast! Keep your brain turned off! It’s good for you sometimes!

… yes, Asmo is surprised by his own selflessness too—more surprised than you are by now, knowing him. He’s always been selfless for your sake since you first became his friend. It still surprises him though.

_______

Beel:

Beel is your best guy for validation. For quiet, thoughtful, unwavering support. He’s a lot more insightful than he’s often given credit for. He’s one of the best people in this family in terms of emotional intelligence, no question about it.

He knows just what to do. He observes you as the day goes on, taking the first opportunity to pull you aside and check on you without any others around. Just to make absolutely sure there’s nothing else going on.

His voice is soft, his hands are gentle, and he puts effort into understanding you. You’re family, he loves you so much! So of course he would.

He’ll share his food with you of course—both because he wants you to know that he loves you that much, and because he’s trying to remove a task from your to-do list. You don’t have to think about getting food and preparing it and any of that if he just. Does it for you. You can spend your very limited energy elsewhere.

He’ll take you with him on his routine walk, just so you can have a change of scenery and an opportunity to chat uninterrupted.

He listens to you complain about being outside with his characteristic placid sympathy—a combination that would be a bit contradictory if it came from anyone else, but somehow makes perfect sense for Beel. It’s soothing. Reassuring, somehow. He helps a lot, just by being himself.

When you inevitably run out of energy—much quicker than you usually do, but you expected that—he offers to carry you. Or rather, he automatically goes to do it on muscle memory, because that’s just what he does with tired loved ones (Belphie usually). He catches himself and realizes he should ask first in this case. Just to make sure. He’s considerate like that.

You are very tired… and you want contact. So of course you accept the offer. How could you refuse when he offers so earnestly?

He walks in measured, consistent steps as he carries you. The sway of his movement is deliberately relaxing. He’s trying to lull you into a meditative haze, or maybe put you to sleep. Either is good, he thinks.

The warmth of him makes the… everything about being outside when you’re feeling this way a lot more tolerable. The sounds of his footsteps, his breaths, his heartbeat… all of that drowns out the background noise just enough. Your face is pressed into his jacket, so the streetlights don’t stab your eyes and all the distressingly inconsistent outside smells are entirely covered by the spices-aromatics-soap scent of Beel. It’s a smell you know very well, and the familiarity of it is grounding.

Everything about him is grounding, really. He really did know exactly what to do.

At the end of the day… it’s okay if you don’t smile. He would like you to, of course, but he will meet you where you’re at. Anyway, it’s more important to him that you feel like it’s safe to show however it is you actually feel around him. He understands the amount of trust that takes, and he’s honoured by it. Nothing is more important to him than that trust.

So, you don’t have to smile. It’s okay.

Don’t be strong, he tells you. There’s no need, for now. Just let him. Rest, lean on his strength—he’s got more than enough for both of you. He’s got you. He’s not going anywhere.

_______

Belphie:

Oh, you’re tired? A bit sad, a bit grouchy? Damn. Looks like even HE has more energy than you today. That’s not something he sees often! Well, that’s fine. He knows what to do.

It’s straight to baby jail with you!

In his arms, that is. In bed, surrounded by his best pillows, covered by the least warm heavy blanket he has, so you won’t overheat but will still feel nice and covered.

He positions you so you’re facing each other, with your head tucked under his chin. So you have room to comfortably breathe and talk, but your face is still as covered as possible so you won’t be bothered by any lights.

Emotional intelligence may not be Belphie’s strong suit, but he is observant and he understands exhaustion. This may not exactly be the usual kind of exhaustion, but still! There’s no demon better equipped to understand what’s going on with you right now, just by nature.

He’s totally fine with cuddling you in silence if you don’t feel like talking. That really works for him, actually, because it allows him to nap.

Not that he doesn’t WANT to listen to you. He does. He’d be happy to. But he gets it if you don’t wanna bother with that. It’s okay.

He will, however, delay taking a nap until you doze off first. He just wants to make sure you’re okay. He’s not about to just fall asleep and abandon you if you still need attention.

If you’re not falling asleep very fast, he will help. Not with magic, surprisingly. He’s being more… gentle, he supposes, than that in this situation.

He talks quietly about nothing important. The soft drone of his voice, kept consistent and deliberately soporific, melts into your brain like butter, slowing it way down. Blocking everything else out. Gradually turning it off. One hand rubs your back slowly, almost as if to match the rhythm of his voice.

It’s so relaxing. You feel like you could stay like this forever and never want to move, you’re that comfortable.

Belphie knows what he’s doing.

It works really well! He makes sure you feel loved and cared for, then makes sure you get some extra rest. Mental and physical recharging.

Of course, you wake up feeling a lot better. Maybe not entirely back to your normal self yet, but definitely better. How could you not?

You’re a lot less tired after you’ve slept, and less sad too… so he’s succeeded—but you’re still not smiling!

He can fix that, right?

He lets you get up and stretch first, of course. He does the same. Before you leave the room though, he wraps you up in another hug.

He pulls back to examine your face after a minute or two.

Hmm… you look comfy, but still no smile! He can’t have that! So he hugs you tightly again, but this time his fingers start to lightly poke and brush over your sides. He’s trying to force you to smile by tickling you. He’s not gonna do too much, he’s not trying to overwhelm you. He stops as soon as you crack a smile.

There we go, he says as he gives you one last gentle squeeze. That was all he wanted, he tells you.

He doesn’t let go of you for long, over the rest of the day. Always holding your hand, giving you random hugs, draping himself over your shoulders—but without making you take all his weight for once, because he knows you’re still kinda tired. Enough of it to be soothing, but no more. Just so you don’t get lonely. He doesn’t want you to get all sad again.

If you do get sad again though, it’s okay. He will squish the sadness out of you all over again, as many times as you need. He doesn’t mind.

_______

[theonewhowails]

silly stuff i drew while reading Feel No Evil by @payasita , in which the Lamb does not know how to propose, Narinder does not know how to be alive, and neither of them knows what an obligate carnivore is

bonus? lmao

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

He's not.

They're just... he happened to notice them, once, when Eddie was listening to Dustin talk through how he might want to make his first DM campaign play out.

Steve wasn't even really paying attention at first, just reading some comic he'd found lying in Eddie's room. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen it. Movement.

Eddie and Dustin were sitting at the small kitchen table, Dustin talking about puzzles and traps and monsters and Eddie was smiling, nodding encouragingly, looking more and more exicted. But it wasn't the movement of his head that drew Steve's attention.

It was his hands.

They were resting on the sides of his legs, tapping.

Steve could only see one hand really, but he could see Eddie's other arm jumping the same way, his hands moving faster and faster the more excited he got, until they were just hovering near his legs, flapping in the air beside him as he smiled widely at Dustin. He suggested a few things, to Dustin, Steve's pretty sure that's what he was saying anyway, his ears weren't great anymore if he wasn't focused, and right now, all of his focus was on Eddie's hands.

