#he kept hemming and hawing

[doctormage]

I think I might be having a hard time yall lmao

[izzy-b-hands]

Sometimes I get mad when I get stuck mid-draft bc I need to research something, but researching abt prosthetic legs and what sort of knees they can have (bc I think for this modern hotel au, Izzy would probably have had Ed and Stede help spring for one that has a fancier, unfortunately more expensive and heavier but seemingly easier to bend, knee)

Purely so that I can have Izzy give Frenchie a blowjob while under the front desk at the hotel has been just. A good time. There's a lot of options for these prosthetics and it's been cool as fuck to learn abt tbh

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

[ghouljams]

How to Flirt With Your Man; Tips and Tricks for Demons (Part 2 Price)

Be bold if you want to catch his attention.

You've been waiting on Price to finish his stupid call with some general for ages. It's growing tedious. You both know full well that all the hemming and hawing doesn't serve anything but the general's own ego. No one wants to admit that when the gloves need to come off, there's only one place to step if you want to keep your hands clean; back. If it were up to you...

But it isn't, so you've been stuck simmering in Price's shadow while the man himself grew more and more annoyed. If this kept up he'd run out of allies faster than he could run through bullets. Better to wrap this up before anyone got too agitated.

You pull yourself up out of the shadows and prop yourself on the edge of his desk, crossing your legs and settling a hand beside his monitor. "Captain?" You purr, leaning to catch his eye.

His attention darts to you, back to the screen, then back to you. Ice blue eyes drag over your figure, taking in every inch of bare skin. His eyes stay fixed on you, hot and heavy as he tips his head to keep listening to the general. You grin at him, letting him linger on whatever he likes, whatever will hold his attention. Your chest, your stomach, the dip between your thighs, the length of your neck, the curve of your back. He drags his eyes all the way to your feet, and you know he's thinking of having your ankles by his ears.

Your eyes dart to his fatigues, cock already straining against the camo. As if he could make your mouth water any more. Price settles a firm hand on his cock, squeezing it as the general prattles on about optics and restraint. You flick your fingers to lock the door.

"It's an emergency," You tell him in your best concerned tone, "We need you right away."

"General," He interrupts, already fingering the 'end call' button, "I'm going to have to get back to you, something's come up."

[starryeyedjanai]

All things end and all things change.

Steddie | 23k | Explicit | Read on ao3

written for @patchworkgargoyle for the server gift exchange! 🥰 this is also a fill for @thefreakandthehair's winter challenge

Summary: 

When Eddie took over Robin's room, Steve made a promise to himself that he wouldn't scare Eddie off, that he wouldn't do anything to let him know that he’s still carrying a torch for him this many years later—because Steve feels like Eddie had to have known in college.

He had to have seen it every time Steve looked at him for a beat too long, every time he looked to Eddie first when told a joke, every time he wore his feelings so loudly because he’s never had to reign them in before.

And now he’s doomed to spend more than a week letting Eddie show him glimpses of his life that he’s never seen before, parts of him that he’s kept to himself up until now.

Steve feels like the more he gets to know Eddie, the more ingrained these feelings for him become.

But, you know, other than all of that, what could possibly go wrong?

Or, Steve was planning to spend the holidays alone, but there's no way Eddie's going to let that happen.

-

excerpt under the cut!

“Hey, are you going to be in town for New Year’s Eve?” Eddie asks as Steve walks out of his room, bleary eyed and barely awake. “I told you I’m visiting my uncle Wayne for Christmas, but I can be back in time for New Year’s Eve if you’ll be here.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be here,” Steve says, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“What are your plans for Christmas now that Birdie’s gone home with Chrissy?” Eddie asks, dropping the curious act and getting to what he really wants to know.

It’s too early for this.

Eddie knows he has less of a filter when he’s just woken up, so this is a targeted attack.

He’s been avoiding answering the question when Eddie’s asked what his plans were before, but Christmas is in a few days and it looks like his hemming and hawing around an answer—‘I might go with Robin and Chrissy,’ and ‘I’m not sure yet’—won't suffice anymore.

Robin left yesterday with Chrissy to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with her family, her first time taking Chrissy home to her parents, and Steve obviously didn't go with them.

He hums and takes the cup of coffee Eddie pushes into his hands when he takes a seat at their kitchen table. He takes a sip, trying to formulate a way to not say outright that he’s staying here alone.

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "I’m not doing much. I’ll be in town for New Year’s Eve though,” because his brain is still mostly offline and he’s hoping Eddie will leave it alone. (He knows that he won't, but it’s a nice thought.)

Eddie asks, “How are you getting to your parents’ place? Or are they coming to town?”

Eddie knows Steve isn’t super close with his parents just like he knows that he hasn't spent Christmas with them since he graduated college—he and Robin have spent it together since she and her parents aren't big on Christmas as a whole.

They did visit Robin’s parents the first year after college and spent the holidays there, but since then, they’ve just had Christmases at their apartment, getting each other a couple gag gifts and a couple real ones and opening them in front of their comically small Christmas tree. The only reason they aren't spending it together this year is because Robin’s parents want to finally meet Chrissy.

He gulps down more coffee before saying, “I’m not going to Hawkins.”

“Steve, work with me here. Are you or are you not spending Christmas with your parents?” Eddie asks, leaving no room for ambiguity or ‘misinterpretations’ of his question.

So he just sighs and comes clean.

“My parents are in France for Christmas, so I’m just hanging out here for the holidays,” he says, not looking Eddie in the eyes. His parents did invite him to come along, but his passport is expired and he didn't want to stress about getting it renewed in time for the trip.

“Hanging out here alone?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, still not looking at him, fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug.

“And how’d you get Robin to leave without you?” Eddie asks, suspicion in his voice.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, playing dumb.

“I mean there’s no fucking way she’d let you spend the holidays alone, first Christmas taking her girlfriend home or not. So what did you tell her you were doing for the holidays?”

Steve sighs, so worn out all of a sudden. He wishes they weren't having this conversation at 8 in the morning—well, he wishes they weren't having it at all, wishes Eddie’s ADHD would have let him forget to ask what his plans were before he left for his uncle’s place.

“I may have said I was spending the holidays with you,” he says sheepishly, finally looking up at Eddie.

Eddie levels him an unimpressed look and then, in an even voice, he says, “Okay. So you’re coming home with me.”

“No,” Steve says. “No. I swear I’ll be fine. It’ll be nice even. Relaxing, having some time to myself.” It sounds weak even to his own ears, so he’s not surprised when Eddie doesn't let up.

“Uh huh, sure. You come sit by me when I’m doing my virtual D&D sessions even though you don’t play because you hate being alone for that many hours, but you want me to believe you’ll be alright being alone for more than a week over the holidays?”

God, it's so not fair bringing up how needy Steve is right now. Steve only pretty recently realized how codependent he and Robin were. They spent almost all of their free time together before she started dating Chrissy and when she moved in with Chrissy and Eddie took her bedroom in their apartment, he had to actively stop himself from monopolizing all of Eddie's time because he doesn't deal well with being alone.

He keeps finding himself almost meandering into Eddie’s room first thing in the morning because spending any amount of time without someone’s voice filling his ears is unbearable to him. Even just having someone in his presence, even if they weren't talking, is better than being alone.

He tries to save face by saying, “I swear I’m fine being alone—“

“Nope, you’re coming home with me,” Eddie says, cutting Steve off, his voice final. “It’ll be a tight squeeze since my uncle’s place is pretty small, but he’ll be glad to have someone to talk sports with, so—you’re coming.”

And this is why Steve has been trying to avoid this conversation so hard for weeks now, skirting around the truth with half-answers and changing the subject because he knew Eddie wasn't going to drop it once he knew.

He really has no choice but to accept or else Eddie won't shut up about it. Or worse, he’ll tell Robin and she’s definitely not going to drop it. And she’ll be disappointed that he lied and she’ll make him drive to her parents’ house and threaten to come get him if he refuses and it’ll spoil her Christmas with Chrissy and her parents. And he doesn't want that, obviously.

This is the first time Robin’s been serious about someone and all he wants is for her to spend her Christmas in love and happy and not worrying about him.

So he says, “Fine. Fine, I’ll go home with you.”

As much as he doesn't want to insert himself into someone else’s holiday plans, he doubly doesn't want to ruin Robin’s Christmas.

“Great. We leave tomorrow afternoon.”

The triumphant smile on Eddie’s face doesn't lessen the growing guilt and unease in stomach.

He really was going to be fine, spending the holidays alone. It would have been quiet and he would have hated every second of the silence, but he could have handled it.

His parents were never super into the Christmas spirit part of Christmas anyway. They never had traditions or decorated the house or anything. Growing up, Christmas was mostly about the gifts—not that he was complaining. He always had the newest toys or video game consoles, so for the most part, he was happy enough to skip the rest of it.

It was only when he was dating Nancy and saw how her family gathered for the holidays and spent time together that he realized that his Christmases were always kind of lonely even when his parents were around.

So after college, when he and Robin moved in together, they started to make their own traditions for the holidays, decorating their apartment and wearing matching pajamas and FaceTiming Robin’s parents on Christmas morning.

This would have been the first Christmas since he started having actual Christmas traditions that he’d be spending it alone. So yeah, it would have sucked, but it would have been worth it if it meant Robin got to have her Hallmark Christmas movie moment.

And now he’s apparently going to the Munson’s for Christmas.

At least now Robin won't actually kill him when she gets back and finds out what he did for the holidays.

read the rest on ao3

[bradshawsbaby]

Government Issued

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader, with a tiny smidge of Hannix if you squint.

Author’s Note: Based on this request from @fandom-addict-aesthetics​! I have no idea how accurate any of this actually is (take everything you see on TikTok with a grain of salt, kids), but I thought it was a really cute idea and I had fun writing it!

Warnings: Mentions of sexy times (nothing explicit), Cyclone Simpson being a hardass, one F-bomb, and lots of fluffy goodness.

“Baby?” Bradley called out as he walked through the door of your apartment that evening, dropping his bag by the door.

“In the kitchen!” you called back, standing at the sink scrubbing one of the pots you’d used when preparing dinner. Washing the pots and pans after you’d just finished cooking was one of your least favorite things to do, but you knew from experience that it was better to get it done now so you wouldn’t have to deal with it later. At least the plates and utensils you could just stick in the dishwasher.

