#its hard for me x'3

[rexscanonwife]

Good morning y'all DATA but also REX I'm ping ponging between the two got me like

[stevebabey]

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had — you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought. 

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt. 

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?” 

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.  

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it. 

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength. 

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone. 

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain. 

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly. 

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side. 

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves. 

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show. 

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies. 

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.  

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that. 

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie​ look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Part two of that short comic i made for @garbagechocolate s really cool truth virus au

Y/N is angry and hurt but understands the situation and is worried for their friend. Also both Sun and Y/N have anxiety

Sun is having a time, thats for sure

[triona-tribblescore]

(Yo-Ho-Ho) A Ninja's Life For Me!

WE HAVE A POSTER AND NAME BABY!!!

finally will be able to start posting updates soon, just working on a few pages so I can have a nice little backlog first :)

Leo and Usagi info pages here!

The Crew info pages here!

[lunicho]

OK SO WHAT IF.. hanbin has lots of patience, as in ALOT. but one day, you decided to test it and get him pissed off by making him jealous, so of course, he punishes you! he turns mean & rough instead of the usual sweet, kind of mean dom he is 🤭 degrading & praise combined too!

im a firm believer that hanbin is very very stern. he has a lot of self control and he doesn't give in easily. i've given my friend like a full on comparison of how i think hanbin is as a dom vs jiwoong cuz in my mind they're complete opposites (lmk if y'all wanna hear what i think) but yeah like hanbin can keep his cool for sure. he doesn't give in to your tactics easily because if he tells you to wait or if he tells you to be patient then he expects u to respect that. usually he's able to laugh off your advances or he'll give u a warning and usually things like that help, they at least get u to settle down but if u just keep on pushing it he won't be able to keep it together. he doesn't play about the jealousy stuff, ur his baby and only his baby. he knows ur gorgeous so other guys looking at you or even throwing little flirts at u usually isn't a huge problem for him, he may say smth slick but it's usually not a big deal. but when you're the one showing off and flaunting it with other guys he's like??? it very quickly goes from "aww that's so cute" to him being very very unhappy with you. he'd for a second thing that you're just feeling yourself but when you go as far as to lean in close with another guy or even put your hand on the other guys chest or smth while u laugh,,, yeah he's not having it.

he'd stay back at first, watching you with the most stern look on his face. he's mad as hell and you know he is too, you could feel him burning a hole in the side of your head. when you walk back over to him he'd pretty much have a forever frown pasted on his face. what would really get him to the point of just being straight up mean is that you act dumb when you come back to him. you're asking him what's wrong knowing Exactly what the problem is. he wouldn't even be able to look at you, he'd just be like, "say bye, we're leaving." and he's dragging u out to the car. he's not gonna talk the entire car ride but his body language does enough talking. his hand would grip the steering wheel extra hard and his eyes would be dark and worst of all he would not be looking at you the entire time 😭

when u guys get in the house is when he finally talks. he'd let you take your shoes off, he'd let you place your purse on the hook, he'd hang up the keys and take his shoes off as well and then he'll just watch you. he'll watch how you fiddle, how you look so shameful all of a sudden and he'll just scoff. he'll tell you to get on the bed, his voice would be so stern, almost echoing off the walls as if he yelled at you. he'd tease u so much when u do things like this, he'd have no remorse for you. he'd lazily pull your clothes apart, probably tearing the material in the process. he'd mark you up so much too, you'd have those deep deep colored hickeys all over your body. he'd say things like, "show these to that guy you were talking to. what was so interesting about him anyways?" and he'll have you explain to him what you were talking to him about and he'd break you down to the point where you have to admit that you were just trying to get hanbin's attention. he'd laugh at you, pulling your legs apart slowly. he's mean in times like this, not giving in when you beg and definitely not when you cry, if anything when you're crying he gets even meaner. taunting you and calling you names, saying things like, "what happened to that little act earlier? isn't that why you're here now? wanted to act like a slut infront of other guys.. thought i taught you better than that." he has a crazy amount of stamina in times like this, his thrusts stay sharp and harsh, making you cum faster than you ever have before. he holds you down too, the way you squirm annoying him.

he'll only soften up at the end after you're completely fucked out, covered in his cum and yours, he'll kiss you gently, helping you get all cleaned up. he's the best at aftercare, no matter how mad he was before he'll be so so sweet and gentle and make sure you know you're loved by him <3

[suntails]

i'm ready for the bunny event

[foxx-queen]

the my minthara is living in my head rent free

[autism-corner]

Sweet tooth, for you

During class you learn an interesting fact about demon teeth, and it takes over your mind for weeks after. What began as pure curiosity grows into something more passionate, but you can't just ask Belphegor to have a feel at his teeth, right?