Dustin slapped his hand on the table, pointed at Eddie and then started scribbling as Eddie laughed, Steve always managed to hear Eddie's laugh, his hands flapping harder, slapping at his thighs.

Steve vaguely hears his name, cocks his head to the side, but doesn't respond, his eyes still locked on Eddie's flapping hands, and then they stop moving. Both of them freezing, the one Steve can see clamps down on Eddie's thigh, fingers pressing into his jeans.

Steve blinks. Tears his eyes away. Looks at Eddie.

He's staring at Steve, his cheeks tinted pink. Steve swallows, gives him a little smile before Dustin has his attention, chatting at him about what he and Eddie had just come up with.

Steve hears about half of it. Nodding when he thinks he should, trying his best to sound interested. It's enough for Dustin. The barely there commitment. And usually Steve is better at engaging with him, even though he has no clue what he's talking about.

But he's distracted. His eyes keep wandering to Eddie's hands. But they don't move again the whole time he's there, Eddie's knuckles turn white as Steve's eyes linger on his hand. His fingers still pressing into his thigh, they drum a quick beat here and there, but his hands don't move.

Steve sighs, drags his eyes away, and tries to keep them off Eddie. Somehow feeling like Eddie is embarrassed, or upset, that Steve had seen... whatever it was he'd seen.

~°~

It keeps happening.

Eddie's flapping hands.

Steve's eyes on them.

But he's careful now. He doesn't stare. Just steals glances when the movements draw his eye. And Eddie always has his hands under tables, or tucked close to his sides, when it happens. Like he's trying to hide it.

Steve doesn't understand why. He likes it. Every time he sees Eddie's hands moving excitedly it makes his chest flutter. Like he's so happy that Eddie's happy it just fills him with warmth.

But it happens other times too.

Not only when he's happy.

It happens when he's nervous.

Happens when he's scared.

The movements are more erratic when he's nervous or scared. His hands flap, shake, clench, and unclench at his sides.

Every time, Steve wants to reach out and touch. To take his hands, hold them in his and tell him he's okay. That whatever it is. Steve will help.

But he hides it. Behind distracting smiles, and under tables, and behind his back, sometimes. But Steve sees him, watches him, and he wants.

Wants to ask. Wants to touch. Wants to be touched.

Wants to feel Eddie's shaking, flapping, hands against him. Wants to be the reason they flap happily at his sides sometimes. Wants to feel them flap happily against his sides. Wonders if Eddie would do that against his back if he kissed him.

Or if he'd do it lying underneath Steve, clutching at his shirt before his hands just taptaptaptapped against his back as Steve pressed him into his matress.

Or maybe he'd hold Eddie's hands, up above his head. Feel his fingers tapping against his hands as Steve kissed him, nice and slow. Eddie would just tap faster, if he was happy, if he wanted that, with Steve.

Steve sighed, deeply, and glanced at Eddie's hands, his left one resting in his lap, thumb twisting at his ring. His right one, hanging down by his leg, shaking happily as he listened to Will and Dustin make plans for their new campaign, and wished he could reach out and touch him. Even just settle his hand against Eddie's, just to feel the joy shake out of his body.

~°~

The first time Steve reaches out and takes Eddie's shaking hand, is at the summer carnival.

It's hot. And crowded. And loud. And they're waiting in line for some ride the kids want to drag them on. People laughing and screaming and crowding around, jostling them and bumping their shoulders.

And Eddie had gone quiet about five minutes ago. Steve keeps glancing down, watching his hands. It takes three more minutes. But they start to shake, flapping at his sides before he grabs at his jeans, wipes his palms, lets them shake again.

Steve leans forward, tells Dustin they'll be over by the benches, and he grabs Eddie's hand, gently slides his hand into Eddie's. Eddie looks at him, blinking rapidly.

"You wanna come with me? Get outta here?" Steve asks, jerks his head to the side. Eddie nods immediately, his fingers clamping down on Steve's hand, hard. But Steve doesn't care, because Eddie's hand shakes, just once or twice, and then it stops. And his hand is warm, and strong, inside Steve's as he leads them to the benches and sits Eddie down.

He gives him a drink of his lemon shake up, snorts when Eddie makes a face at the sour taste, and then sits next to him.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed. He takes his hand out of Steve's, leaving him aching for his touch. Steve just lets him go, rests his hand in his lap instead.

"Thanks." Eddie sighs, after a long moment, his eyes finally opening, they don't land on Steve. Stay locked on his lap.

"Anytime." He says, and he means it. Deep in his chest he means it, he'd do anything for Eddie. Always. Eddie smiles, finally looking at him.

"Can't believe you tried to kill me with that though." Eddie huffs, kicks Steve's shoe with his own and nods at the cup sitting between them.

Steve laughs, watches Eddie smile, his fingers twitching in his lap, his wrist twitches once, Steve's pretty sure it counts.

~°~

The second time he touches Eddie's hands, Eddie's just made them grilled cheese, his signature dish. And he's stitting in front of Steve, his chin resting in one hand, his other hand hidden under the table. He's watching as Steve chews his first bite.

"Weeeell?" He asks, impatient, as always. Steve makes a show of chewing slower, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he hums, thinking. Eddie kicks at his shin under the table, his socked foot not hurting at all. Steve snorts, kicks back, and says,

"It's good. Really good. Best grilled cheese I ever had." He's serious, knows he sounds like he's teasing.

"Yeah? You like it? I didn't burn it? I mean I know you said you like them crispy but I thought maybe I got it too dark. Might have burnt it." Eddie rambles, and Steve just smiles, shakes his head.

"It's perfect, actually. You're a grilled cheese wizard. Or a... grilled cheese... bard. No I don't think that's a thing. Wizard applies more here, pretty sure." Steve says, waving off his own words like they're nonsense, looking toward the ceiling again to avoid Eddie's, no doubt, exasperated look.

But that's when he sees it.

His eyes are on their way to the ceiling when he sees Eddie's hand, flapping next to his thigh. Steve looks back to him, sees him beaming, and can't help himself when he reaches out and grabs Eddie's shaking hand.

But it's a mistake. He didn't know it would be. Didn't think. Had forgotten about that first day when Eddie had caught him staring and froze.

The smile drops off Eddie's face and he tugs his hand quickly away from Steve, hiding it in his lap, scooting back in his chair, away from Steve, his eyes on the table.

"Sorry. I can't- sorry." He stammers, shaking his head, his cheeks are red, his eyes darting around the table top as he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach protectively.

"What are you sorry for? You don't have to be sorry." Steve says, his voice soft, just a breath between them really. Eddie frowns, shakes his head again.

"No. It's annoying. I know it is. It just happens. I can't help it." Eddie's voice is firm, his words sound rehearsed, like he's said them a thousand times. It makes Steve's chest ache, with pain for Eddie, and with anger for whoever told him that any part of himself was annoying. Especially this part, a part of him that Steve is sure is pure joy, made visible, made tangible and expressive.

"It's not annoying." Steve says, and he sounds... mad? A little. But not at Eddie. Eddie's eyes snap up, lock on Steve's face, he doesn't blink.