“There’s my favorite girl,” Bradley greeted you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek before walking over to the fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of water. “Did you have a good day?” he asked, taking a sip.

“I did,” you nodded, smiling at him as you finished rinsing the pot you’d been cleaning and set it on the drying rack. “I went out to lunch with Penny and then got some shopping done. All in all, a pretty good day. How about you?” You reached for the pan still sitting in the sink, the last thing you needed to clean.

Bradley grimaced slightly, taking another sip of water and avoiding your gaze.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him as the awkward silence stretched. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious,” Bradley was quick to reassure you, stepping closer to you as he set his water bottle down on the kitchen island.

“What then?” you pressed, letting the pan clang back into the sink and turning to face your husband head on, wiping your hands on a dish towel and waiting pointedly.

“It’s—it’s dumb,” Bradley began, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears were turning pink and you could tell he was a little bit embarrassed.

“Babe, what happened?” you repeated, eyebrows rising curiously. “Did you make some kind of stupid bet with Coyote or Hangman?” you wondered, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, nothing like that,” Bradley hemmed and hawed, clearly trying to avoid telling you what had really gone on. He kept rubbing the back of his neck and his cheeks were now turning the same shade of pink as his ears.

“You’re being silly,” you told him, walking up to him and resting your hands on his shoulders. “Just tell me. You said it’s not that big a deal. So don’t make it one,” you added gently, looking directly into his eyes.

“You’re going to laugh,” Bradley said in a voice that didn’t seem all that convinced that that was true. “You remember how we went out to dinner last night?”

“Yes,” you responded slowly, not quite sure what that had to do with whatever had happened to him at work today. You and Bradley had gone to try a new Italian restaurant a few miles from base after hearing a ton of good reviews.

“And you remember what happened when we got home?” Bradley continued, dragging his feet as much as possible.

“Yes,” you nodded, laughing this time, though your own cheeks turned a light shade of pink to match your husband’s. 

You’d indulged in a little bit more wine than was strictly necessary last night, which had made you feel particularly affectionate towards your handsome husband. Bradley had barely been able to keep his eyes on the road driving home, a bit distracted by the feel of your lips on his neck the entire time. By the time you finally did make it back to your apartment, you got as far as the living room before you were tearing each other’s clothes off and making love on the floor.

“Well…” Bradley murmured, seeming unsure how to go on.

“Oh my gosh, babe, what happened? This is turning into the slowest story known to man,” you laughed in exasperation, shaking your head.

“What can I say, honey? You were pretty damn frisky last night,” Bradley chuckled, shaking his head in return. “Not that I’m complaining at all. But I didn’t even realize I had this until I got to work this morning,” he explained, pulling his collar away from his neck to reveal a dark purple hickey right near his throat.

“Oh,” you murmured, blushing even more deeply. Between the two of you, Bradley was usually more likely to leave the love bites behind, but you’d been known to leave your fair share of them from time to time. Evidently you hadn’t realized just how passionately you’d been kissing your husband’s neck on the car ride home last night. “But I still don’t understand,” you said, looking up at him in confusion. “What does that have to do with what happened at work today?”

“Well…” Bradley began again, avoiding eye contact once more.

“Oh my gosh, Bradley, tell me!” you exclaimed, eyes getting wider in concern as your blush turned a darker shade of pink.

Sighing, Bradley reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded letter. “Like I said, baby, it’s dumb. Don’t get upset,” he warned, slowly starting to unfold the paper.

“‘Don’t get upset’ is the worst thing you can tell your wife when you don’t want her to get upset,” you told him with a scoff, taking the paper out of his hand and opening it quickly, your eyes scanning the contents of the letter. As your mind processed what you were reading, your eyes widened considerably and your jaw slackened in shock.

“Honey,” Bradley began cautiously, holding up his hands, surrender-fashion.

“Oh my gosh!” you cried out, cheeks absolutely burning with mortification at this point. “Oh my gosh!”

“Honey, it’s not such a big deal,” Bradley murmured soothingly, rubbing his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“Not such a big deal? Bradley, we’re getting fined with…” You glanced back down at the letter for a moment. “...destruction of government property!”

“Cyclone was just in a fucking mood today,” Bradley sighed, running a hand through his hair with one hand, still holding onto you with his other.

“A notice and a fine all because of a hickey?!” you exclaimed, mouth still agape in horrified shock. “Oh my gosh, does everyone know? This is so embarrassing,” you moaned, dropping the letter onto the kitchen island and covering your face with your hands.

“Aw, c’mon, baby, it’s not so bad,” Bradley said softly, trying to pry your hands away from your face. “I’m the one they were all teasing today,” he added in an attempt to console you.

You just made an embarrassed noise in response, attempting to wiggle away from him as you continued to hide your humiliated self behind your hands.

“Honey,” Bradley whispered, finally succeeding in pulling your hands away from your hot cheeks. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby,” he said comfortingly, peppering your face with kisses.

“How did this even happen? Why did it become such a big deal?” you questioned, allowing Bradley to pull you into his arms and hold you against his chest.

“I don’t know,” Bradley sighed, tucking your head under his chin and rubbing your back slowly. “Like I said, Cyclone was in rare form today. I think he got some call from the Pentagon, but like hell if I know what it was about. He came by for last minute inspections while we were getting ready to go up for some test exercises and he spotted your handiwork,” he teased lightly, pecking your lips when you groaned in embarrassment.

“Vice Admiral Simpson knows I gave you a hickey? How am I ever supposed to look that man in the face again?” you muttered, burying your face in your husband’s chest.

Bradley chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “Don’t stress out about it, baby. He’ll forget it ever happened, trust me. No one ever seriously gives this fine out unless they’ve got a stick up their ass about something,” he informed you. “It’ll blow over. It’s nothing serious.”

“I’m surprised to hear you talking about your superior officers in such a way, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you said, looking up at him with a small glint of humor in your eyes.

“Only because I trust you not to rat me out,” Bradley grinned, kissing you again.

“So you really swear it’s not as horrible as I’m imagining?” you asked, sighing deeply.

“Not at all. I pinky promise,” he laughed, holding up his pinky finger to you with a look of mock seriousness.

“Ugh,” you groaned, wrapping your pinky finger around his and squeezing.

“That’s the spirit, honey,” Bradley chuckled. “Though I might have to give you a couple hickeys to make up for mine,” he teased, making you laugh as he began kissing your neck affectionately.

“Maybe just ones where no one will see,” you teased back, winking playfully at him.

“Mrs. Bradshaw, I like the way you think,” Bradley grinned.

A couple nights later, when you and your friends were all out for a few drinks at The Hard Deck, Hangman came up to you with a smirk, shaking his head.

“Well if it isn’t the little terrorist who’s been going around destroying government property,” he joked, nudging you with a laugh.

“Oh my gosh,” you moaned, covering your face with your hands. “Hangman, I’ll kill you!”

“No need,” Phoenix cut in, smirking up at him. “I know just what he needs.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hangman asked, grinning down at her.

“Yeah,” Phoenix laughed, snatching his cell phone out of his hand and dropping it down onto the surface of the bar. “Oh, Penny! Look where Hangman left his phone!” she called out.

“Phoenix! I did not—”

“Rules are rules, Hangman,” Penny smirked, ringing the bell loudly, which prompted a loud chorus of cheers to rise up in the crowded bar.

“I’m surrounded by terrorists,” Hangman groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his credit card out of his wallet.

“Time to order the most expensive drink on the menu, baby,” Bradley grinned, his hand resting on your waist. “Hangman’s buying!”

[thatfanfictionchick]

So I'm mean?

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

[time skip] Kei Tsukishima x f!Reader

Rating: 18+; Explicit

Warnings: Reader cannot sleep; Softest attempt at degradation possible; Unprotected vaginal intercourse;

Word count: 1253

Notes: Look. I love some degradation Tsukki as much as anyone else. But I honestly do not think he actually has it in him to be mean to you. He can be short with you during the day, and sometimes if he's stressed he can lose his temper; but there is none of that in the bedroom. That is a place of worship and if you're crying it damn well better be because of how good he made you feel. Just my opinion there.

Takes place the same night of the finale in Roommate wanted.

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

You should have been asleep. After all, every part of you should rightfully be exhausted after the fucking Tsukki had given you. But alas, as young people will, instead of being tired your body was positively humming with delight. Your fingers itched to delve into his hair. Your breasts ached to feel his teeth tug at your nipples. Your thighs were screaming to bracket his hips as he filled your needy cunt over and over. 

Actually that last part was the only really important one. You could go without the rest as long as his cock was inside you.

You kept fidgeting. And as trying to sleep with a writhing person will, all your moving roused Tsukki from his sleep. He grabbed your hip to keep you still. “Why are you moving?” 

You hemmed and hawed. “I’m just…thinking…”

“About?”

Was it too soon for potentially brutal honesty? Only one way to find out. “Sooo I’d been told that you could be…kinda mean.”

He actually laughed and nuzzled into your neck, making you squirm. He was hard pressed to think of a time when someone didn’t think he was mean. “Kind of?” You huffed and grabbed the hand on your hip, letting your fingers slide into the spaces between his.

“You weren’t mean at all though.”

You said it so quietly he wasn’t sure he heard you correctly at first. Suddenly the metaphorical light came on and for a moment he felt heat rush to his face. You weren’t talking about his personality. He laughed, the sound low and dangerous. “Oh, I see.” He threw the blankets off, making you yell, and sat up. Then he pushed you onto your back and positioned himself between your legs, grabbing your bottoms and pulling them down before you could protest. Your pants gone he pushed his own down his thighs and took your hand in his, guiding it to wrap around his cock before covering you with his body and catching your lips in a kiss. His tongue in your mouth and his hand still covering yours, you whimpered as his cock grew hard. “You’re still horny?” he teased, moving your hand slowly over his length. Your stomach clenched. “Didn’t I fuck you hard enough?” Your pussy throbbed and you lifted your legs to his hips, trying to get him to move. He was kissing you again, letting you stroke him freely as his hand wrapped around your neck. He bit your lip as he pulled away, his fingers tightening, and you whimpered. “Do you want me to be mean to you?”