Belphegor x reader || you/yours pronouns. reader has a dick. reader gets referred to with mr. once but otherwise unspecified gender. || lil bit of both comfort & smut || 3.3K words. || ao3

Usually, anatomy class at RAD discusses the biology of non-demons, striving to educate their demographic on bodies that are different from their own. The bodies and its functions of werewolves, ghosts and even humans have been thoroughly discussed. But, with the upcoming exam, a revision of their own person was needed. 

Of course, demon’s anatomy wasn’t the only topic to be revised, so they only spent about two hours on it until they moved on. Still, despite having done a fair share of your own experiments with certain demons’ bodies, there were a few new neat things you picked up on. Their blood gets darker depending on general power and rank, horns need to shed and regrow every couple of centuries, et cetera, et cetera. The one thing that really stuck with you though, was the fact that, apparently, teeth slowly shift into a form closer to their respective animal over the years. 

It was strange that you never noticed. Even though Levi rarely opened his mouth (and when he did it went too fast to take a proper look), he did seem to have longer and sharper canines, which closely resembled a snake’s fangs. Satan, although you’d never say this out loud, did also have a rather horsey (unicorny?) teeth, especially evident when he was once again grinding them down in his fits of rage. All the other brothers’ animals didn’t really have teeth at all, so they all have pretty regular mouths. Well, all, aside from Belphie. Cows had teeth for sure.

—

It’s been a couple of weeks. The exam had gone by, and it went okay, you guess. There’s not much reason to care about grades if you’re stuck here anyway. What you do care about is the thing that still hasn’t been able to leave your mind for all those weeks. You watched and watched, but nothing about Belphie’s teeth seemed much more fundamentally different than, say, Beel’s. It kept you constantly awake at night, and your entire search history was filled with research on cow’s teeth. You even tried the oldest books on bovidae you could find in the library. Nothing mentioned how these animals affect an associated demon’s teeth.

What you also didn’t understand was the reason for your fascination with his teeth. You and Belphie had been more than platonic for a good bit now, so it wasn’t like it’s weird to be interested in him. But this enchantment, spending day and night thinking about such a specific part of him, it felt strange. Too strange to just ask him about it. 

As days and weeks continued, your interest never diminished. No, it grew stronger the longer you held off simply asking him. Now, anytime he decided to nap near you, you couldn’t keep your eyes off that mouth of his. A few times temptation got the better of you, and you moved closer to get a better look. It wouldn’t be rare to walk into a room where you and him resided, and to find you with a finger in his mouth. Just to get a better look of course. Nothing more. Simple curiosity. Or so you kept telling yourself. 

—

You didn’t know how you managed to hide your interest from Belphie for this long. Maybe he was just too stupid, or maybe he was too enamoured with you in turn to notice. Beel picked up though. How could he not. He just didn’t think anything of it. It wouldn’t be the first time he walked in on something strange, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. You don’t know what finally made him bring it up to Belphie, but you did know that a very amused cow is now standing in your doorway, and will not leave until you spill your not-so-secret-anymore passion. 

—

“Ugh” You groan. You knew it would eventually come to bite you in the ass, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared.

“Hi!” Cheerfulness is a scary look on Belphegor. You just know he is up to anything but good. “Beel was telling me about a little thing you’ve been doing to me…” The smile turned into a frown, clearly played up. “Why didn’t you ask me about it? I am very hurt you know…. Won’t you comfort me right now?”. Christ. He won’t let you get out of this. If you absolutely had to discuss this with him, better to do it in private. You huffed, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside. After pushing him on the bed, you made a quick trip to lock the door. Better safe than sorry.

When you turned back to the bed, Belphie had made himself plenty comfortable. It’s a mystery how he does it this quick, since the door can’t be more than two metres from your bed, but there he was. Somehow already under the blankets, unashamedly sniffing your pillow. For some reason his boots and pants were already thrown on the floor. You were entirely grateful for choosing to lock the door immediately. 

As you stood there, admiring the likely half-naked man in your bed, you had to force yourself to move. Prolonging the topic wouldn’t do you any good, and you were all too keen to reach the ‘good ending’ that has been so clearly presented to you by the demon in your bed. So, you sat down on the edge of your bed, way more nervous than you have ever felt in your own room.