"It's not." Steve reaffirms, one shake of his head. He moves his hand, slides it across the table top slowly, towards Eddie, and then turns it, palm up, waiting.

Eddie's eyes twitch from his face to his hand and back again. Steve smiles, small, and wiggles his fingers, gives Eddie a nod.

"C'mon. It's okay." He nods his head again, eyes dropping to his hand and then back to Eddie's face. Eddie swallows, sits a little straighter, unwraps his arms from his stomach. Steve sees his arms flex, knows Eddie is squeezing his thigh under the table, nervous. But then he moves, slowly brings his hand up, and places it in Steve's.

He sighs, the contact he's been waiting for finally made, Eddie's breathing is shakey as he watches Steve curl his fingers around his hand, pull it closer across the table.

"It's not annoying Eddie it's-" Steve pauses. Eddie frowns, a grimace really.

"Hey. No. I mean it. I like it." Steve says, and Eddie looks at him, his eyes moving back to their tangled hands over and over.

"You do?" He asks, and he sounds so fucking small. So unsure. So Steve does the only thing he can think of, he stands, drags Eddie to his feet as well, and then presses a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"I do. I really do. That's why I was staring." Steve says, breathes it against Eddie's hand, smiles when Eddie's fingers twitch against him.

"I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. But it wasn't because I was annoyed. I promise you that. You believe me?" Steve ducks his head a little, tries to get Eddie to look at him, he's got his free hand up by his mouth, his nail worrying between his teeth. And Steve has to smile, can see Eddie thinking, trying to make sure he does, believe Steve. One moment more and Eddie nods, presses his lips together, and looks at Steve.

"I believe you." He says, teeth worrying into his lip.

"Good. So you- I mean you don't have to hide it. Around me. If you don't want. Cuz I meant what I said. I like it. A lot." Steve feels heat rush into his cheeks and closes his eyes, breathes against Eddie's knuckles for a moment before he looks back up to see Eddie smiling at him. Looking a little in awe. A little breathless.

"You like it that much?" His nose scrunches and Steve just want to fucking kiss him. He nods instead.

"Yeah. I really do. It's like you've got... I don't know... happy little bat wings. Just flapping around you when you're having a good time. I love it. I love-" Steve stops, the words caught in his throat, because that's too much. Maybe. For right now. But he feels it. Has felt it for Eddie for awhile now, the warmth of it humming beneath his skin when Eddie's near him.

Eddie's beaming at him now, tears shining in his eyes, he hides behind his hair, for just a second, before he darts forward, presses his lips to Steve's, a quick press, and then he's gone again, and the space between them is small but still too much.

"Sorry. I've never done that before." Eddie breathes. Steve watches something that could be fear, or regret, pass over Eddie's features like a shadow, and refuses to let it stay there, not even a second longer.

He drops Eddie's hand and cradles Eddie's neck, draws him closer, til their sharing breath.

"Stop apologizing. I want this. You." Steve whispers, pressing his forehead to Eddie's.

"I want you t-"

And Steve kissing him. Slow. Sweet. His hands holding Eddie close. Steve moves his tongue along Eddie's bottom lip, smiles into Eddie's mouth when he gasps, and then deepens the kiss, just so, tilting Eddie's head a little for a better angle. Eddie moans into his mouth, his hands scrambling to grab at Steve's back, clenching in his shirt and unclenching as Steve tilts his world on it's axis.

And then Steve feels it, Eddie's hands, tapping against his back, like he'd thought about since that first day, like he'd dreamed about, on several occasions. Too many to count.

Steve hums into Eddie's mouth, smiles against his lips, their teeth clicking together as Eddie smiles too, laughs into Steve's mouth, his breath filling Steve's lungs as they cling to each other.

See, Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

He just knew they'd feel perfect tapping out happy rhythms against his skin.

And for once, in his traumatic, full of bullshit life, Steve was right.

He's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

But he does love them.

The way they move, and shake, and show all of Eddie's joys, wild, and uncontrolled.

And his to hold.

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve harrington follow on from this post

ao3

wc: 2.6k | rated: T | cw: description of a meltdown with semi aggressive stimms | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie and robin but this is about stevie), hurt/comfort, stobin soulmates, steddie, steve Harrington has shitty parents

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

he failed. he graduated. but he failed. those unsaid words between him and his parents. some get said. the bad ones, about him, they get said. over again like he’s 5 and being told is behaviour isn’t acceptable. that how he is isn’t right. ‘shape up or ship out’, basically. steve knows he can’t go anywhere new, not right now. only freshly recovered, physically at least. mentally; he’s still unacceptable. 

when steve works at scoops. it’s so fucking bright in there. so fucking bright, all day and he can’t focus and talking to people gets so much harder. it’s not like school where he can zone out in class and turn it on during lunch, in between, keep up his face with the people around him and sink back into his head during chemistry. no. now it’s all the time, customer after customer. that he has to talk to, put on a smile for, read so he gives them what they want and they leave happy. it’s exhausting. girls don’t like him anymore, they don’t react to him the same way. he doesn’t think he likes them much either though because they’re so much more annoying when it’s so fucking bright. 

but robin (robin who cycles to work with sunglasses on and doesn’t take them off till she has too) she turns the lights down during open and close. so those couple hours, it’s not so bad. not so stressful. a little bit less loud. 

after the mall burns down steve starts letting her in. tries too. she makes it obvious enough to him that she wants him there. she asks him to stay and calls him at night and he just wants to be enough for her. eventually he’d swallowed his pride and bolstered his courage and called her after a string of nightmares. asking her to stay the night. but then she was there, and it was like everything was thrown off. she was grating on his already freyed nerves but he didn’t know what to say. how to fix it without upsetting her. 

but that night, a mirror of the mall bathroom played out in steves en-suite. steve had freaked. hidden. but she didn’t leave. and he tried to explain. 

he needs her but he doesn’t know how to have her as a true friend. ‘i dunno how to talk to a girl if i don’t wanna date them. i uh, maybe, don’t really know how to talk to someone as myself. as a friend. sorry.’ 

‘well i don’t know how to talk to jocks so. same boat.’ and she has this glint in her eye. like she knows. and it’s okay. 

because robin, she made it simple. she makes it easy. she says just ask and she’ll be honest and give him a yes or no. she’ll say if she can’t be touched right now, or if the movie he chose is pissing her the fuck off. and she wants the same from him. if the music is too loud, if she needs to let him not speak for a while. wants him honest and present and real. real friends. someone close. finally. 

it’s rocky at first. she’s honest and he’s not used to it. it feel like criticism more often than not. makes him see red and lash out, like he was never able to with his parents. but he apologises and she stays. and he’s learning; that’s it’s okay, he’s not perfect and that means she’s knowing the real him. and she’s still his best friend even if he has to tell her to stop picking her nail polish off around him because it makes him want to die. and she laughs at him the first time she sees him in real recovery mode; hair not styled and he has on the only sweatshirt that ever feels good when he’s like this. 

they lay on the floor in darkness and silence. it’s perfect. they share a tin of soup and a grilled cheese. it’s perfect. 

being around robin as much as he is, its so new, having someone see so many parts of you. sometimes she laughs at him asking steve ‘why’d your voice change?’ but steve didn’t even know it had. he was, he was just talking to someone else quick, being nice like you’re supposed to, attentive to make them feel good. he didn’t know his voice changed that much. 