“Yes,” you squeaked, the confession flooding you with embarrassment. Suddenly his other hand came down on your ass. Not hard, just enough to make you jump and yelp. His fingers touched your slit and he slipped one finger inside you, pumping it slowly.

“Well get used to being disappointed sweetheart,” he growled. “Because I want to fuck you more than I want to be mean to you.” Then he was gone, leaving you momentarily exposed to the frozen air as he forced you to roll over. Lifting your ass in the air he pushed your face into the pillows and a moment later you felt something cold and wet as he let a string of saliva drip down your exposed sex. Your folds split easily around the head of his cock and he sank inside of you with a groan, the sound making you shiver. You exhaled slowly as the sensation of being full of cock spread tingling warmth through your limbs, Tsukki’s hands wrapping around your waist as he started to fuck you. 

Despite what he said there was no denying that he was being rougher with you than before, his fingers digging harshly into soft flesh and pulling you back into each thrust with enough force to make you gasp. You braced yourself on the pillows, your thighs straining as you tried to angle your hips so that he was reaching deeper. He moaned quietly, slowing his pace and reaching up to grab your hair, pulling your head back. “Why would I want to be mean to you, angel?” His saccharine voice paired with the pressure on your scalp made your stomach roll. His hand framed your sex, his thumb pressing beneath your clit, stimulating the underside of his cock with each slow roll of his hips. You were whimpering and panting, torn between staying still because he made you feel so good but unable to keep from moving your hips. “Look at what a sweet cock hungry little slut you are,” he cooed. He released your hair, his hand sliding down your back before he pressed his palm into the mattress at your waist. He laughed breathlessly, “you just want me to come inside you again.” You nodded frantically, your head dropping onto the pillows. His chest felt so tight, like it was going to burst any moment. “Could leave you on the edge as long as I get off, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” The words came out as broken sobs, your fists clenched around whatever you could grab. You didn’t care. Just the thought of him throbbing deep inside of you, filling you with cum, made your mind go blank.

God dammit! You were too much. Too good and soft and sweet. His chest came down, flush against your back, his hand between your legs, calloused fingers rolling over your swollen clit. You choked into a pillow, raspy broken sobs spilling from between your lips. “That’s not how this works,” he snarled against your ear. It took effort to pace his thrusts with the motion of his fingers which was made harder by the way you were trembling. “You will give me what I want and what I want is for you to come.” Your cunt throbbed and clenched, the softness of your walls begging to be coated. He needed to shut up before he said something that crossed a line. You made too many stupid thoughts bleed upward from his chest into his head.

You came with a drawn out cry, shaking from the force of your orgasm. It only took a few thrusts and he was there, holding himself deep, thinking stupid thoughts about what filling you with his cum as often as possible could lead to. When he finally dragged himself away it was to first retrieve a towel, flopping heavily on the mattress before gathering you into his arms. You fit against him too well, burying your face into his neck before dotting his collar with a flurry of kisses, the towel bunched between your thighs. He cradled your head with one hand, the other tracing figure eights over your back. After a few minutes, when you were both on the edge of sleep, you tilted your head back to look at him. “What are you thinking?”

I’m probably in love with you? “Kinda bullshit we’ve done it in the dark with my glasses off twice now.”

The force of your erupting laughter actually hurt your stomach. “I’m so sorry!” you managed to choke out, laughing so hard you snorted. He might have been upset with you if it weren’t so cute. “I’m sorry, that’s terrible, but it’s so funny!”

“Laugh it up,” he said as his fingers found the ticklish spot on the back of your thigh. “You’re not gonna think it’s so funny in the morning.” The threat warmed somewhere between your legs. 

“No,” you wheezed, swatting his hand away. “I hope I don’t.”

[jamiesfootball]

Ted 1000% saw Jamie throw the book away in season one, and pulled it out of the trash can. Cause it’s a book. And because it’s just as important to remember your failures as your wins, Ted’s kept that book on his shelf since Jamie went back to Man City.

Years later, after it seemed like Beard finally liked him (around Total Football) Jamie definitely skulked into the coaches’ office and super casually told Beard, “You like books.” And Beard did not dignify that with a response.

And he sat they quietly while Jamie hemmed and hawed and danced around the point until he finally asked if Beard, who likes books, maybe remembered what the book was that Ted got him that time.

And Beard didn’t answer verbally. Just got super close up in Jamie’s face, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked out the door.

That night while fixing Ted’s oven he grabbed the book from Ted’s bookshelf without asking because Beard hasn’t needed to ask to borrow anything from Ted in a very long time. Not since the car.

And the next day Jamie opens his locker there’s the book waiting with a note. And it is the same book - not because Jamie super remembers what it looked like (couldn’t even remember the fucking title), but because at this point he knows Beard and he knows Ted, so he just knows, yeah?

And then he opens the note and in Beard’s writing it says, ‘It also comes as an audiobook’ and Jamie’s just like ‘yeah got me there Coach’

So he does get the audiobook but he also follows along in the book book so he doesn’t lose track of where he is in the story. Also so he can easily flip back to bits he missed

[hbyrde36]

Chapter 2: Into My Heart

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art below and here by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 4371 | Chapters: 2/2 | AO3 Link

CW: Smut

Eddie tucked the bottle of whiskey, concealed in its nondescript brown paper bag, under his arm—freeing his hands to unlock the apartment door. Wine just wasn’t going to cut it tonight, he’d decided on his way home. Disappointment to this degree called for something stronger, and as luck would have it the liquor store was a convenient stop on his way.

“Honey! I'm home!” He called out, kicking the door closed behind him hard enough to shake the walls.

Chrissy startled, jumping about a foot in the air from her seat on the sofa. “Do you have to do that every time?”

He grinned, tossing his keys on the little table they kept by the door. 

She flipped him off.

Their apartment was small, its entrance, living room, and kitchen all essentially one big room, and he could feel her eyes tracking his every movement as he crossed the space. Wordlessly he took a rocks glass out of the cabinet and sloshed about a shot and a half's worth of amber liquid into it from his newly acquired bottle, and downed it all in one go. 

Could he have just used a shot glass? Probably. But this way was classier, and he liked the feel of the heavy bottomed cup in his hand. He’d drink the second one a little slower, maybe even add some ice.

“Well, that’s not a good sign. Hard session?” Chrissy asked.

Hard.

A manic laugh bubbled up from his throat as he thought back to the beginning of his appointment with Steve. “You could say that.”

“That’s… concerning.” She mumbled, upending her wine glass to catch the final drops before setting it down on the table. “Might as well just bring yourself and that bottle over here. Come sit, tell me all about it.”

Eddie was too keyed up to sit. He paced back and forth in front of the couch as he went through the whole thing detail by detail. He wasn’t sure what the ethics were of recounting the entire interaction for her, particularly the sensitive bits—about Steve's sensitive bits, but he supposed there was no such thing as tattooist/client confidentiality.

“Maybe she’s just like, a really close friend?” Chrissy said when he was done.

“No, Chris. I'm telling you, he basically called her his soulmate. You should have seen the way he glowed when he talked about her. It was like his whole stupidly-fucking-pretty face lit up from the inside.”

Chrissy groaned, taking a swig directly from his bottle, like a heathen, and slumped down in her seat.

“I want thaaaaat.” She whined.

Eddie plopped down hard next to her, heaving a sigh. “Don’t we all.”

In an attempt to put it all out of his mind and enjoy what was left of his Friday night in peace–-without being plagued by thoughts of cute little moles and dazzling hazel eyes, Eddie changed into comfy clothes, queued up the next episode in their Drag Race rewatch, and cuddled up next to Chrissy. Unfortunately, as hard as he tried to concentrate on the queens and the drama unfolding on the screen in front of him, he couldn't stop thinking about Steve. Not even the Snatch Game could hold his attention. 

Apologies to you Jinkx Monsoon, Eddie mused regretfully. It’s not you, it’s me. You were wonderful.

After much hemming and hawing, and one too many woe-is-me sighs from his side of the couch, Chrissy yanked the remote out of his hand and hit pause.

Rude.

“Did you have something you needed to say, princess?”

Eddie grumbled. “I just wish I didn't have to see him again.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“What if you did it for me?”

“What? The tattoo?!”

“Come on, I'll owe you one—a big one. Just, I dunno, we'll let Steve show up for his appointment and then you’ll tell him I’ve got, like, food poisoning or whatever, and didn’t want to have to cancel on him at the last minute, so you’re going to finish up his color. I’ll show you the sketches—It’ll be great.  It's more your style than mine anyway.”

Chrissy raised both eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, Munson.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on.” Eddie slid down to the floor, falling to his knees in front of her and lifting his hands in prayer. “Please?”

“No! This is ridiculous, Eddie! I can’t believe you’re even considering… What's the big deal anyway? So you thought he was cute, you both flirted a little, so what? Now you can’t even face the guy?”

She narrowed her eyes, staring down at his, admittedly, pathetic display. “You didn't do something embarrassing did you? Is there more to this story than you're telling me?”

“No.” Eddie reared back, giving up his wide-eyed begging which was clearly not working on her—damn lesbians and their immunity to his boyish charms—and pulled himself back up into his seat. 

She hummed suspiciously.

“You don’t understand. He’s like, perfect.”

“Aww,” She cooed, wrapping him up in a one-armed hug. “You really have it bad for him don’t you?”

Eddie leaned into her, pouting. He couldn’t even argue. 

She flicked his bottom lip. He flinched away. 

“Ow!”

“No pouting!” 

She huffed a laugh, but when he didn’t crack her mouth turned down into a sympathetic frown. “Are you absolutely sure there’s no hope?”

“Chris, he’s covering up one woman's name with a bird to represent another. He’s taken—and an idiot. A very hot, very sweet, kind to kids and old ladies, idiot. It’s over, that’s it, no chance.”

-

As if to mock the way he was dreading their upcoming appointment, the next six weeks flew by for Eddie in a blur, and before he knew it the day had arrived. It was another Friday afternoon appointment, apparently the only time Steve was available between his work schedule, spending time with his D&D loving adoptive brother, and whatever other altruistic endeavors he got up to in his daylight hours. Probably saving kittens from trees and shit. 

At least he wouldn’t have to go through it alone this time, Chrissy had promised to stick around whether she had a client or not, though, he wasn't naive enough to think she was doing it solely out of the kindness of her heart. Oh no, she wanted to get a look at Steve with her own eyes and see what all the fuss was about. 