“I-. Look.” Belphie didn’t move. You don’t mind. You needed to have your say, and a pair of piercing eyes on you while you did so was not going to help. “I don’t know how much Beel has actually told you, but all of it is probably true.” You couldn’t bear to look at him either, shame endlessly growing with intensity, but the warm hand that had reached out to hold yours helped. A little.

—

You told him everything. The anatomy class where it all started, your ever-growing curiosity for his teeth specifically, and the eroticism that started to develop for them as well. You decided to let out the details of your nightly pleasures to him, but he got the gist. The idea of big molars, and teeth in general, was very hot to you. Alright.

During your spilling of the embarrassing obsession, small tears had started to form in your eyes. You know Belphegor loved you and he had his own kinks as well, but this felt too weird. You couldn’t find anyone at all that shared your interest, and there were only a few videos online to satisfy your needs. Imagination was becoming harder to use, always having to be more aware that you could just ask the object of interest. But, in a way it felt good. Better. Halfway through your ramblings Belphie had gotten up and next to you, draping a blanket over the two of you. He hadn’t interrupted. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Feelings weren’t really his strong suit.

Once you were finished with most of your difficult feelings, your tears having dried a bit, you gathered the courage to look at your boyfriend. Your voice was a bit sore, but you managed to talk again. “So. Have I turned you off with my weirdness?” It was a half-joke. Something like this couldn’t stop Belphie loving you, but you couldn’t shake the fear off you that easily. Luckily, the one thing regarding feelings that Belphegor was good at, was affirming his admiration to you. 

As his fingers continued fidgeting with yours, like they had for the past while, he responded softly. “You really think something like that could stop me from being with you?” His eyes reached yours for the first time today. “Darling. All of us have little secrets like that. If anything, I’m more upset that you've waited this long to tell me.” A small smirk formed on his face. “Do you know how much fun we could’ve had with this already? I know you see me as your little pillow princess, but I do want you to enjoy yourself as well. I am totally not opposed to you getting a feel, yaknow.” His face inched closer, his soft lips pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Are you up to satisfying your curiosities right now?” 

You felt a bit stupid for doubting he wouldn’t be eager to please you as well. So, as soon as you gave him a smile and a nod, his coyness dropped and a huge smile came to his face. “Awesome!” Within the next second, he put his arms around your neck in one swift movement, and pulled the both of you down to lay on the bed. In a poor attempt to not put your entire weight on his fragile-looking body, your legs put you in excellent position to straddle Belphegor. He let out a sweet giggle at the feeling.

“So, Mr. Curious-About-Teeth, care to tell me what you want to know?”. The look he gave you was addicting. His arms were still around your neck, keeping you close, and forcing you to put all too much weight on the arms you have braced around his head. Unfortunately, you have a little too much dignity left in you to fall limp all over him by the mere mention of his teeth.

His teeth… 

As soon as you were brought back to reality, you returned to being very aware of the situation and everything it held. But, all the fantasies you had really didn’t prepare you for the real thing. Hmm. Where to start?

As you pondered over the next best thing to do, Belphies expression softened. His lustful gaze never lessened, but it became clear to him that this was still difficult for you. Understandably so. Neither of you had ever been this unprepared for a new ‘experiment’.

Finally, you grunted. “Argh. Listen, I don’t know.” The thinking was too energy-consuming, and you begrudgingly let your arms give in, making all of your weight fall onto the man below. If it did hurt, Belphie didn’t let you know. “Just. Let me do my thing. Please?” You had to start somewhere. And thus, comfortably splayed out on your demon, you began where you had left off a couple days ago. Getting your fingers all in that hot mouth of his.

Now finally being awake during your indulgence, Belphie immediately opened up obediently for you. With his mouth wide agape, you finally got to look at that which you so desperately longed for. Your fingers, which were already close to his lips to begin with, were able to properly slither in at last. Your eyes were instantly mesmerised by the look of you, reaching into that holy place.  

Your fingers reached his molars before your eyes were able to get a proper look at them. You made sure to remember to ask Belphie again later for another look and proper, non-horny research. Despite the current hard-on that was slowly developing in your pants, you were still fascinated by the entire concept from a scientific standpoint. Not right now though, no. Any logical or reasonable thought had long left your mind. 

They were pointy and flat. Anything you thought they would be. Grinding your finger against them, you could only imagine what your dick would feel like in those same dangers. God, they felt divine. Even better than you ever could have hoped. How can a demon like this feel this good? Although that would probably remain a mystery, you were all too keen to keep exploring. 