‘girls would like you more if you talked normal to them. how you do to me.’ 

steve swallowed thickly. he just. he just doesn’t know that thats true. nancy left, he talked to her about lots of things, too many things. she like him better at the start. before some of his black tar innards spilled out. before he freaked. before he was able to paste himself back together and she saw him for what he really is. 

he thinks of his parents. how they don’t know him and still don’t like him. anxiety prickles at his fingertips at the thought of those times they do come home. 

because with them there the routine he’s carved for himself, those quiet moments of darkness that he so craves. they’re gone. now it’s tv static and plates clanging and having to show his face at dinner again. but he’s not ten anymore. now he’s an adult whose still drowning in the tension of the room, never able to say what’s really going on, never allowed to ask how they really feel, never taught how to figure his feeling out. no listening ear for steve as a child, and the ice only grew thicker with time. 

it’s his skin itching at his mother stirring her tea across the house, spoon agains porcelain. it’s the hair on the back of his neck standing up at the sound of ice clinking in his fathers scotch glass. it’s triggered memories playing over and over again. it’s being plagued, by ghosts who haunt him, who left but come back every so often, like poltergeists. polietgists with the deed to the house, and ownership over steve, through blood and fear alone. 

‘when they get back you come to mine steve yeah? you come home.’

because now theres not just robin. there’s eddie. 

he sees everything. and more. even when steve’s trying to hide. eddie sees. 

he noticed steve squinting at the hospital and asked the nurse to turn the lights down. he saw how he started zoning out at a diner with the kids, their arguing reaching a pitch, asked steve to keep him company for a smoke break. once they were outside eddie said he just needed a moment, ‘those kids can be animals’. said it and looked a him like he didn’t need an answer, let steve just breathe a focus on the sound of the wind. 

it’s like there’s a million tiny moments, a million tiny cracks in him forming the more he’s around eddie. like his soft underbelly is mewling any time he’s around, wanting attention, wanting to let eddie see. let eddie touch. 

eddie used to look at him sometimes, across the lunch hall. stare at him with an expression steve couldn’t really make sense of. he used to think it was judgment, annoyance. now he wonders if that face was confusion or interest. maybe eddie’s always been trying to figure steve out. 

once it starts. them. eddie’s everywhere. more somehow, maybe, than robin because, you know, they go there. but it’s different, from those time, with those girls. instead now he’s there and his brains off and on in a, like, magical way. a new way that makes him feel whole and, and beautiful. 

this thing they have. it’s fragile. it’s not perfect. he messes up, takes him a moment to grasp how eddie can be so so himself, always, no matter what. especially when it causes him problems. ‘why not just try and fit in?’ but the stone faced reply told steve that was the wrong thing to say, he didn’t get it but he needed to respect it. respect eddie and his choices. ‘i’m not like you steve, even if my brain shit was all gone i’d still be poor, i’d still be othered. still be a gay weirdo little freak.’ 

and steve is trying to get it. he’s learning to recognise that it’s sadness and confusion in eddie’s eyes when he visits him at work, knowing steve is having a bad day and watching him pretend. watching that mask form thick and fast, hiding the real him, protecting but also keeping everyone far far away. steve thinks maybe they’re living parallels. finding different ways to survive. neither better, neither worse. both far from perfect. 

then that pinched sadness in eddie’s eyes. watching steve pretend. cover up. that damn breaks eventually. eddie sees all of him and more. those bits he always kept locked inside. between he and himself. it all comes spilling out. 

they were supposed to be going out soon. but eddie wasn’t feeling it anymore ‘let’s just stay here, be cozy a little longer. what do you say, sweetheart?’ it does sound nice. steves so tired. but they decided. they had a plan. 

‘we said we would. and i have to buy that thing eddie. we had a plan. and i have to go to work later, so we have to do it before. like we said and then i have to work eddie.’ and before he knows it there’s tears prickling his eyes and the ceiling fan is so loud and the desk lamp is too bright and he smacks a fist to the top of his head and it hurts a little but he’s so frustrated and so overwhelmed and so confused and embarrassed, suddenly. and he can’t breath. why can’t he breath? they had a plan. 

they were supposed to go see hopper and pick something up and he has to talk to him and ask about the game because he needs hopper to like him because it’s better when el can come when all the kids hangout. it’s important that she’s happy so hopper needs to trust steve so steve was going to talk to him today and pick something up. it was the plan. hopper makes him nervous but that was the plan. and then he had to go to work. but now he can’t breathe and he feels like he needs something to hurt. 

‘but he already trusts you with el stevie. hop trusts you with anything.’ 

‘i can’t know that. not for sure. when i talk to him it needs to be perfect.’ steve paces. a pinch at his arm. a tug at his hair. pivot. pace. repeat. 

‘i heard what he said to you steve, on your birthday, he was calling you son all day. you don’t need to prove anything to him.’ 

‘i do eddie! you don’t understand. people, they lie. adults lie. they don’t say things the way they mean. i can’t fuck up talking to him. not like i always fuck up talking to my parents. i need to do it better. do it differently. because everyone always leaves. and i just don’t want to be alone again.’ and the tears really start to fall and steve can barely breath and he’s so embarrassed. shaking hands try and cover his face but the tears slip through. 

and all he can think about is the plan. going to work. his vest hanging by the door. the way the plastic tapes feel in his hands. the smell of the bleach they mop the back room with. the day stretches before him. so many things in the way. so much anxiety still to come. if he can’t start, it can’t end. he gnaws at his lip. thumps a hand to his chest, trying to breath right, trying to ground. 

‘i have to go to work’ he mutters. like a prayer. speak it in to happening. taking him away from the now. thump thump thump at his chest. ear ringing. 

eddie’s holding his arms out, giving steve the option. he speaks so calmly, so earnest. ‘you can’t go to work steve. not like this baby.’

steve rounds on him. angry. when did everything get so messed up? if he was just left alone. he should’ve stayed on his own. ‘i cant just call in sick eddie! i’m not sick and and i hate the way they’ll sound when i say it over the phone and knowing what they’ll be thinking about me. they’ll know i hate the job and think i’m lazy and realise how stupid and useless i am and fire me. i can’t afford to get fired eddie. i’d rather just go in.’ he know it comes out garbled, his cheeks on fire. 