Eddie paced back and forth in his studio, arranging and rearranging his supplies and setup as he watched the clock tick down to Steve’s arrival. 

“Oh my god, since when did you become so high strung?” Chrissy gaped at him from the doorway.

He wondered how long she’d been watching him freak out.  

“I don’t fucking know, alright?!” Eddie hissed, sitting down heavily in his desk chair. He picked up the color mock up of Steve’s tattoo, the one he’d be using as a reference, and ran a finger along the edge. “He just… I dunno, he weaseled his way inside me and now I can’t shake him.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

The bell above the front door dinged, the sound carrying into his room, and Eddie peered back at the clock. Ten minutes early—the boy was punctual, he’d give him that.

Chrissy smiled mischievously, darting back out to the lobby. Eddie raced along behind trying to catch up, knowing full well it would be a bad idea to leave her alone with Steve for any length of time. She’d probably try to interrogate him or something.

Eddie locked eyes with the man of the hour the moment he slid around the corner, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum. An easy smile spread across Steve's face. He looked genuinely happy to see him, but that was probably due to the prospect of finally getting his tattoo finished.  

“Eddie,” Steve released his name like a sigh of relief. “It’s good to see you.” 

It sounded like he meant it, and If Eddie didn’t know better he’d think Steve had also spent the last 6 weeks pining, and thinking of their time together obsessively. 

Until this moment he had held out hope that maybe somehow this time would be different. That maybe going into it knowing that Steve wasn’t available would make it easier to deny the pull he felt, but then he cast his eyes down and realized Steve was wearing those same fucking Levi’s again. 

It’d been weeks. It could easily have been a coincidence, just the next clean pair of pants in his rotation, but there was no way Steve didn’t know what he looked like in those unholy jeans. Had he done this on purpose?

Either way, Eddie didn't know whether to be grateful for the view, or throw himself out the window into oncoming traffic. 

Chrissy cleared her throat loudly. 

Shit. He’d been staring too long again.

Eddie shook himself mentally. “Steve, this is Chrissy.”

“Nice to put a face to the name.” She said, giving a little wave.

Steve's eyes slid briefly to Eddie, narrowed and curious. Probably wondering why he’d told her about him at all. 

He was gonna kill her. 

“You too.” Steve said with a quirk of his brow. “Eddie told me how you two met and opened this place together. Must be great to get to work with your best friend everyday.”

“Could be worse I guess.”

Eddie cut her a hard look. “Don’t you have some cleaning to do?”

With a smirk, Chrissy winked at Steve, then mercifully did head off towards her own studio. 

“We should go get started.” Eddie said, leading the way to the back to his room. “Sorry about her.” 

Steve chuckled. “She seems nice. I think Robin would like her.”

Eddie clenched his jaw, turning away to hide his scowl. “I’m sure she would.”

Steve knew the drill now and took off his shirt without being asked, getting comfortable in the chair while Eddie slipped a pair of gloves on and pulled his stool over, examining the healed lines of the half-finished tattoo. 

He hummed, impressed. “You did a good job taking care of it.”

Steve shrugged, but Eddie noticed the way he preened a little at the praise. “I did exactly what you told me to do.”

Fuck. 

There was just something about a man who followed directions.

Eddie took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through his nose. He was going to give himself whiplash at this rate.

He prepped Steve’s skin in silence and got right to his task, trying to focus on the thrumming of the machine, instead of the rise and fall of the other man’s chest under his gloved hands—thankful that Steve didn’t seem to be having the same reaction to the initial pain that he had before.

“I told Dustin about you.” Steve blurted out after a while. 

The sudden sound of his voice, as well as the words themselves caught Eddie off guard. 

“What?”

Steve’s body flushed and Eddie flicked his eyes up, finding a matching shade of pink spreading over his face. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure he thinks you're the coolest guy in the world now. A tattoo artist and you play D&D? I had no chance.”

“Oh.”

Eddie went quiet, not sure what he was supposed to do with that—with any of this. He got back to work, hoping Steve would leave it there. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to play whatever game this was anymore. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “You seem… I don't know… different today?”

Eddie could have said, how would you know, you’ve only met me once? Or, we spent a few hours together, why do you care? Or something else equally passive aggressive, but… Steve wasn’t wrong and Eddie wasn’t in the business of gaslighting people. 

Telling a little white lie though? That was fair game.

“I have a headache, that’s all. It’s fine.”

It was fine. He just needed to do his job and get this over with. 

But of course, Steve had to be perfect and sweet about that too. 

“I’m sorry. I get migraines sometimes, so I get it. Doc says it’s from getting knocked in the head one too many times playing high school sports. I was very dedicated.” 

Steve laughed a little at himself, and Eddie couldn't help but look up again to see the way his eyes crinkled with it. Steve tilted his head, mouth turned up at the corners as he gazed down at Eddie.  “Doesn’t seem worth it, in hindsight.”

Despite trying not to, Eddie smiled back and could feel himself getting drawn in again. 

He forced himself to turn away. 

“Are you sure you're alright, though?” Steve continued. “If you're not feeling well–”

“I’m fine. I'm not going to mess your ink up or anything, don’t worry.”

“Hey,” Steve said tenderly, waiting until Eddie had stilled the machine again to lay a tentative hand on his upper arm. “I wasn't worried about that.”

“Oh.” Eddie swallowed a gasp, feeling like his skin was on fire under the touch. 

“We can reschedule if you need to, it’s okay.”

Fuck, Steve was entirely too thoughtful. 

And what was Eddie even doing? Trying to be cold and aloof, pretending to have a headache to explain why he wasn’t talking? It wasn’t fair to the guy. It wasn’t Steve’s fault he’d developed an extremely inconvenient crush—that he couldn’t handle a little innocent friendly flirtiness without losing his mind.  

“No. I promise I'm–”

I’m just an idiot. 

“I, uh, took some ibuprofen before you got here. I’m already feeling better.”

Finally, Steve let it go, allowing Eddie to get back to work without disturbing the quiet between them again. At least now the silence was almost comfortable. 

Art by Glitterfang

The time went by quickly. Eddie did glance up every so often to make sure Steve was okay, always surprised to find the other man’s eyes fixed on his face, rather than the tattoo, making Eddie’s stomach flip each time. 

The finished piece was beautiful, and honestly Eddie thought it might be some of his best work, even if it wasn’t his usual style. After a thorough cleaning he held a mirror up so Steve could see it better. He teared up a bit as he inspected his reflection. 

“It's even better than I could have imagined.” Steve turned away from the mirror to face him, smiling and looking so sincere it made Eddie’s heart ache. “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re welcome. I’m really glad you’re happy with it.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip. “Well, you already know your care instructions, so i’ll get this wrapped up and you’ll be good to–”

Steve cut him off abruptly. “Do you… um, I mean, could I get your number?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Steve.” Eddie said, heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't do this. He didn’t want to only be Steve’s friend, and if somehow the other man wanted his number for more than that, well, he didn’t want to be a homewrecker either. 

Steve deflated, looking hurt, which was a little ridiculous considering he was the one with a whole-ass girlfriend. “But I thought maybe… since we’re done now, and I’m not a client anymore–”

“Look,” Eddie interrupted. “It’s sweet that you want to be friends or whatever, but–”

“No, I–”

“Knock-knock” Chrissy sing-songed, appearing in the doorway rapping her knuckles on its frame. “There’s someone here to see Steve.”

Saved by the bell. 

“We’re about done if you want to tell them to just–”

“Great, I'll send her in!”

Her?

Eddie was gonna kill Chrissy, for real this time.

Worst. Friend. Ever. 

A very cute girl with a chin length bob bounced into the room. Eddie got as far as noticing the spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks before he had to look away, using cutting down a square of Saniderm to the correct size as an excuse.

She wasn’t quite what Eddie had pictured as the girlfriend of a gym bro—okay, Steve wasn’t exactly a gym bro but Eddie was allowed to be salty about it in his own mind if he wanted to—but to his dismay, they made a nice looking couple.

“Hey Dingus, how’s it going?” She said.

Odd term of endearment, but okay. 

“Eddie, this is Robin.” Steve said.

“Yeah I figured that one out all on my own, thanks.” Eddie muttered, rolling back up to Steve on his chair with the bandage in hand.

Steve furrowed his brow, staring from Eddie over to Robin and back again. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “My roommate, Robin.”

“O… kay?” Eddie shrugged, ducking his head to start covering the tattoo. Weird fucking way to refer to your live-in girlfriend, but whatever. He was over it. He just wanted to get the happy couple out of his tattoo shop so he could go home and–

Eddie sucked in a breath as Steve lightly gripped his arm again. He looked up, ready to be annoyed—the audacity of this guy to keep flirting with him, right in front of his girlfriend, but stopped short when he saw the soft pleading look in Steve’s eyes. 

“My best friend, platonic with-a-capital-p, lesbian roomate, Robin.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?!” Eddie nearly shouted.

He whipped his head around to look at Robin again. He’d only glanced at her before, not noticing much more than her hair and denim jacket, but on closer inspection he saw her neatly trimmed manicure, and the fact that she was wearing men’s jeans with a carabiner holding her keys hanging from one of the belt loops. 

None of those things were a guarantee of course, plenty of straight women also kept short nails and had masculine leaning senses of style, but when he spotted the pink, white, and orange stripes of the lesbian flag stitched into her lapel, he figured that was as sure a sign as any. 

“Oh.” Eddie breathed, turning back to Steve.

“Yeah, oh.” Steve parroted back softly, his mouth spreading into a tentative smile. 

“B- but I thought… and the tattoo!” Eddie stuttered.

“Is that why you were acting so weird? Because you thought Robin was my–” Steve shook his head as if that very idea were unthinkable. “You thought that I was covering up my ex's name with a new girlfriend?”

Eddie squirmed. “...No.”

“Eddie?”

“Well, what was I supposed to think?!”

“Oh shit, were you jealous?!” Robin blurted out.

“Robin!” Steve hissed.

“Oh I'm sorry,” she said, tilting her head side-to-side, the words absolutely dripping with sarcasm. “Was I supposed to pretend the tension in here wasn’t thick enough to choke on?”

