#idk where this came from

[samofmine]

okay so. sam with a praise kink & a humilliation kink.

Imagine Dean breaking into Sam's dorm once, one week after he left for college, cause he's drunk and sad and hurt and he misses Sammy. It scares Sam shitless and he almost punches him but Dean manages to hold him down, "easy tiger", and then they're wrestling, more trying to touch every piece of the other's skin than actually trying to hurt each other, and it takes 0 time for Sam to get painfully hard in his pajama pants and of fucking course Dean notices.

"Still the same horny mess, huh, Sammy?"

And Sam just lets out the most pathetic whine as Dean reaches for his cock, hand moving up and down lightly and slowly and Sam missed this so much he could cry.

Dean has him begging for it in no time "use your words, babyboy" and Sam's brain can barely come up with anything but please please please.

Dean turns him over and climbs on top of him, taking both their clothes off as fast as he can and Sam just waits.

Dean starts to finger him right there on the floor and Sam can't wait, he needs Dean inside, his whole body feels hot and he's tingling and the friction of the carpet against his cock is just so good, so right, so he begs again please please please and Dean tells him to shut up, shoving his cock inside Sam hard and all at once and it punches the air off Sam's lungs.

"Quiet Sammy," Dean leans in to whisper to him, "You don't want your college friends to know you're a slut."

And oh my god Dean is fucking him so slow and so hard, Sam can't take it, he starts to fuck himself on Dean's cock in a pathetic rhytm that is not nearly enough.

Dean even stops for a moment, lets him do all the work, and then he grabs both Sam's arms and starts to fuck him properly, using Sam like he's a fleshlight, and oh god the memory of Dean fucking that flashlight in the bathroom when he thought Sam was asleep, Sam moans loudly, his cock leaking on the carpet.

"You should see you right now. College boy turns out to be nothing but a pathetic slut. What's the use of studying so hard if you're just gonna be fucked dumb by your brother's cock, huh?"

Sam is so close, his entire body shakes, and Dean is still holding his arms and he can't touch himself and it's all too much and he starts crying, moaning Dean's name and hoping he'll get the message.

And oh, he does, he pulls Sam in until his back is flushed against his chest and starts fucking him slowly, kissing his neck, and Sam needs more, he starts moving, and fuck, Dean's hand finds his cock.

"So good, Sammy" Dean groans and Sam can tell he's close, too, "Perfect for me, doing so good."

And Sam only nods, fucking back on Dean's cock and thrusting on Dean's hand, and he needs it so bad-

"Go ahead, Sammy, let go for me. Let me see how perfect you look when you cum on my cock." Dean speeds up his hand and Sam cums with a loud cry, body falling forward, but Dean catches him and turns him on his back, gritted teeth as he throws Sam's legs over his shoulders and enters him again, fucking Sam even harder, groaning "fuck fuck fuck" and spilling inside him.

Sam almost wants to beg for him to stay like that, inside him, not moving until the sun comes up, until Sam can feel him getting hard again, until he can fuck Sam and spill inside him again and again until he feels full.

But Dean just gets up, gets dressed and leaves.

Sam doesn't get up from the floor and it doesn't take long until he's hard again so he starts jerking off, high on the feeling of his brother's cum leaking from his hole.

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[gauloiseblue]

This is Price. You can't change my mind

[apollos-boyfriend]

if i was a cis cc i’d tweet out “if you hc my character as cis you’re breaking my boundaries” then turn my phone off

[bratbait]

but what if i was prey and you were hunting me, but i’m a dumb puppy so in my efforts to get away i end up getting stuck in the perfect position for you to mount me. i’d already be in tears, begging you to help me and let me go free, and you’d lie and say oh of course i’ll help… not after knotting me a few times with cum overflowing all of my holes.

what if i cried harder when feeling you stretch out my tight little holes and you licked my face as they fell down?

[arminsumi]

just absolutely love dumb, nervous wreck, antsy-pants satoru who cannot chill around you. he has to go to suguru for reassurance that his hair looks good, that his breath smells good, that his outfit isn't lame, etc. this earns him a snicker from his best friend, and a pat on the back, and a "satoru. you're good. stop overthinking. you're just saying hello."

but just saying hello takes all his composure. the stars have to be aligned. when he reaches you, he's a stuttering dorky awkward nonsensical chaotic MESS of a person.