‘i’m not letting you go in steve. i’ll sort it. i’ll go pick up robin before and she’ll cover for you, she’ll explain. and she would never. ever think that of you.’ eddie’s voice dropped octave. he speaks clearly and plainly and finally there’s a new plan to follow. a new rule for the day. 

and all steve can do is curl up in a ball and sob. curl up in a ball against eddie chest, in his arms, squeezing his t-shirt between his fingers. clenching his muscles tight, his teeth grinding together. grunting out some of the decade old scream, still stuck there but more visible to him now. 

until finally finally, he relaxes. spent and exhausted. too afraid to open his eyes and face the lamplight, face what could be in eddie’s expression. he drifts..

eventually he gets up, blows his nose and splashed water on his face, turns off all the lights and get back under the warm blanket. fills his lungs. sighs. whispers, ‘m’sorry’ 

‘don’t say that. there’s nothing to apologise for’ eddie’s so close, so warm. 

‘no one’s supposed to ever, see that.. it’s okay if you want to leave’ 

‘steve. why the fuck would i leave you right now?’ 

‘who’d wanna date someone who acts like that? it’s. it’s not good eddie. but, but it’s okay. i’m used to being alo-.’ 

‘please stop stevie. your breaking my heart here. i want to stay, i want to be here with you. i really really like you steve.’ and steve’s cheeks feel wet again. he feels flayed open and young, like a little kid who fell off the swings and everything is different suddenly. 

later later when eddie picks robin up from work she stalks in to where steve’s wrapped up on the couch. curls up into his side and exhales. she bites into his bicep. huffing a sad, annoyed little ‘dingus’ before grabbing his hand and fiddling with his fingers. 

steve feels his eyes prickle again. looking up at the ceiling he croaks out a small ‘sorry.’ for the day. for everything. for anything he can be. and everything he can’t. 

robin kneels on the sofa right next to him. growling a little and placing one of her hands at his sternum and the other at the same height on his back. like she’s forcing herself inside him, holding him together. her hands start to rub up and down quickly, frenzied and grounding for both of them. steve let’s his head hang. eyes closing at the sensation. he grunts. robin grunts back. 

eddie joins. sitting at his other side. slipping a hand in steve’s hair, soothing his scalp with long scratching fingers. and steve humms, sighs, keens. eyes closed he drifts but not away from his body, instead into it. with gratitude, and warmth. at the centre of the two best things that ever happened to him. willing to try again. be just, better. never perfect. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

pt 3 snippet

a little happier for u @pearynice <3

ty @spectrum-spectre @vampyreddiemunson @fangirlycupcake @grandwretch for ur tags and additions, it was very inspiring

and tags for lovely @irethsune @willim-billiam-byerson @2jug2head

[c-kiddo]

its not even fully canon but 1 thing that immediately breaks my immersion when i read a fanfiction on occasion is when people write the clays as like having lots of separate rooms in their house. like i dont think they have a dining room. i dont think they have a dining room table with chairs like a suburban family. i dont think all of the kids have their own rooms. and even if that ends up being the case in the animated show then itll still be wrong

[puppydoggraham]

To write Hannibal fanfiction I swear you need 3 PhD’s, a grasp on several languages, an in depth understanding of the Bible, an ability to come up with insane metaphors that are intricate and convoluted but still make perfect sense, an unnaturally sophisticated vocabulary, a mental catalogue of all culinary stuff/art/scents/culture in general/geography and you have to seal the deal with the devil

[pftones3482]

Listen, I hear y'all and your Touch Averse Autistic Donnie headcanons. But may I take a moment to present you with the option of: Physical Comfort Autistic Donnie, who is very comfortable touching his family and friends and with them touching him? And who uses physical touch as a way to show love without words?

Bc once you start looking for it, he is CONSTANTLY in physical contact with someone, and it's almost always in an affectionate way

[naranjapetrificada]

Just a small thing I noticed while being totally normal about the gay pirates:

I've watched The Kiss™ way too many times a normal number of times and my favorite moment is the series of microexpressions Rhys cycles through while Stede is reacting to "what makes Ed happy is...you" because it's just so lovely and masterfully done. While trying to find a good gif of just that moment (no luck so far!) I noticed something that happens while Ed is pulling Stede in.

Stede, darling honey light of my life, clueless useless "oblivious" gay that he is, tilts his head a bit and leans into the kiss too. Before it's even started. On some level he registers that This Is Happening in time to react in a positive way, even before their lips have touched.

Our boy is a creature of instinct, and when he acts on his emotional instincts without thinking too much he knocks so much shit out of the park. Instinct is part of why "you wear fine things well" hits as hard as it does. Instinct is how he can woo Ed as easily as he does. Instinct is how they were able connect so deeply so quickly, because his instinct is to be open and non-judgemental to this beautiful man waiting beside his sickbed and asking about fine fabrics.

Stede's thoughts are still too clouded by his trauma and self-loathing to be useful for him, and he can end up thinking too much about what he "should" do or what other people do. Thinking is part of the reason he's so quick to believe Chauncey in the woods. Thinking means succumbing to beliefs about his perceived worthlessness, which leads to his biggest mistakes. Thinking tells him to adjust what he says about Blackbeard in that tavern of townies, when his instinct was to say how "absolutely lovely" Ed is.

Obviously man cannot live by instinct alone, like he definitely should have thought for a minute about making a deal with Geraldo to fence the hostage. Stede needs to learn to balance the two and when to listen to either/both of them. But I was just so excited to see him leaning in the way he does because it underlines a feeling I've had for a minute, which is that Stede's instincts are those of someone crushing and then falling in love, and that never wavers.

He lacks the context and vocabulary to identify what's going on without outside intervention, but he also deeply gets it in a way that's extremely queer and that I hope starts showing up more in the fanon. I do a little happy dance every time I see this in people's fics and I just need so many more of them! Give me more eager Stede who is Ready To Go once he's given the right context for his feelings about Ed!

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 61

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Autistic Lance (Voltron) [series] by dontthinkiwont

"Look, okay, I get it, I like peanut butter, you like sharks. It's a thing, whatever. But seriously, dude - what the fuck?" - Or, Lance has Autism Spectrum Disorder and this can cause him to fixate on some things. Like, maybe, for instance, great white sharks. For example.

yes i like this series for projection reasons. whatever. it was also one of the first autistic lance fics out there!! and its v heavy in platonic relationships yall are gonna love it

2. Revelations and Reactions by @azapofinspiration

Keith couldn't believe it. He was part Galra. That was hard enough to deal with... But then he realized that he would have to tell the rest of the team. He couldn't help but fear how they would react. In which Keith reveals that he's part Galra after facing the Blade of Marmora's trials.

azap truly never misses. they KNOWWWW how to do found family like a CHAMP and i will never get tired of reading canon corrections where keith is like. loved and accepted lol