Eddie bit his tongue, locking eyes with Steve. Steve broke first, letting out a loud but very adorable snort of laughter.

Robin’s face went bright red, realizing what she’d said. 

“Birdie, can you just give us a minute?” Steve asked her, when he’d regained control of himself.

“Fine,” She sighed. “But I'm only going because Chrissy said she’d pierce my nose for free.”

“Slut.”

“Shut up.”

Robin moved to leave but paused on the threshold, looking back at them over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She called out, taking hold of the knob and pulling the door to his studio shut behind her. 

Eddie wasn’t sure it’d ever been closed before.  

“So, when you asked me for my number?”

Steve nodded. “It was because I wanted to ask you out.”

“I’m such an idiot.”

Steve reached out to tuck a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear. “Does that mean maybe you’ve changed your mind about me calling you?”

Eddie eyed up the now closed door and let himself do what he’d wanted to since the first time Steve sat shirtless in his chair, and climbed up onto it, straddling the other man’s lap.

“Is this okay?” He asked, hovering his mouth over Steve’s, close enough that a hard thought would have their lips brushing. 

“Yes.” Steve whispered, leaning in to close the almost non-existent space between them. 

It was tentative and unsure at first, the way Steve’s lips moved against his own, testing—tasting, but then he whined, a high-pitched and needy sound deep in his throat that went straight to Eddie’s dick, and opened his mouth wide. 

Eddie took it for the invitation it was and licked inside, their tongues sliding together as their bodies did the same, grinding and making out like a couple of teenagers in the backseat of a car, both growing hard.

Suddenly Steve broke the kiss, panting, “Wait, wait, wait.”

“Shit. Sorry, I shouldn’t have–” Eddie tried to climb off but found himself held firmly in place by Steve’s broad hands on his waist.

“No, please. I just need to know… is this only a hookup for you?” Steve asked once he’d caught his breath. “It’s okay if it is,” he added quickly. “I just hoped–”

The rest of Steve’s words were lost to a gasp as Eddie ran fingers through his hair, gently tilting his head to the side for better access to the other man’s speckled neck. Eddie scraped his teeth gently over Steve’s pulse point, licking up the column of his throat to speak low and close to his ear. “While I do fully intend on sucking your dick here and now, if you’ll let me–”

Steve whined again, hips thrusting up and into Eddie of their own accord.

Eddie shuddered, pressing a kiss to the skin just behind Steve's ear and finally sat back, looking him in the eye. “I’m not really into hookups, not anymore, and I would love to take you out after.”

Steve's eyes fluttered, watching heavy-lidded and open mouthed as Eddie slid down his body until he was eye level with the obvious bulge in his pants, nosing over it. 

“Not before?” Steve croaked out, struggling to speak as Eddie teased him mercilessly. 

Eddie rested his cheek against Steve’s denim covered cock, looking up at him through the thick curtain of his lashes. “Sweetheart, I've been dying to get my lips wrapped around you since the first time you got hard in my chair. If it’s alright with you, dinner can wait.” 

“Fuck.” Steve bit down on his bottom lip and wound a hand into Eddie’s messy bun, nails scratching at his scalp. 

“So, what do you say?” Eddie asked, smoothing his hands up Steve’s luscious thighs, resting them on either side of his fly as he waited for an answer. 

Steve brought his other hand down to cup Eddie’s face running a thumb over his cheek. “It’s a date.”

Eddie grinned, making quick work of Steve's button and zipper, working his pants and underwear down just enough to let his hard length spring free. 

Fuck it was pretty.

Not that that was a surprise. Everything about Steve was pretty.  

Eddie flicked his tongue out, tasting the tip of him, dipping his tongue into the slit to capture a bit of precum that had spilled out. 

“I’m not going to last very long.” Steve rasped.

“How long has it been since someone touched you?” Eddie asked, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the pink head of his cock. 

Steve whimpered. “Too long.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll fix that. Just sit back and let me take care of you, okay?”

As much as he wanted to take his time and enjoy the feel of Steve sitting heavy on his tongue, for hours or days, those thighs pressing in on either side of him, Eddie was acutely aware that Robin and Chrissy were within earshot, and the door Robin had so helpfully closed did not have a lock. Quick and dirty was probably for the best. 

Hopefully he would have many more opportunities to enjoy Steve at his leisure, assuming their date went well. 

Eddie sank down, keeping his lips tight around Steve’s shaft as he took inch after inch of him inside, until he was nose deep in coarse curly hair.

It’d been a while for Eddie too, since he’d been with anyone like this, but it was like riding a bike, once you’ve mastered the art of taking a cock down your throat—you never forget.

Steve gripped the back of his head harder, not quite holding him down the way Eddie really wanted him to, but enough to let him know he was there. Eddie moaned around him as he began to bob his head, setting a rough pace that had Steve making the most debauched sounds above him.

“God, m’so close already, Eddie.” Steve cried out in warning, taking his hand away to give him the option of moving back. As if he’d waste the opportunity to taste him.

Eddie doubled his efforts, nearly choking himself for how deep he took Steve down, swallowing around him over and over again until finally he came—hot and thick and a little bitter, but oh so wonderful.

He didn’t pull off until Steve was soft in his mouth and writhing from oversensitivity.

Steve immediately pulled him back up into his lap, crashing their mouths together, moaning into the kiss when he undoubtedly caught a taste of himself on Eddie’s tongue.

Eventually Eddie broke the kiss, helping Steve tuck himself away and wiggle back into his jeans. He ignored his own arousal, content with this moment being all about Steve, anxious to keep his promise about taking the other man out on a real date.

“So, where would you like to go? What’s your favorite restaurant in the city?” He asked, settling himself back down into Steve’s lap once his clothing was back in place.   

“What if instead we went back to my place,” Steve began, pulling him in close, dragging his lips over Eddie’s collarbone as he spoke.  “I cook for us, you let me return the favor, and you can take me out to dinner next time.”

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath as Steve palmed him where he was already so painfully hard in his own jeans. “Already planning a second date?” 

“And a third and a fourth. Is that okay?” 

“Sounds perfect.”

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac is Suing for Character Defamation

Vil’s agent is a competent woman.

There’s no way she would have kept her position if she wasn’t. A minor he may’ve been, but even when he was starting out, Vil Schoenheit knew better than to allow someone slothful or greedy to manage his talent and performances.

His father helped him weed out those burdened by these vices, even trusting his son’s judgement on those who tried to play on the long relationships his father had built with them, until Vil’s current agent was the last one left standing.

She was a protege of Vil’s father’s manager, one who already had experience managing older talent, but also a rather scrupulous set of morals concerning children.

Vil has always suspected this may have something to do with all the younger siblings and cousins she sometimes mentions. He’s not going to risk their professional relationship to confirm it though.

She calls him every morning to give him the rundown on his projects for the day, as well as any news that could be pertinent to him.

This morning, like many other mornings before it, she says, “You’re being scouted for several roles by a number of notable studios. Warui Bros. and Reynard Studios are still keeping the roles of the rival open—“

“Pass.” Vil states as he finishes daubing on his primer. “As I’ve said the last two times.”

“Well,” There’s the sound of nails tap-tap-tapping away on her tablet. “Akareiju Studios has a role they’ve requested you specifically for a new movie—!“

“With everything I’ve got on my plate?” He says dismissively. “Hardly. Send my—“

“You’d be the male lead.” She says.

Vil pauses for a moment, sponge hovering over his skin.

“It’s a movie adaptation of a light novel that’s been popular online lately,” She rattles off with her usual efficiency. “Lost Princess: Entangled with my Graceful Family. The premise is simple—Karatsumori Megami, a middle schooler mourning the death of her mother, discovers she is actually the kidnapped youngest daughter of a powerful family, and is whisked away to a life of luxury. Along the way she must adapt to the pressures of her new lifestyle, open up the hearts of her long lost siblings, befriend others at her new elite school, and thwart the bullying of her twisted, cruel stepsister, proving that she is worthy of her place in the family. The author of the novel has agreed to personally work on the screenplay alongside the producers.”

Vil is careful not to pull a face as he sweeps the foundation brush over his cheeks. Trite, as plots went, but that was what audiences enjoyed. Something uncomplicated for them to leave feeling satisfied as though the accomplishments of the fictional characters were their own.

“The role of the male lead in this film is filled by the female lead’s eldest brother.” She continues. “Gracey Enji, heir to the Gracey Corporation. Described as a princely, serious high schooler, burdened with the expectations of inheriting his father’s role as CEO and pushing aside his feelings to better protect the interests of his younger siblings from afar. He’s the one with the most faith in the female lead and does his best to help her out overtly and covertly, but doesn’t actually let his guard down until she recognizes his efforts and vows to support him.”

Vil tilts his head to the side, considering his own face.

Not this look, certainly, it’s too glamorous, too Vil Schoenheit.

But some more subdued makeup colors, while still tinted to enhance his natural features, a severe, almost-too-finely-tailored cut to his clothes, maybe a pair of glasses to emphasize the image of a hard-working professional…

Yes, he could see himself donning the mantle of “Gracey Enji” well.

But there’s still one quibble that needs to be dealt with before he can get too invested.

“Who else will be part of the cast?” His attempts to make the question sound light and careless fall slightly flat. “Anyone I know?”

She hems and haws, the clicking of her fingers flying over her tablet screen audible through the phone.

“Neige LeBlanche has been approached,” His agent says. “For a brief cameo during the funeral scene as the heroine’s childhood friend.”

A slow smirk spreads over Vil’s face.

“Send me the script. I’ll have a read-through.”

***

Idia’s been over the hype about LoPri since before it even got off the ground.

He heard about it through one of the threads he frequents on Dreddit, a recommendation from a well-known user whose opinion he’s kind wishy-washy on.

He tried it, found the writing bland, the characterization muddy yet restrictive, and really couldn’t vibe with the undertones of “nuclear family by blood is the best and only real family, any kids born outside of a conventional marriage are inherently thieving irredeemable scumbags”.

What kind of message is that in this day and age?? Even the gods had more liberated family relations than that. Idia will be the first to burn the world down for Ortho, but this depiction of siblings kind of pisses him off, a tiny bit.

Unfortunately, even though he’s written it off as barely-above-garbage-tier, all the normies online have jumped on the hype train to sing its praises.