"hey! hi. hello. how are you? YEAH. i'm... good. haha. yes. ok. well... i've gotta goooooooo......."

and he leaves because his heart is panging so hard it feels like he's about to have a heart attack. that's just how you got him. and you have no idea. you're just happily going about your life while this poor boy is falling to pieces for you.

he's so love dumb that he can't focus on studying for too long, thoughts always leading back to you.

oh god you complimented him? he will remember that compliment for YEARS.

[thegnomelord]

Okay, genuine question, why did the devs have to make Makarov into such a fucking twink? Like look at this bastard:

The hair, the smug smirk, the fact he looks like a damn twig compared to the rest of the 141 boys. I know he would probably kill me the second he loses interest in me but like, I want to bend in him half so bad.

And you know he'd be a demanding bratty twink; hips rolling back to meet yours as you pound him into the desk, his legs thrown over your shoulders and knees against his chest, moaning lowly as you bully your cock into him like he's a common whore.

But don't think you're the one in control. He's got a knife pressed against your throat, blood rolling down your skin from the places where he'd nicked you already. It would be so easy for him to slit your throat, to take your life like he's done to countless others. But he doesn't, the knife is only there as a reminder of who holds the leash around your throat.

"That's right болван, harder." He demands, knife pressing harder against your throat. He doesn't beg, men like him don't beg. He demands, harsh and loud, taking the pleasure you can give him. "Don't disappoint me now."

You redouble your efforts, your hips bruising his ass with every hard thrust that has his cock leaking spurts of precum from the way your dick bashes into his prostate. A loud and satisfied moan leaves him, head rolling back and eyes closing as he lets you ravage him. "хорошая собака." A small bit of praise escapes him, the sharp blade of the knife easing off your skin. "Just like that, good." He moans unabashedly, rough fingers tangling into your head and tugging your head down.

He presses your mouth to his exposed neck, suit and jacket undone just enough for his collarbones to peek out beneath the ruffled fabric. "Bite." He orders.

And you do, teeth digging into the pale skin of his neck until you taste blood, feeling the way he groans and clenches around your cock like a vice. Pain and pleasure are one and the same to him, muddling his mind better than the most expensive whiskey. So you don't ease up, fucking him like a breeding bull as you lay bite after bite across his neck, your fingers leaving hand shaped bruises on his thighs.

His moans echo freely through the office and into the halls, more sweet praises falling from his lips "Good dog, just like that, fuck me harder, yes-" as the sharp edge of the blade makes little nicks across your collarbones. The pain makes you throb inside him, every bruise you such into his neck just one more example of how much he owns you; You're his dog, his to train, his to punish when you step out of line , his to reward when you bring back the head of his enemies.

You can tell he's close by the way his body shakes, hole clenching and fluttering around you, walls clinging to every inch of your shaft as you pull out to nail his sweet spot again. You're far beyond words at this point, blindly grabbing his dick in your large hand and loosely jerking him off as you chase your own orgasm.

"Hah- yes, shit!" Makarov groans as he cums first, cum splattering onto your fist and his expensive suit as you fuck him through his orgasm, each harsh punch on your hips against his making another spurt of cum shoot from his tip.

Your cock throbs as you're so close to cumming, the fluttering and clenching of his walls helping you get closer and closer to your sweet release. A knife presses against your throat again. "Enough." He gasps, still demanding even as he tries to catch his breath, tears prickling his eyes.

It hurts you to still your hips, your cock hard and throbbing inside him, release so close yet so far away. His eyes are blurry as he looks at you, body still quivering around you. But that smug smirk on his face returns. His free hand cups your cheek, gentle, despite being stained with unfathomable quantities of blood. "хорошая собака." He purrs, kisses you, biting your lip as he pulls back. "You listen to me well, yes?" He chuckles as he feels you twitch inside him, your panting breaths fanning over his face.