3. A Memory Like a Snapshot by MemeKonVLD

Pidge is still close —closer than is entirely comfortable if he has to be honest— giving him an evaluating glance. Lance doesn’t really know where to look, other than up her nose— but that grows old pretty fast. So he looks at himself in the reflection of her glasses. And squints. He touches his own face for the first time since waking up— and feels the roughness of his chin. “I have stubble,” he says, and the words are as alarmed as they can be even though they still sound slightly slurred, slightly off. Pidge blinks a couple of times at him, and finally retracts into a more comfortable distance. “Well, yeah,” she says. “You are like, what? 22? 23 in a couple of months?” “I’m feeling— I’m feeling a little queasy,” he says then, with bright spots of color dancing in front of his eyes as he thinks 22. Suddenly, a bucket gets shoved against his face. He takes hold of it with clammy fingers and he leans on his side so he can... use it. Thoroughly. “I’m having Garrison flashbacks,” he hears Pidge say.   (Or: Lance is stung by an alien bug, loses his memories temporarily and makes assumptions about his and Keith's relationship. Also, Pidge cheats at Uno.)

losing your memories. and waking up. and someone treats you so kindly and lovingly that you know, immediately, in the bones of you, that they love you. and the feeling in your chest even if your brain doesnt remember of love for them tells you clearly that this person is your soulmate. i am going to LOSE IT

4. Love in the Times of (Intergalactic) War by MemeKonVLD

Lance: Oh, man. [I see him grow visibly excited here, leaning forward and putting his hands up— he’s big on gesticulating, as anyone who’s watched the pilots of Voltron host SNL a couple of months ago knows.] Space is vast. I know that’s not groundbreaking knowledge there, and everyone’s somewhat aware of it, but— being up there? traveling around space for years, and knowing we never even— we never even came near to touching upon a tenth of what’s out there? That’s cool, weird and scary all in one.

WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT 2016 FICS. HUH. ICONIQUE?? AMAZING??? SHOWSTOPPING?? INCREDIBLE??? bc pov outsider is the BEST and watching how much lance SHINES to anyone who looks at him...yeah

5. Skin by MemeKonVLD

He’s aware of Lance talking to him, but he’s still too asleep to try to decipher whatever it is he’s blabbering about. He only starts paying attention when one of Lance’s hands goes to the drawstring of his pajama pants. “Whoa, what are you doing?” He asks, slapping Lance’s hand away, cheeks warm. “You,” Lance starts, pointing at him (and Keith notices that for all he’s made fun of him for the last forever for them, he’s wearing his fingerless gloves), “are not screwing up my skin care routine, man.” (AKA: the one where Keith and Lance switch bodies.)

suave keith and flustered lance my BELOVED. swapped bodies truly has to be one of the top ten tropes of all time. love watching them be in love and also stupid

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

It’s just that Fingon’s like that stereotypical son who calls his mum and walks old ladies across the street, mows the lawn for his neighbours, brings home nice, pretty girls who want to be kindergarten teachers or something and is really passionate about some niche compassionate topic like children in poverty’s access to multiple sclerosis treatment and who everyone says is ‘such a nice boy’ but then he goes and dates the eldest kid of Mr. Stay Away From My Boys, Son, a flaming ginger who most people haven’t heard speak. And this is hilarious.

[fagtainsparklez]

i can never read reader insert fics because every time i try the only thing on my mind is just

[sen-ya]

Things I say about trafalgar law too often:

get this man some weed

some say his tiddies are still out there

“i’m not autistic where tf are my pants”

[oceanic-sunsets]

english teacher Mike Wheeler who comes across as this Serious Intimidating and pretentious jerk until you discover he's just a nerd who all the Troubled and 'Difficult' kids surprisingly love and look up to. No one knows how he does it. (he was, once, that angry troubled teen).

art teacher Will Byers who absolutely every student loves. You cannot hate him. Queer kids are especially drawn to him and he's the best at reassuring them and helping them feel comfortable and safe. He's always followed by at least two or three students and he gets the most notes, gifts and hand-made crafts during holidays.

and yes they're married

[spectral-honey]

Okay wait wait wait wait wait Tim Drake neurodivergent icon info dumping about the cases and strategies of the early Batman & robin days and Damian listening bc it's "good information for his training" but REALLY he's just letting his brother talk about his hyperfixation!!!

[ghosttotheparty]

if you'd let me want you

also on ao3 thank u @lunaraindrop for the help <3 cw: angst <3 arguing, brief panic attacks

“I’m just saying, man,” Eddie says lightly, leaning against the counter, watching Steve lift a box and set it on a cart. He lets himself watch. Steve isn’t looking at him. He can practically feel the ground shake as Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You guys make sense together.”

“Just because something makes sense doesn’t mean it…” Steve rips the box open. Eddie wills his face not to flush with heat. “Make sense.”

“That didn’t make sense.”

Steve shoots him a look.

“I don’t like Nancy like that anymore,” he says, almost grumbling. His mood shifted as soon as Eddie brought her up a few minutes ago. He smiled when Eddie showed up at Family Video, greeting him with a bright, “Hey!” but the second Eddie asked if he’s seen Nancy recently, the perpetual soft smile that lingered on his face faded and he looked away. His cheeks flushed pink. So Eddie doesn’t really believe him.

“You know I don’t believe you, right?”

Steve sends a look over at him. But it’s not really a look. He glares at him.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as Steve looks away again, his stomach twisting.

“You don’t have to believe me, Eddie,” Steve says, his voice twinged with annoyance. “It doesn’t make it… not true.”

“Well, you get all uptight and stiff every time I bring her up,” Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s defending himself.

“Yeah, maybe I just don’t wanna talk about my ex with you,” Steve says, his voice firmer, annoyed and slightly louder. Eddie’s chest tightens, and he furrows his brows, his breath caught in his chest.

“This is the kind of thing friends talk about,” he says defensively.

“Maybe I just wanna hang out with you without talking about my fucking love life,” Steve snaps, putting a tape up on a shelf a little too hard. Eddie blinks.

“Why are you pissed?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“You sound pissed. You look pissed.”

“I’m fine, Eddie,” Steve says, sounding even more pissed. “I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

Eddie has a problem. He’s had this problem his whole life.

“Why don’t you wanna talk about it?”

It’s gotten him in trouble before. Many times. At home, at school, with his friends, the assholes that shoved him around in the hallways, against lockers.

“You talk about it with Robin,” he says. “Why is it such a big deal to talk about it with me? What’s your problem?”

He pushes. And prods. And pokes. And annoys the fuck out of whoever he’s talking to, until—

“Jesus, Eddie, I don’t fucking know, just fuck off.”

Eddie stares at him as he looks up at him. His eyes are gleaming, his brows are furrowed, and his cheeks are red, and he looks angry, and for some fucking reason it just pisses Eddie off.

“I wanna help you,” he snaps. “I know you like her, and you guys would be perfect for each other, fuckin’ mister and missus America—”

“I don’t fucking like her,” Steve almost shouts, and Eddie almost flinches back, the volume making its way under his skin, pulling at him and making him ache.

“What’s your fucking deal, Harrington?” He matches his volume.

Steve recoils like Eddie’s slapped him across the face, his eyes wide, and he blinks, his shoulders falling.

“Don’t call me Harrington,” he says weakly. Eddie exhales, staring at him. “You never call me Harrington.”

The door opens across the store, the bell shoving it dinging brightly, and Robin greets them with a cheerful, “Hey, dinguses.”