He’d usually just avoid the fandom, block and move on, but it’s like a fungus. It keeps popping up, even in places that should be safe! Places that should be sacred!

MrLeotaGracey: how can you not read LoPri

MrLeotaGracey: were you born in a barn???

cLoThO115: ???

MrLeotaGracey: smh

MrLeotaGracey: leota-chan and megami-chan are the most beautiful in existence

littollethegurl: no one was talking about lopri tho??

MrLeotaGracey: literally actual goddesses

MrLeotaGracey: if premo has any brains theyll do a tribute for LoPri

MrLeotaGracey: its just common sense for a dying idol group like this lol

PreMo5Evrr: dude wtf

Places like the message board for Precipice Moirai!!

Idia sighs despondently.

What is the world coming to, that stans like this can come into a nice chat like this and begin trash talking like they own the place? True, this guy is more virulent than the average fan, but the fact that he can’t read the atmosphere is just depressing.

And some users are getting triggered, which will lead to them getting banned unless someone does something.

Gloomurai: lol imagine god defending a ln thats the embodiment of mid

Gloomurai: imo cant relate

MrLeotaGracey: kys

MrLeotaGracey: fucking virgin whore

MrLeotaGracey: cringe loser cunts who cant understand how amazing LoPri is dont deserve rights

And any second now…

*MrLeotaGracey was banned by Mod Rougelike105*

“Another thread saved. Thank you for your services, Mod-sshi.” Sure they won’t be able to see the little salute he’s giving them, but he’s in his room! There’s no one to judge him here.

Idia stretches with a sigh. It’s not much, but whacking LoPri trolls is honest work.

Ah, Muscle Red’s signed on!

Idia eagerly turns his mind to much more welcome matters, like smashing mobs, defeating bosses, and collecting loot with his best friend online.

***

Bella DeNiâmerée is a tolerable enough writer, though her penchant for constant similes leaves something to be desired.

Vil’s just glad the other screenwriters have toned down the worst of her literary foibles.

The rest of the cast and crew are pleasant, professional, and enjoyable to work with. There are a few roles that haven’t been filled yet—the kind elder sister, one or two of the heroine’s quirky friends, the villainess—but overall read-throughs have been productive and helped him gain a better understanding of the role he is to play.

And he is the male lead. Someone who will stand in the spotlight all the way to the end, a proud protector of this happy little family.

Great Seven, what an intoxicating feeling it is.

He’s read source material a few times by now, to understand the odd, tech-punk world that the story is based in.

It seems like it’s almost a carbon copy of Twisted Wonderland, but without the magic. Some of the terminology, like “Instagram”, “Siri”, or “motorcycle” is a little confusing, but overall it’s easy to understand his character’s motivations.

Maybe it’s because of however many times he’s been made to take up the role himself, but Vil seems incapable of not feeling…something for the villainess.

And yes, more often than not that something is exasperation or disappointment, but the point still stands.

A bastard child singled out from the others for her resemblance to her mother, the kidnapper who’d been raising the heroine as her own. Constantly striving to be recognized, to outdo the legitimate children through any means, returning their ire with blunt, cutting barbs.

And with the arrival of the heroine, the villainess seeks to oust the one aiming to usurp her place with a tenacity that is almost reminiscent of the Beautiful Queen’s own.

And yet she resorts to such ugly means to accomplish her end—bullying, cheating, even arranging for the heroine to be kidnapped! Of course, all this results in is her getting exposed at the heroine’s middle school graduation, rejecting her forgiveness and stomping off to disownment in defeat.

Vil despairs of her choices, even as he privately sympathizes with her motives.

Really, if Gracey “Yuu” Fuyuhime has just focused on proving her suitability over her uncultured sister rather than trying to drag her down out of fear, she would still be an uncontested member of the family. The levels she let herself sink to, those were her downfall.

Vil himself certainly would never fall to those depths.

Still, the new school year will start soon. Vil’s third year at Night Raven College, his last year as dorm head.

He’s going to do his upmost to ensure it’s one that everybody will remember and recognize him for.

***

There’s some commotion going on at the entrance ceremony.

Idia watches the feed from his tablet with some vague interest. One of the firsties has been outed by the mirror as having no magic in their soul, and now the familiar they brought along has set Kalim-sshi on fire.

Boy, is he glad he’s not there in person. Fs in chat for Kalim-sshi.

Still, he thinks as his fingers fly over his keyboard, his tablet taking a picture of the trouble-making first year and setting up an image search. It’d be troublesome if some magicless scrub tried to wrangle a monster to sneak in to orientation, hoping they could coast by to get in to NRC.

Still, a background check and confirmation of their status emailed to the headmaster should clean the situation up.

Though, isn’t it too much that he has to do all this for the headmaster? He really needs some kind of compensation. Perhaps an exemption from all of Vargus’ classes? Extra budget for Ignihyde? Maybe even some new specs for Ortho—!

A jingle erupts from Idia’s speakers. A match!

He chuckles to himself as he taps on the link his search has brought up. Honestly, if someone was going to break in to NRC, they should know better than to leave traces of themself all over the net, like some cheesy villain—

The image that has popped up is an illustration from a light novel. The closeup of a face filled with resentment and distrust, the kind of expression to send shivers down anyone’s spine. Overgrown bangs casting the eyes in shadow for that extra bit of menace.

The header at the top of the screen proclaims this image to be page 39 of Lost Princess. The introduction of the villainess.

Eh?

Eh??

***

The first year with the out of control familiar is shouting at Crowley.

“—and, as I’ve been trying to tell you, I do not want to be here. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where I am. And honestly?! I’ve half a mind to press charges against you and your sham of an institution for abduction of a minor!!”

Crowley squawks some insulted response as Vil rolls his eyes. Honestly, who did this magicless potato think they were?

Even if they did have a vaguely familiar face, it’s disappointing to see they’re ignorant of the best school in Twisted Wonderland. Though, maybe this dearth of knowledge is why they thought bringing a familiar they couldn’t control to Night Raven College was a good idea.

“Pomefiore, this way.” He calls. “Rook, if you could take the lead?”

He needs to keep an eye on that poison apple who’s now going to be under his care. Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish, like try to escape.

As he glances behind him, he can see the headmaster and the magicless potato asking something else of the Dark Mirror. The potato is growing more and more agitated.

Oh well. It’s hardly his concern. He turns to follow—

“Kyoto? Tokyo?! Japan?! Do those mean nothing to you?!”

Vil feels himself stop despite his every intention.

He stares at the teenager who’s thrown their hood back, desperation in every inch of their frame.

The teenager who is the spitting image of the villainess in the light novel he’s the lead in the movie of.

Who has just name dropped the fantasy land said light novel takes place in.

What the fuck.

[rayshippouuchiha]

These two blankets are currently on my hook and I'm alternating between them.

The rainbow one is 3 weight acrylic yarn, also stored in the hoard since A.C.Moore's closure. The pattern is a stacked granny stitch used in March's stitch of the month from Jayda in Stitches' 2021 calendar blanket.

The striped blanket is also Bernat Blanket yarn (can you tell I have a favorite type?) in Yarnspirations' Lush Life pattern, which uses the Alpine stitch. I had actually planned to use this yarn to make a blanket for my youngest brother (I'll use his nickname, Bubba), who selfishly took all the height genes for himself and is already 6'6" and still growing. We were at my other younger brother's (who I am only allowed to refer to as Pie, he will accept no other name from me) apartment and I told him (Bubba) what I was planning and he immediately started making that face that all people who learn of a gift they don't want but will accept anyway because "family." I asked him what was wrong, and he hemmed and hawed for a few minutes before finally admitting that he didn't like the sensation of crocheted items against his skin.

I hadn't started the blanket yet, but I told Bubba that I would rather he had told me now so that I know and don't spend my time on making something he's not going to like. It would hurt my feelings more that he felt he had to accept something just because I made it for him. After I gave him a hug, our brother Pie, turns to me and says, "So, I hear you have yarn for a blanket, but no one to give it too. I find myself in need of another blanket." As if the little shit hasn't snagged everything I made that I didn't already have a person in mind for or kept for myself. He must have taken at least 20 pattern testing amigurumis and several blankets already. I have had to pat him down a few times for just completed projects that were commissioned before he left my place.

these are fucking art goddamn it

[harringtonhurst]

best kept secret / steve harrington

part one here

“They honestly don’t think we’re buying this right?”

Dustin strained his neck turning back, trying to look for where the two of you ran off to. “It’s kinda cute, honestly.” Max shrugged, Robin’s arm clutching hers, eyes glued to the screen even though she had the most objections in horror to begin with. “When you do think they’re gonna tell us?” Asked Lucas. Robin finally shut her eyes away, turning to the conversation, trying to tune out the shrieks and bloodbath.

“Don’t know, I say this week. You know how long I had to listen to him pine? Now that he’s got her, no way Steve’s gonna take not touching her all the time for more than a day.” Robin groaned, but she was eternally happy for her bestfriend. After flings and Nancy and one failed target, endlessly looking for the one, now he’s finally found it. Found you. Her eyes widened and signaled the others to stop their speculations as you came in sight. It became hushed, too quite for any of them, out of character. Your eyebrows knitted as you took your seat.

“What’d I miss? Why’d you guys get so quite when I got here?” Everyone simply scrambled for anybody to say a word, reaching for anybody to quit their hemming and hawing and say something, until everybody looked to Robin. She raised a brow, reluctant, lips curved down and blurting out the first thing in her mind.

“Oh, uh Dustin let one rip.”

Dustin pursed his lips, ultimately accepting the humiliation as you looked to him, puzzled and amused. “Yeah. Too much popcorn.” You stifled a laugh, turning back to the movie.

/

“I wanna tell them.”

Steve turned to you, a mouthful of whipped cream, mildly shaking his head for comprehension. “Really?” He exclaimed, muffled, spitting some for you too. Your tongue brushed your gums, choosing to ignore what had happened as he brushed the residue off your cheek. “Sorry. Really?” He spoke, much clearer now. “Yeah, I do. I think I’m ready.” Steve’s gaze softened, a grin from ear to ear as he placed a short lived kiss on your lips.