He chuckles, his fingers running down your skin to pick at the barely scabbed over cuts he's made across your neck. "I can feel you, you want to rut into me so bad it makes you look stupid." He smirks, cooing at you like you're a puppy. "You'll have to wait." He shoves you until you're forced to pull back, your cock sliding out of his warm depths, rock hand and aching between your legs. He sits up, hand now firmly on your throat. "Find that rat in our midst before sundown, I'll let you have me." He says, every bit both a promise and a challenge.

And you, you're his dog. He tells you to sit, you sit. If he tells you to bite, you'll go for the throat. "Yes sir." You force out, receiving a hard and demanding kiss before you're dismissed.

[mercywashere]

hihi, i was wondering if you’ve ever drawn anything from the Creepypasta fandom because i found fanart that has the same signature as your user :p

Yep! I don't post them a lot, but I have made tons of it. I don't have the old ones rn but here are the most recents I got!

( the 2nd one is js rlly goofy pls don't take it srsly )

[spideyhexx]

mdni; tw: slapping, slightly mean coryo. fem!reader

academic rivals with Coryo to the point you’re always spewing hate at each other, an obvious distaste to those around but the moment you’re alone with him, he’s fucking your brains out. And neither of you admit that you love it, that the sex is so good. The way his hands encompass yours when he pins them down and his lips leave a lasting feeling on your skin that you’ll savor for days on end until you can have him again. You find yourself missing the way his hands fist the sheets when his cock is down your throat, surprisingly letting you take all the control you wanted.

"I really don't care what you do, get your mouth on my dick." Coryo fumbles with his uniform pants as he tries to get the button undone and shoves the fabric past his thighs. You watch him, arms crossed and raise a brow.

"You're not even gonna say please?" Your voice is mocking, piercing his already desperate and entitled attitude and if he was feeling up for it, he would have bent you over and slapped your ass till you cried, but he felt generous this afternoon.

"I won't say thank you either, princess," he rasps out, holding himself back from smiling when you roll your eyes at him and get on your knees in front of him.

He never stops thinking about how you moan his name, the marks you leave on his shoulders and chest are more aggressive when you’re angrier at him, it only spurs him to do so; to piss you off so bad you have the gall the actually slap him. He'd think badly of himself later that night when he remembers the sting of your hand on his cheek, but then he finds himself wanting it again the next time he's fucking you. You looked at him too prettily as your moans turned to whimpers. It was too much for him. No, he needed you to get angry at him again. So he turned to his mean self for answers, as his cock pounded into you, ridiculing you about how awful you did in your presentation that day. He pressed and pressed until you slapped him.

But he loves it. He despises it so fucking bad. You’re like a vice he can’t shake, even if he tries to not come crawling back to your arms and wet cunt, his dick can’t resist you, hell his brain can’t resist you. Both of you come back each and every time.

"You're like clockwork, Snow. Always here exactly at eight," you'd jab at him one night, too prideful to recall the fact that you'd do the same if you were meeting at his place instead of yours.

"You wouldn't touch me if I was late," he'd mutter, not really meaning for you to hear, but you hear it. He sees that. A rare and true moment of shyness comes over him and he freezes, his eyes widening as he tries to cover his tracks, "Guess my timing's just good," before he's pushing you back into your bed and towering his body over yours.

It’s worse when he’s invited to a dinner party at your parents’ behest, and he greets you in the most proper etiquette matter of holding your hand, delicately, like you’re fragile. But of course he knows you’re not. He knows how rough he’s taken you with his cock and when his lips touch your knuckles in a small kiss, his eyes shooting up to peer into yours, Coryo has to try with all of his might not to smirk, with all of his strength not to lick the length of your fingers and take them into his mouth. But he’d chance it. He’d dart his tongue quick before you could process it and even the small feeling of his wet tongue on your finger makes your anger flare up.

It would only be a matter of time before you’re pulling him by his arm and shoving him against a wall to teach him some manners.

let’s chat about coryo, here :)

here’s this too

[momotonescreaming]

Love, Eddie Munson was realising, was in the act of trying.