Neither of them look away, their eyes locked, and Eddie barely even heard Robin’s tentative, “What’s going on?” Steve looks like he might cry, his cheeks still flushed, his eyes shining, and Eddie scoffs, shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from Steve, ignoring Robin and heading to the door. It slams shut behind him.

His hands are shaking as he fumbles with his keys, biting his trembling lip as he slides into the driver's seat, and he looks up into the store as he starts the van. Robin is looking at Steve, confused, still holding her bag in her hands, and Steve is covering his face, holding a tape before he shouts something Eddie can’t hear and throws the tape across the store.

Eddie’s vision swims and he pulls out of the parking lot without buckling his seat belt.

———————

He doesn’t see Steve for another four days.

He doesn’t really have to. It’s not like they tend to hang out every day. (Every other day, maybe. Sometimes more. But they don’t have a strict schedule, and Steve doesn’t come inside when he drops the kids off at Eddie’s for Hellfire on Thursday.)

Four whole days.

Is it pathetic that he misses him? Probably. It’s only four days, but Eddie feels hollow, like something is missing just because he hasn’t heard Steve’s voice.

Steve seems to feel the same way, which doesn’t really make Eddie feel better, even though his heart fucking soars when he opens the door to his apartment to find Steve standing there, his hair damp from the rain. He’s somehow looking up at Eddie despite being almost the exact same height as him.

“Hi,” Eddie says quietly, holding the door open. Steve rocks up onto his toes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, and he glances past Eddie into the apartment.

“Is Wayne here?”

Eddie blinks, his heart falling, and Steve seems to notice it, because he hurriedly says, “I’m not— I just wanna talk to you, like, alone. I just… wanna make sure.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinks again. “No, he’s— he’s at work.”

“Okay.” Steve pauses, swallowing, swaying. “Can I… Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says after staring at him for a moment. “Yeah, come in.”

Steve exhales as he enters, pushing his hair back. His jacket is spotted with rain. Eddie forgot it was raining at all. He can’t hear rain much in this apartment. Unless it’s pouring.

“Talk,” Eddie says, heading into the kitchen. The kettle isn’t boiling yet, and he feels underdressed next to Steve, who’s wearing jeans and a tucked-in button-down, his jacket neatly pressed except for the rain. Eddie’s just in sweatpants and a grey sweater that’s two sizes too big.

“I, uhm.” Steve hesitates, taking a breath.

Eddie leans against the counter next to the stove, crossing his arms, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Steve says, leaning against the wall across from Eddie. It’s a small kitchen. Their feet are almost touching.

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

“I was…” Steve pauses, swallowing anxiously, his hands shifting in his pockets. “I was upset, and I lashed out at you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks into his eyes. They’re shining again. They always are.

“I don’t get why you were upset,” Eddie says quietly, feeling like he’s confessing something. He often doesn’t get why people feel certain things. Why people get annoyed at him for the things he does when he isn’t hurting anyone. Why people laugh when there’s nothing to laugh about. Why people get upset when he tries to help them.

Especially with something like all this with Steve. He and Nancy would be perfect together. Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington. White picket fence and a soccer team of children and yearly vacations and everything someone like Eddie Munson could never have.

He hasn’t told anyone that he doesn’t understand what they’re feeling in a long time. The last few times he told them they’ve scoffed and rolled their eyes and accused him of lying to get away with being an asshole, even when he was so adamant he worked himself to tears.

But Steve doesn’t do any of those things. He looks at Eddie and believes him.

“I don’t like Nancy anymore,” Steve says. He sounds close to tears. “And it just… pissed me off that you just didn’t believe me.”

He must see the doubt on Eddie’s face.

“I don't like her anymore,” Steve says. “I swear.”

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes.

“I see how you look at her, Steve,” he says softly, and he wants to go throw himself out the living room window. Because he sounds so desperate, so fucking honest, and Steve can probably see right into him.

“How do I look at her?” Steve asks desperately, his head tilting forward.

“Like she’s perfect,” Eddie says, his arms uncrossing. The kettle is starting to boil, the whistle low and quiet. “Like she’s fucking flawless, like she’s… the fucking sunset or something.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly, his shoulders slumping.

“I don’t get it,” Eddie says adamantly. The whistle is growing in pitch. “I don’t get why you don’t like her, she’s— she is perfect, she’s the one for you—”

“No, she’s not,” Steve says angrily.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the kettle whistling loudly, screeching at them, and Eddie huffs, turning away.

“Jesus,” he mutters, turning off the burner. “What do you want from me, Steve?” he asks, pulling the kettle off the burner, feeling it vibrate as it whistles.

“I don’t want anything from you, I want you.”

The kettle falls quiet.

The kitchen is silent.

Eddie blinks at the kettle, the words washing over him like cold water, and he almost drops the kettle as he sets it down heavily. It lands loudly on the stove, clattering on the burner, and he turns around to look at Steve.

Steve’s eyes are wide as he realises what he’s just said, and Eddie isn’t breathing, and he’s trembling, and Steve takes a sharp breath before he turns away.

Eddie reaches out and grabs his shirt, pulling him back.

Except he doesn’t do that.

He yells, at the top of his lungs, as loud as he can, I want you too. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Except he doesn’t do that either.

Steve leaves, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Eddie lets him.

———————

Six days.

Six fucking empty days.

Wayne notices that something is off, but he doesn’t ask, because he knows Eddie won’t tell. If he were to ask, Eddie would probably just burst into tears, and Wayne had never known what to do when Eddie cries. It’s not like Grandpa Munson was a touchy-feely guy. Wayne’s always just brought him tea and tissues and given him a hug if he wanted one.

Eddie covers it up when the kids come over to the apartment to hang out. Lucas tells him he asked Steve if he wanted to come up to say hi, but that Steve has errands to run. Eddie just quips that Steve is a big boy, all old and mature. The kids laugh, living in their sweet, sweet ignorance.

When the kids aren’t over, and Corroded guys aren’t over, he’s holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling with his headphones on. (He can’t use his speakers anymore because of complaints from the neighbours.) Trying to let the music drown out the words that are bouncing around his skull like a pinball.

I want you. I want you. I want you.

On the seventh day, Robin calls him.

He doesn’t want to answer the phone, but he trudges up out of bed, pushing his hair out of his face. He’s still wearing the same sweater.

She tells him the Party’s having a movie night at Steve’s.

Eddie’s chest aches at the sound of Steve’s name.

You’re gonna be there, she says, because she seems to know how his brain works better than anyone else he’s met. You’re gonna be there gets him to change his sweater.

His eyes meet Steve’s when he goes inside, but they both look away, and Eddie immediately swerves to the other side of the living room, scooping El into his arms and cackling evilly when she screams his name.

Steve sits with Robin on the sofa. Eddie can tell Robin knows something is up, but he can also tell that Steve hasn’t told her anything because she glances at Eddie, then at Steve, and Steve ignores her, his eyes trained on Dustin as he argues with Will about something.