“Alright.” He sung, falling into your arms. He pressed his cheek against your shoulder. “How shocked do you think they’ll be?” He looked to you, as you tried to picture each of your friend’s faces when you walk in hand in hand with your now boyfriend in front of them. After all the insults, be it lighthearted you’ve thrown and him and the amount of stupid arguments you had in the worst moments. “I don’t know, but I’m excited. They’re gonna be so surprised.” You laughed. “Yeah, I can’t wait to see the look on their faces.”

/

You inhaled a sharp breathe, glancing for reassurance as Steve brushed his shoulder with yours, tilting his head down. The door creaked as you pushed it open, your friends gathered around a board game only Dustin seemed to be enthused to play. “Hey guys?” Steve’s voice granted the attention to the two of you, standing side by side with an uncontainable, slightly unsettling smile. Robin tilted her head, “Hello, creeps. How may we help you?” She quiped, bringing her hands forward like a welcoming gesture. You turned to him again, signaling for him to take the lead.

“We… have something to tell you guys.” He placed a hand on the small of your back, slightly nudging you forward. The others sat, unamused, awaiting for continuation, for the most part already suspecting what was gonna happen. Seems like Max, Lucas and Mike owed Robin 5 bucks. Steve turned to you, one last look of are you sure, and you answered with a smile. He slipped his fingers into yours, lacing them together as Robin turned to Max, eyebrows raising as an I told you.

“We’re dating.”

The room fell silent just as it did before, the two of you looked to one another, confusion sinking in. Lucas sighed, rustling in his pocket and reluctantly handing a five in Robin’s extended hand. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything?” You finally say, Steve’s grip tightening in your hand. “Cause we already knew, lovebirds.” Nancy laughed, shaking her head. Steve’s eyes widened, “What? How? We didn’t—huh?”

“Dingus, your constant oogling made it so obvious.” Robin looked around the room, earning hums and nods in agreement. “Seriously?” Your frown and confusion broke into a smile, slightly disappointed there was no surprise. But in a way this was quite a nice reaction. They received the news like you and Steve just quoted an obvious weather forecast of some sort. You rolled your eyes, dragging him with you to join the others. “It was easy for me to spot when his pining look to you turned to blissful heart-eyes.” Robin shrugged as Steve pushed her shoulder.

“Wait, how long has he had a thing for me?” You took Robin’s hand and her eagerness to tell you lit up.

“Oh, let me tell yo—“

“Robin!” Steve interjected and you grinned as Robin continued to ramble on. Sure, you had wanted some sort of reaction from them, shock or fainting or questions or whatever, but in a way this was just as fulfilling, even better in some way, they accepted and teased the two of you and turns out they were sharper than the two of you anticipated.

Or, Steve was simply that horrible in hiding how he felt about you.

[retro-stars]

Rottmnt Fanwork Concept: In the apocalypse, relationships- romantic and familial- were quietly known and respected but kept private for the sake of equality among recruits, as to not favor to someone you’re close to. There was no room for what-ifs or second-guessing your love. Either you were a unit and recognized as such in missions and in terms of rank, or you weren’t. Because of this, Casey is very much unused to the pining and endless hemming and hawing at every turn of modern dating culture, and after realizing most of the couples he knows from the future haven’t gotten together yet, he begins aggressively wingmaning the fuck out of everyone.

Somehow, this does actually make them get their shit together.

[swamp-chicken]

for the writing prompts, sneaking out to see the stars + ethdubs? also j really like your writing style! :D

make a wish, 1,037 words

bdubs had thought it was all settled after ren stepped down. but really, nothing had been settled. there were still royal emeralds in the shops, inventories overflowing with pie, hermits asking for their diamonds back. they now had twenty useless diamond towers instead of four, and a giant statue of ren overseeing spawn. and--here was the kicker, the real rub, the universe spitting in bdubs' eye--they still needed to build roads!

so the hermits, in true hermit fashion, had called a meeting. and, in even truer hermit fashion, the meeting was stretching deep into the night, issues being endlessly hemmed and hawed over, cleo and jevin feuding, impulse diligently scratching out his notes, and no. roads. being. built.

bdubs balanced on the back two legs of his chair and kept his mouth shut. he had made ren king, that had been his solution. but noooo, the ungrateful public hadn't wanted that. oh no, we don't want fun quests and maybe a little bit of corruption and lots of beautiful roads! we want meetings!

bdubs rolled his eyes. he should be sleeping, but every time he tried to sneak out of the meeting tango shot him a venemous look. it was clear that as long as they were all stuck here, bdubs was stuck here too.

and then there was etho, sitting across the table from bdubs, so still that bdubs knew he had to be sleeping. bdubs pulled a few faces, just to check. there was no response from etho, but, down the table, scar stifled a laugh.

experiment inconclusive, bdubs folded a piece of paper into a neat little origami triangle. he took aim and flicked it full power. it flew across the table and nailed etho straight in the forehead. scar gave a bark of laughter which he smothered into a cough. etho startled awake with a snort, and, after glancing up and down the table, narrowed in on bdubs as the culprit. maybe it was because bdubs was covering his mouth, shaking in silent laughter.

etho jabbed his index finger towards bdubs, then drew his thumb across his neck. the message was clear. "you, dead." bdubs pointed to himself, a picture of innocence. "who, me?"

at the end of the table, false and xisuma were droning on about currency exhanges, apparently uninterrupted by the scuffle at bdubs' end.

bdubs shot his hand into the air.

"you don't have to raise your hand, you know," impulse noted. false and xisuma broke off their conversation and peered down the table.

"permission to speak?" bdubs requested.

"you don't really need permission to speak either--"

"I would like to request a fifteen minute recess! I need to walk around, my back is killing me."

"okay, old man," pearl snorted.

"objection!" bdubs shouted. "I am not old."

impulse sighed. "yeah, let's take a break. but you all better be back in fifteen minutes exactly! we still need to decide what to do with the diamond towers."

the table groaned.

bdubs all but leapt out of his chair. he hadn't been kidding, his back really was killing him. he joined the crowd of hermits as they shuffled out of the meeting room.

etho fell in to step behind him.

"follow me," etho said. "I want to show you something."

bdubs glanced over his shoulder at etho. "what, your fist in my face? I know how this goes, buddy boy."

etho huffed. "it's nice, I promise."

"your mouth in my face?"

etho made a strangled noise and grabbed bdubs' hand, tugging him out of the current of the crowd.

bdubs smiled and laced his fingers with etho's, happy to be led along for a little tête-à-tête with his beloved.

etho pushed open the door, the cold night breeze enveloping them as etho brought him outside. it was almost midnight, the moon high in the sky. bdubs shivered and leaned closer to etho for warmth. "what did you want to show me, cutie pie? a good time?"

"no," etho laughed, "the stars! you never get to see them, sleeping all the time." he was flustered for some reason, which was stupidly cute.

"ah, yes," bdubs intoned, facing the sky. "the stars." he was pretty sure he had looked at the stars before. he may have even been to some.

"there's an asteroid shower I've been keeping an eye on." etho said, pointing into the heavens. "that way, to the south." bdubs tucked himself against etho's front and lifted up on to his toes, trying to align his gaze with etho's arm.

"there, do you see?" etho asked, voice low. his breath tickled bdubs' ear.

bdubs squirmed, trying to ignore the heat ignited in his stomach. he squinted into the sky. sure, there were sure a lot of stars, but they weren't exactly moving... except--"wait!" bdubs gasped. "I saw a shooting star!"

"you gotta make a wish," etho prompted, lowering his arm and wrapping it around bdubs' waist, pulling bdubs flush against him. "that's one server, gone forever."

"oh," bdubs sighed, feeling a little wistful, remembering all the worlds he had left behind, worlds that he would never see again. there had been nether hubs and arenas, airplanes and death games, friends and enemies, castles and crastles-- and through it all, etho.

"I made my wish," bdubs said.

"that was fast," etho chuckled. "was it a good one?"

"pretty good, I think." bdubs turned in etho's arms and kissed his nose through the mask, watched his whole face crinkle into a smile. "and it's mostly come true, anyways."

etho hummed, eyes warm. "long meetings make you sappy."

"and you sleepy."

"are you trying to fight?"

bdubs leaned his cheek against etho's chest, smiling. "no, I'm not."

they stood quietly for a moment, etho smoothing his hand over bdubs' back. bdubs cleared his throat. "and, for the record, you're the sap. taking me stargazing, come on."

etho jabbed him in the side and bdubs pulled back, giggling.

impulse's voice rang out through the night. "hey! where is everyone? recess over."

bdubs pulled back, grimacing. etho's expression mirrored his. "well, back we go."

bdubs slid his hand into etho's and swung their joined hands between them. "I just want roads," he whined.

"I don't want anything!" etho countered.

"you poor innocent guy, getting swept up in all our nonsense. oh wait, you killed me at the king's vault."

etho snickered and tugged bdubs towards him, pressing a kiss to his hair.

they walked back inside and the door shut softly behind them.

[moni-logues]

Woo Baby Baby

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (gn)

Genre: angst, kinda song fic (Ooh Baby Baby by Smokey Robinson), established relationship

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Mistakes, Wooyoung knows he's made a few... A rough patch in your relationship gets a whole lot rougher when Wooyoung steps outside it on a business trip.

Content: drinking, referenced infidelity/the aftermath of infidelity

A/N: this was written tonight, very much a spur of the moment thing; idk where it came from, idk what it is but it's here 🙃 yeah apparently i'm writing ATZ now too!

It had started as a joke. You had crooned ‘ooh baby baby’ and he had asked you why you would sing that to him; he had asked if you had anything to confess to and laughed, pulling you closer for a kiss. Of course you hadn’t; you would never. But the line came into your head almost every time you thought of him: Wooyoung, your Woo baby baby.  

Now you lay on your sofa, two bottles of wine deep, listening to the song on repeat. Your tears were dry; your face was puffy and almost sticky with salt. You waved the wine bottle in the air like a conductor in front of their orchestra as Smokey sang, over and over again, about how he did his baby wrong.  

Oh, how your baby had done you wrong. 

* 

It had been a rough couple of weeks. You had resigned a month prior and the company had taken it poorly, throwing the worst they could at you while you worked your notice period; it meant long, tense hours in the office, over-time, bad relations with colleagues you had thought were your friends. The promise of your new job was not even close to enough to sustaining a good mood during your last month. You would return home tired, miserable, at the end of your tether.  