Love is Uncle Wayne sitting down and listening to a Dio album, trying to see what Eddie saw in it, simply because his nephew loved it. It was Wayne asking to read The Hobbit once Eddie was done with it. It was Wayne making an effort. Learning how to take care of a kid. How to connect.

Love is Eddie reading western books Wayne recommended to him because I’m sure you’ll really like this one, Boy. It was going on fishing trips together on early Sunday mornings, even though Eddie wasn’t one for fish because Wayne liked the company, and the contemplation, and the sound of the water lapping against the boat.

Another thing Eddie was realising, was how effortless it felt to try with Steve. He swallowed down his knee jerk reaction, his history of insulting basketball, and instead asked Steve the rules, about his favourite teams - and the grin on his boyfriend’s face made it all worthwhile. He’d willingly watch action movies and frat-boy comedies Steve liked, try to see what he saw in them, even though they weren’t really his speed. Eddie asked Steve if the next time he went on a hike - maybe Eddie could come with? And the exercise was killer, but Steve was sweet, and excited, and helped him the whole way through.

Steve, in turn, was trying with Eddie. Laying on his bed listening to metal tapes and Eddie’s running commentary about it all. About the music, and the band, and the history, and how it scratches an itch in his brain nothing else quite does. Steve’s never gonna be a metal head, and Eddie’s fine with that. But it makes him happy to see Steve trying, and actually finding some songs he quite likes. It’s Steve helping him with creating NPC’s, fixing plot lines in his campaign that he couldn’t quite fix on his own - even though Steve’s played DnD before and it wasn’t really his thing.

Love is Eddie asking Wayne to help him get baseball tickets for Steve’s birthday.

Love is Steve driving up to Indy just to buy a novel Eddie wanted, but Hawkins’ local bookstore didn’t stock.

Love is putting in effort to connect with someone, only to realise that it’s not any effort at all.

[blushweddinggowns]

Part 2

He has no right to be here.

He knows that.

He does.

Eddie watches as people pile into the church, all of them dressed to the nines. It's a Harrington affair through and through, and the sight of all these people that he knows Steve hates makes him feel sicker than he already is.

If he wasn't on the edge of crying he would have laughed at himself, like he had any right to judge anyone here. He's the one who dumped Steve. Perfect, wonderful, lovely Steve who just needed a few more years. He just needed to make sure the kids were safe until they graduated. But Eddie couldn't do it. He needed to leave, and Steve needed to stay.

So he ended it. Just like that. He ended it.

He hasn't seen him for three years. By all appearances, it was a good choice, the best thing he could have done for himself. Because against all fucking odds Eddie Munson ends up as a success. He's a star, a famous musician discovered in a shitty little bar. He somehow managed to actually live the dream he used to fantasize about.

He lives it up. He parties, he drinks, he fucks, he spends his early twenties being young and dumb like he always wanted.

And it's horrible. It's so horrible that it becomes hilarious to him. Because he knows why it's so bad. Of course he knows. But it's better this way, really. Because Steve deserved better than him anyway. He deserved someone he didn't run away, full of flimsy excuses of wanting to be out of the shitty town that made him. When the truth was he was scared. He was terrified about how much he loved him. Because what was he going to do when the day came when Steve realized he could do better?

Eddie wouldn't have been able to surivie it. So he left instead. Like the coward he was. He left so he could be miserable and famous but at least Steve could finally find someone who deserved him.

So it really was all for the best. That's what he tells himself, because if he doesn't he'd go insane wondering about what could have been. He has himself convinced that he made the right choice. Maybe not for himself, but at least for Steve.

He doesn't realize how bullshit all of that was until Dustin lets it slip. They're doing the normal routine. Dustin visits, Eddie spoils the shit out of him, and on the last day he asks about Steve. He always tries to keep it casual. Tries to never let his desperation to know what's happening shine through. But it always does, bad enough that Dustin can't help the pity in his eyes when he tells him.

Steve's getting married.

Eddie wasn't aware just how much words could hurt him until that moment. He'd been called every bad name under the sun, a queer, a freak, a fag, you name it and it's been said. But this is the first time someone else's words make him feel like he's dying.

He wasn't invited to the wedding. Why would he be? But he still found it. Because he's a glutton for self-punishment. He hadn't seen Steve for three fucking years, and he chooses to wait till his wedding day?