The lights shut off when the movie starts.

Steve leans against the armrest of the sofa, Robin leans against him, and Nancy leans against her. Jonathan and Argyle are on the floor, Jonathan’s head on Argyle’s shoulder. The kids are all on the floor, tangled and piled on top of each other like a litter of puppies.

Eddie doesn’t even know which movie is playing. He keeps looking at Steve.

He feels like his veins are filled with wax, his body tense and stiff and so anxious he’s shaking a little bit.

I want you.

Eddie looks over at him again, the words echoing in his head, in the exact cadence and emphasis that Steve spoke in, adamant and angry and desperate.

Steve’s eyes meet his across the room. They’re shining. Reflecting the flashing lights of the movie.

Eddie tilts his head, gesturing silently, weakly, toward the kitchen.

Steve inhales, his jaw working, and he sighs quietly, squeezing Robin’s arm and moving to get up. She looks up at him, then at Eddie, then at Nancy, moving so Steve can get up, pulling Nancy closer.

Eddie gets up quietly, stepping behind the sofa so he doesn’t get in anyone’s view of the movie before he follows Steve down the hall to the kitchen, shutting the door behind them.

Steve crosses his arms when he enters the kitchen like he’s protecting himself, looking sulky and upset and so small it makes Eddie want to cry. He leans against the island, looking at the floor, biting his lip, and Eddie steps to be in front of him, leaning against the wall.

They're both quiet. Eddie can almost hear the movie, muffled and quiet through the door and down the endless hallway. Eddie can almost hear his own heartbeat. He listens to Steve’s breath.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly, almost whispering.

Steve looks up at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s before he looks away, at the floor, his eyes moving like he’s looking for something.

“Steve,” Eddie says weakly when Steve doesn’t say anything. “Did you mean it?”

Steve takes a sharp breath, his lip trembling.

“Yes.”

Eddie exhales.

The floor is solid beneath his feet.

Holy shit.

He steps forward, looking at Steve’s face. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, wiping away a tear, and Steve startles, his eyes flying open to look at Eddie, his eyes filled with tears, scared and desperate. He’s breathing hard, blinking.

“I want you too,” Eddie whispers.

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Eddie, please.” Steve’s voice squeaks, breaks and chokes, and Eddie reaches up to hold his face between his hands, wiping away the tears that fall from his eyes. Steve is gasping for breath, and Eddie presses a hand firmly against his chest as it rises and falls quickly.

“I’m not fucking with you, Stevie,” he murmurs. Steve’s hands grab at Eddie’s waist, gripping the fabric of his sweater. (This one is black.) He’s holding him too tightly, but Eddie doesn’t mind. “I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Steve closes his eyes hard, his brows furrowing as he pants, and Eddie leans close, pressing their foreheads together, murmuring to him. Breathe, Steve, slowly. You got it.

It takes a while for his breathing to slow, and Eddie slides his hand up his chest when it does, moving it up over the collar of his sweatshirt, over his neck, to his cheek.

“Why’d you push me to go with Nancy?” Steve chokes, blinking tears out of his eyes, and Eddie’s eyes burn, aching because he can’t explain it.

“I don’t…” He hesitates, shrugging weakly, holding Steve’s cheeks carefully, tenderly. He sighs, letting his head fall forward so their foreheads meet as he thinks. “Because boys like me don’t get things like this,” he says softly, quietly.

“Yes, they do,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut.

They’re quiet for a moment, sharing breaths, until Eddie slowly slides his hands across Steve’s neck, hugging him tightly, and Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him against himself harshly, strongly. A soft sound escapes Eddie’s throat, and his eyes burn more, and he buries his face in Steve’s neck as Steve’s shoulders shake.

Their friends are down the hall. Anyone could come in for chips or soda or water, and find them here, crying in each other’s arms, and the thought of the absurdity of it makes Eddie laugh. Steve’s hand slides over his back, holding him so tightly Eddie can barely breathe.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, burying a hand in Steve’s hair. “Holy shit, holy shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve says softly, pulling away and looking at him, and he lifts his hands to Eddie’s face, wiping his tears away so tenderly it just makes Eddie cry more.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut when Steve pulls at his face, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to his mouth, and when they part, Eddie gasps, opening his mouth for him and pulling him closer until Steve kisses him again.

Steve’s hands reach down and pull at Eddie’s legs, picking him up with unfair ease, and Eddie clutches at him desperately as Steve turns to set him on the counter. Eddie’s legs wrap around him tightly, whimpering when Steve’s hands press to his back and waist and his hips.

“‘M sorry,” Steve breathes between frenzied kisses. “‘M so sorry.”

“Me too,” Eddie says, panting. “I’m sorry, Stevie, just… I need…”

“Breathe,” Steve says weakly. Eddie closes his eyes. He didn’t even realise it, but he’s gasping for breath, each one getting caught in his throat, hiccupping and choking, and he grips Steve’s shoulders tightly, so hard it probably hurts, but he can’t let go, and Steve doesn’t say anything except, “Breathe.”

Eddie hugs him tightly, desperately, and Steve hugs him back just the same, pressing a hand to the small of his back. Eddie is swaying back and forth, which he doesn't realise until after a few seconds, and he stops himself. It makes people seasick, distracts them, he's heard it all, and he's just gotten Steve's arms around him. He doesn't want to mess this up.

But Steve tugs at his back, stepping closer to the island so his chest is pressed to Eddie, and he starts to sway. Eddie buries his face in Steve's neck, his eyes stinging, and he lets Steve move him, weight dropping off his shoulders, his breaths coming out easier and easier until he's breathing normally. They don't stop swaying together, rocking back and forth slowly, carefully, until Eddie lifts his head and touches his face. His skin is tacky with drying tears, the streaks shining in the dim light of the kitchen. Eddie wipes them away before he leans in and kisses him softly.

"Do you wanna go finish the movie?" Steve asks when they part, his lips still brushing Eddie's as he speaks.

"I don't even know what movie it is."

"Me either. Do you wanna go be confused together?"

"Yeah. That sounds nice."

They pause to sip at a glass of water together before they head back to the living room, their fingers laced. No one pays them any mind except Robin, whose eyes catch their hands, and she raises an eyebrow, smiling up at Steve as he sits next to her again. Robin moves, nudging Nancy so she shifts to lean against the opposite armrest, and Eddie squeezes in between Steve and Robin. Steves's arm makes its way around Eddie's shoulders as they look at the television. (Eddie can't even guess what's happening in the movie.)

Eddie closes his eyes, leaning against Steve, pressing his face into his chest, and he pulls one of his legs up, setting it across Steve's. Steve pulls him in closer, tighter, his cheek resting on Eddie's head.

Eddie shifts to face him, nuzzling into his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist, cuddling as closely and as tightly as he can as he takes a long, deep breath and exhales slowly. Steve smells like his cologne. Eddie wants to keep the smell. Maybe find it on his pillows.

He falls asleep to the sound of Steve's heartbeat.