Wooyoung had his stresses, too. They were preparing for an overseas business trip, a deal on the brink of either close or collapse; it was a make-or-break venture and no one could afford for it to break. Least of all Wooyoung, who had put all his savings into this. To say he was standing on the brink of financial ruin would not have been entirely overstating it. 

You were snapping at each other, getting irritated by things that you wouldn’t usually notice, wouldn’t usually care about. He was upset for you, for not being able to do anything to make it better. You were worried for him, knowing that his trip could be the best or worst thing that had ever happened to him. Neither of you could funnel that emotion into tenderness or patience. A storm cloud took up residence over your apartment, the place you had so recently come to call your own, the two of you finally in one place.  

You both started finding excuses to come home a little later—it wasn’t difficult, not with your schedules the way they were—anything to avoid another argument over who hadn’t emptied the dishwasher. You kissed each other goodbye in the mornings in a way that was routine, automatic, sometimes barely meant. You took turns going to bed early, one of you always asleep before the other joined.  

You kept telling yourself it would be fine. You just had to leave your company and start at the new one. Woo just had to go on his trip, close the deal, and come home. Then it would be fine. You’d get back on track, on-kilter, back to normal. This was a temporary blip. You were happy with Wooyoung, of course you were, this was just not an easy time. That was all. 

* 

The trip did not go well. The deal didn’t tank but it was hanging on by the skin of its teeth; the investors (potential investors) were jumpy, asking for more and more data, pushing back timelines, hemming and hawing and, in your mind, stringing them along. You were not convinced they were really going to invest at the end of it all, but you didn’t dare say as much to Woo when he came home. He was so deflated, defeated, exhausted. He came straight in, took off his clothes, and got into bed.  

You felt like he was avoiding you even more than he had been before. He seemed skittish, too, and distracted. You had started your new job by the time he returned, and you were feeling better, even if he wasn’t. You had determined that you would put in the effort, make up for the lack of it before he went away, do enough for both of you when you realised he had not returned in triumph. 

He didn’t seem to want to let you so you gave him the space he seemed to need for a few days. It was eventually he who sat you down to talk.  

The conversation did not go where you had expected. 

Someone else. A mistake. A one-time thing. He never meant it to happen. He felt sick about it. He never wanted to hurt you. Everything was going so badly. They had drunk so much. He felt like everything was falling apart. He missed you; you weren’t there. He said a lot, and most of it missed you completely because all you could focus on was him and someone else. Someone else. You could picture it; you didn’t even need to know who they were or what they looked like. That didn’t matter. You could just see him, your Wooyoung, your ooh baby baby making his own Smokey Robinson mistake.  

* 

That was days ago now and you couldn’t stop seeing it. You hadn’t told anyone else, couldn’t face it. Telling people made it real and you were still, somehow, clinging onto the last vestiges of hope that this wasn’t happening. You were waiting for Woo to come back and say, hey it’s ok, that didn’t happen. It never happened. I’m still all yours.  

He was saying that, actually. ‘I’m yours’. ‘I’m all yours’. ‘I never want to leave you’. ‘I love you’. ‘Please’. He had gone to stay with Hongjoong, just for a few days, to give you space, to let you process, work through it. He said he was going to make it up to you; he was going to win your trust again; he was going to make it better.  

You were a long way from being able to let him.  

* 

You opened another bottle of wine and turned the music up, turned it up loud enough that you couldn’t hear your doorbell ringing, couldn’t hear your phone buzz on the sofa, couldn’t hear the knocking at your door.  

He was just being polite; he didn’t need to knock because it was his apartment, too. He wanted you to let him in; he wanted you to open the door and step back, to say ok, we can talk, I’m ready now. He knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him so he input the code himself and walked into his apartment.  

His heart broke seeing you like that, wine drunk and sad, singing the song you sang to him but all of it this time, all the words, singing his mistake, singing your heartbreak. He wished he could take it back. He wished a lot of things. He wished you would forgive him, would still love him; he’d have given anything. Forget the deal, forget his life savings. What did success mean if you weren’t by his side? 

He walked over and sat on the sofa next to you. The fact that you didn’t move showed just how drunk you were; he worried that if you stood, you’d fall.  

“Baby,” he said softly, testing the waters, seeing where you were. 

You shook your head. 

“Not your baby,” you mumbled back, nevertheless leaning your weight on him, resting your head on his shoulder.  

He picked up your phone and turned the music down; he took the open wine bottle from your loose grip and put it on the coffee table where it wouldn’t spill all over the rug you had taken months to pick out. You mumbled something else, something that might have been a protest at one action or the other—or both—but you didn’t move to effect any change. You, instead, fell backwards, your head almost hitting the wall behind the sofa. 

“Careful!” Wooyoung cried, reaching out to cradle you. 

You swatted him away, muttering something about being fine.  

You clearly weren’t and he knew it was his fault. He was on the bottom rung of a very tall ladder that would take a long time to climb. But he was determined he’d reach the top. He would. Whatever it took. He wouldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t.  

He encouraged you off the sofa, scooping his arm under your shoulder and around your back to support you on your sea legs. You let him, not enough control of or strength in your body left to fight him anyway. He walked you to bed, tucked you in, kissed your forehead. He lingered just a second and, in that second, you reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt to keep him near. You tipped your face up and brought your lips to his. It took every ounce of his strength to pull away. He wanted it; with everything he had, he wanted to kiss you and make this all go away. He wanted to kiss you until the world around you dissolved; he wanted to kiss you until there was nothing left. But you were drunk, and, if he were really honest, you didn’t want to kiss him. Not really. Not sober. Not in your right mind. He knew that. And he’d already done plenty to erode your trust in him. He wouldn’t ever do that.  

He pulled back, his lips leaving yours.  

“Baby,” you whined, fist still clutched around his T-shirt. 

“I’m here,” he replied in a whisper. “I’m still here.” 

You let him go, your hand flopping by your side as your face creased, and your tears were refreshed. Your hands raised to your face, covering it, and you rolled away from him, trying to hide yourself from him as if he wouldn’t still be able to see you, to hear your crying, to look again upon the mess he’d made.  

‘Pull yourself together,’ he said to himself harshly as tears pricked in his own eyes. ‘This is all your own fault anyway’.  

He wiped a hand roughly over his eyes and decided that, tonight, he would sleep on the sofa. He wouldn’t go back to Hongjoong. He wanted to stay; he wanted to show you that he wanted to stay. He loved you; he would always love you and he was determined to make you see.  

He whispered his love to you as he walked back out of the bedroom and sat on the sofa. He took a generous glug from the wine bottle and curled himself up small. There was always tomorrow. He couldn’t give up hope; he couldn’t give up on you. He only prayed you felt the same. 

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

A Great Big Phech-niverse Chapter 2

Tech and Phee post canon with the question "Would you still love me if I was a worm" but with a twist!

AO3

The rustling of sheets told Tech that Phee had rolled back over towards him before he even heard her voice. “Okay, what is it?”

Tech sighed. “It is inconsequential.”

“Tech, I’ve heard you hemming and hawing for the past twenty minutes. Something’s on your mind, and I really don’t think it’s inconsequential.”

Had it really been that long?

Tech turned over in the bed so he could face Phee. “I heard a phrase spoken by some adolescents earlier today. It has remained with me since then.”

Without his goggles, he could not see the definite details of his fiancée’s face, but her smile was discernible. “Kids say the darnedest things sometimes, but whatever it was seems to be bothering you.”

“That it is,” Tech paused at the sound of a moon-yo scampering across the roof. “It is an interesting question to ponder on the terms of love among sentient beings.”

“Ooo, getting deep,” Phee propped herself up on her elbows. “Okay, Brown Eyes, lay it on me.”

Tech took a deep breath. “Would you still love me if I was a platypus?”

Silence, save for the nocturnal insects and the moon-yo chittering.

“Run that by me again, Brown Eyes?”

He nodded. “The youths were talking about it as a question that apparently circulated with couples near the end of the Clone Wars. The question was whether or not one member of a romantic partnership would continue to love the other if they were a platypus.”

“You’re asking if I would still love you if you were a platypus?”

“Correct.”

“Huh,” Phee mused. “Why a platypus?”

“I was unclear until I refreshed my knowledge of the creature. They are native to Ailartsua and while there is little knowledge of their cohabitation, it has been documented they live a solitary existence save for mating.”

“Am I also a platypus in this scenario too?”

“No, you are your normal human self. Only I am the platypus.”

She made a noise of disappointment. “Damn. They might look funny, but swimming would be a breeze.”

“That is true,” Tech mused.

“To answer your question, yes.”

“Yes?” 

“I think you’d be a lovely platypus,” she said. “I don’t know how platypus brains work and if you’d still love me, but if we woke up tomorrow and you were a platypus, I’d still love you. Even if you just wanted to swim all day long.”

The sentient made Tech smile. “I hope I would still love you if I was a platypus.”

”I hope you’d still have those brown eyes as one,” Phee chuckled. “Although what goes on inside would matter more than the out. I hope your personality would still be there. It’s one of the reasons I fell for you anyways.”

“And your ability to look beyond exteriors is one of your many attractive qualities,” Tech told her. “I do fear our wedding plans would no longer be in effect if I was a platypus though.”

“Yeah, but I’d still want platypus Tech in my life.”

To hear that affirmation that he was important to her still made Tech feel butterflies after all their time together. 

“For what it’s worth, I would like to have you remain in my life if you were a platypus and would still have feelings of affection for you provided your personality was intact and not overridden by animalistic instincts.”

“You love me for me,” she translated.

“Correct.”

Phee shifted over in the bed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Love you too, Brown Eyes. Now we should get some sleep. Hunter’s having us over for breakfast tomorrow.”

He nodded in agreement, slipping his hand under the covers to find hers. “However, I’m now pondering the multiversal universe theory, and if there is a universe where the both of us are platypi?”

“Maybe so?” Phee yawned. “Ask me again in the morning though. Last time we were yawning, Crosshair thought we’d been up to something else and kept grinning.”

-0-

In another universe…

“Tech?” Platypus Phee asked as she packed more mud against the side of their nest.

”Yes, Phee?” Platypus Tech turned to his mate from where he was placing the new grasses down.

”Would you still love me if I was a sloth?”