But it's too late for regret, he's already here. His eyes keep scanning the room, just waiting for him to show up. He probably looks like a creep, dressed in all black and fucking sunglasses, sitting right by the door. He's basically in a fucking disguise, mostly to stop Robin from finding him and kicking his ass.

Speaking of, his eyes widen at the sight of her. She's slipping out of a door to the side, quickly wiping at her eyes before joining the crowd of people. His eyes drift back to the door.

Eddie's on his feet before he knows what he's doing. It's stupid, maybe the stupidest thing he's ever done, but where Robin is, Steve is sure to follow.

And he's right. It leads to a small dressing room. And there he is. Just like that Eddie's in front of the only man he'll ever love. Or at least, behind him. They were alone, and Steve hadn't even noticed him yet, too busy adjusting his hair in the mirror.

He still has time to leave. Besides, he didn't come here to ruin everything. He didn't, really.

But he doesn't turn around. Instead, Eddie locks the door behind him. He takes off his stupid sunglasses and clears his throat to speak, but is immediately rendered speechless when Steve turns to look at him.

He's just as gorgeous as he remembered.

His eyes widened at the sight of him, mouth opening and closing like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. Why would he? Eddie never reached out. He ignored the times that Steve did, always too ashamed of himself to face his own mistakes.

Eddie always expected Steve to lash out when he saw him, if he saw him. Lord knows he deserved it. But he doesn't. He just looks...sad. And those basset hound eyes are almost enough to bring Eddie to tears himself.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, voice quiet.

Eddie hadn't actually prepared anything to say. His plan was to watch the love of his life marry someone else than drink himself into a stupor at his hotel. He...he hadn't expected to end up here. But there are a million things he wants to say to him.

I'm here to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was a coward. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough and I made it your problem. I haven't stopped thinking about you. Ever. There hasn't been a day that goes by when I don't regret leaving. And I thought, maybe, just maybe if I saw you move on with my own eyes I could let you go.

But none of that is what comes out of his mouth.

"Run away with me."

If Steve didn't look shocked to see him before he sure did now, "W-What?"

"Run away with me," He repeats. Because it's what he wants. It's what he needs. It's been three years of hell without him and Eddie can't do it anymore. He can't.

He hates that he's the cause of the tears springing up in Steve's eyes, but he can't take it back. He won't.

Steve looks away, eyes trained on the floor, "You can't do this to me Eddie. You can't."

But he is.

Eddie's made his choice. He was a fool to think he was capable of coming here without trying to steal him away. Of course this is where he'd end up. And he'll say anything to get him back. He doesn't care that he's too late. He doesn't care that this whole thing makes him a bigger piece of shit than he already was.

He'll be underhanded, he'll be dirty, he'll do anything to get Steve to leave with him, he doesn't fucking care. Because Steve Harrington is not going to get married today.

He waltzes right up to him. He grabs his chin and forces him to meet his eyes. He probably looks crazy, he feels crazy, "You don't love her like you love me."

He's never met her. He doesn't need to. The way Steve freezes up is all he needs to know that he's right.

He doesn't deny it, but he deflects, "Why are you doing this? You left me. Did you forget that part? I didn't end it. You did! A-And now what? We're just going to ride off into the sunset together? Like you weren't the one to just cut me out of your life-"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. He feels calm, eerily so as he speaks, "We're riding off into the sunset together. Even though I don't deserve it. I never deserved you. And I was so fucking scared of when you would realize that. I let it eat away at me. So I left. Before you could do it to me. And I was wrong."

"Stop," Steve tries to step back, but Eddie won't let him. He wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

He can't stop talking, even if he wanted to, "I was so wrong Steve. And I've been miserable ever since. Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. I'll never stop thinking about you. Even if you tell me to go to hell and get hitched I'll just wait for a divorce. Because you are the only one for me. And it took me too long to say that out loud. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry Stevie."

Steve weakly tried to push him away, but his heart wasn't in it, "Please stop."

But he can't, "I love you."

Steve's eyes are closed, a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay, but his voice comes out strong, "Eddie, I-I can't do this again. I can't. If you left me again I...I just can't."

Eddie can't help but wipe a few of the tears away for him, "Angel, look at me."

He waits for Steve to open his eyes. He looks so fucking beautiful that it hurts, especially since this may really be the last time he sees him again.

But he has one more trick up his sleeve, "Tell me you're not mine and I'll leave."

"W-what?"

"Tell me you're not mine. Say the words out loud and I'll let you go."

Steve stares at him. He's mad, beyond pissed that Eddie has the audacity to throw that in his face, but he's desperate. It was the last thing he said to him, murmured through the driver's side window of the van, seconds before he drove away.

I'm still yours, even if you don't want me anymore.

Eddie had cried the entire ride there after hearing that. And then a few days after for good measure. And here he is, completely ruthless at what he's willing to pull out, "You're mine Steve. You know you're mine."

It's such a fucked up thing to say, but it's true. But it's not the whole truth, "And I'm yours. I've always been yours. Tell me that's not true and I'll leave."

But Steve can't. He can't do it, just like Eddie had known he wouldn't. But what he hadn't expected was for him to surge up and kiss him.

It feels like he fell in love all over again, just from one simple kiss. Because it felt like magic was real and it decided to take on the form of Steve Harrington's lips. It was everything he had missed. Everything he had dreamed about. Eddie tangled a hand into his hair, helpless to do anything but kiss him back, harder and deeper. He wanted to be burned into Steve's memory for all eternity. He wanted him to always remember the moment that they came back to each other.

Because that's what this is. Eddie's certain, Steve was his, and he would never let him go again.

They only stop when there is a knock at the door, a muffled question asked that they can't hear over the sounds of their own breathing. It's enough to have them pulling away from each other, but they ignore it nonetheless.

Steve searches his face, one last test. Eddie can only guess how he looks right now, probably just as desperate and terribly hopeful as he felt. Whatever he's looking for, he finds it eventually.

Steve sighs, glancing toward the back of the room, "There's a window we can probably fit through. Because I'm sure as hell not going out there."

Now it's Eddie's turn to cry. Despite all of his confidence, the certainty that they were supposed to be together, he hadn't really expected it to work. But here they were, giggling with each other as they scurried out of a first-floor window, making a run for Eddie's car.

Eddie can't help but kiss him again before they get in, muttering against his mouth, "I love you so fucking much Stevie. I'm not going to fuck this up again. You won't regret it, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you don't."

Steve grinned into the kiss, "You better."

There was still so much to talk about. Too much. And they'll fight and they'll scream and everything will get worse before it gets better. And Eddie's so fucking grateful to get the chance.

And for the first time in three years, he feels alive again.

[cairoscene]

obsessed with the concept of a clark kent who smokes. somehow the nicotine is like a sweet little treat for his kryptonian biology. everyone is like clark noooo that's bad for you!!!!! but it's just his daily little treat or something

[eldstunga]

Well, is it?

[comatosebunny09]

Un-ascended Astarion prefers traditional, safe, vanilla lovemaking. Sure, he did all kinds of things under Cazador’s control. But now that he’s learning to love himself and tackle his trauma, when he finally does have sex with you (without trying to manipulate you), he wants to take his time. Like, slow, meticulous, feeling out every part of you—and himself—kind of lovemaking.

[drpoisonoaky]

So there was a party and now Katara wears lipstick.

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 111

This one is a bit odd. Blame my dreams.

Just Danny in dc working odd jobs seemingly everywhere. He’d be in a cafe working one day and then in a completely different state the next in a coffee shop.

He sees someone from the other place. He just shrugs and greets them. If it’s a different coffee/cafe he doesn’t care just asks them if they are getting the same thing.

That’s not the odd part.

The thing is. Danny runs into heros a lot. Just in their patrol and danny is on a roof or something. The odd thing is he is always eating frozen breakfast sandwiches. Just offering them one claiming he steals them from his job and can’t afford a microwave. Had to save money for rent. Then just disappears.

Now the hero’s he likes. They get offered a steaming hot breakfast sandwich.

Still claiming to not have a microwave if asked.