As you marvelled in his sharp wetness, another one of your fingers joined you. They travelled along either side of his jaw. You started at the front, with his smooth incisors. Not too much different from your own teeth. But, continuing to where you would have expected some canines, it turned into a smooth transition to his premolars. The premolars were a bit sharper than the molars farther back, and gave a very nice resistance. At this point though, the two fingers were getting a bit much for Belphegor, spreading his mouth out more than comfortable. Although he was known for his big mouth, you guess that this wasn’t what they meant.

Too entranced to notice, WAY to turned on to stop, you decided that the least you could do was give him something to pay with as well. So, alongside the two already in his mouth, another two fingers went in. It took a bit of shuffling to fit it in proper, but your index and pinky finger were now on either side of his jaw, your ring and middle finger keeping his tongue pressed down. 

As you continued, your focus finally able to shift to his molars fully, you let yourself go again. Bephie seemed a bit more contend as well, now leisurely licking and playing with the long forgotten fingers formerly resting on his tongue. You asked yourself later how he was even able to handle so much business in his mouth, but you guess there’s indeed plenty more to learn about demons’ anatomy. For now, back to the teeth.

The molars had been the most fascinating things for you. They are the teeth anyone sees when asked to imagine one. Big, square, pointy bits on the bottom (which were now still in his gums, luckily enough). The classic. Oh how you had longed to feel his like this.

They were bigger. Longer. One could have mistaken one of Belphie’s molars for two of a humans. It was hot. You couldn’t help but wonder how far back they went. So, your hand wondered, without any regards to the man whose mouth you were currently evading.

It had gone too far. The molars kept continuing, and your hand wasn’t going to stop by itself. But despite his unusual physique, Belphegor still had a gag reflex. Somewhere far back. 

He bit. You thought you heard a bit of a moan, but you weren't sure. It hadn’t ~hurt~ per se. If anything, your pants got impossibly more tight. But it couldn’t have been pleasant for Belphegor. So, regardless of your own burning needs, you retrieved your hands out of his sharp warmth.

You merely looked on while Belphie coughed and tried to get his breath back. You noticed that his eyes were a bit dazed, like they usually were after an eventful night, and was happy it wasn’t all that bad for the other party. Still, he clearly needed some space to wheeze for a moment. While he got his breath back, you got up and quickly slid off your pants. Those would not be necessary for anything that would follow.

—

It’s unclear how you got here. One moment you were hurrying your belt off, and the next moment you were sat on belphie’s chest, the demon under you already licking at your tip. Did he manage to pull you back here somehow? Reaching for a bit of stability in your new-found position, you placed your hands next to his head. As you did so, his eyes reached you once again, and he flashed you a smile. “Ready for the ride?” he asked with a sultry tone. At least, you think he did. Despite the loveliness of it, you couldn’t really focus on his voice. Everything you’ve longed for over the past months was right in front of you, and nothing but those pearly ivories could inhabit  your mind at the moment. Belphie didn’t mind your absence, pleased enough to pleasure you for now. This time, he didn’t cover his teeth as his enveloping warmth embraced you once again. 

It was rough. The scraping and tugging wasn’t exactly like what you tried to imagine so many times, but it felt good. Way too good. Something you hadn’t considered before but was certainly a plus, was the danger surrounding it all. You knew all the better that if Belphie really wanted to, he could properly bite down right now, and snap off your entire dick. The signs of thrust and love surrounding it all made you appreciate it even more. 

Up till now, Belphie had been giving you the regular ol’ blowjob. Definitely nothing wrong with it, especially so with the added roughness of his teeth, but you wanted, no, NEEDED more. You grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to look up, shifting your hips to be in a position with more controle. “Belphs,” Fuck. His eyes met yours, and you were once again reminded how addicted to him you were. You smiled. “I’m gonna take charge for now, alright?”

He couldn’t respond of course, your dick still halfway in his mouth, but he managed to give a slight nod, accompanied with a little smile. Adorable. “Please, if it gets too much, tap me somewhere twice, alright?” It’s important to set up safeties, especially since you weren’t sure how aware you could be when things got further. He smiled again, a look of determination settling on his face. It’s a shame that in your current position, you weren’t able to kiss his face. Oh well. There were more important things at hand right now.

As your hips slowly started up again, Belphie placed his hands on your thighs. He pulled you closer, encouraging you to let loose. He knew what he was getting himself into. 

You manoeuvred your hips a bit, searching for the delicious points and dips of his molars your fingers had explored so well earlier. As you found your place, sandwiched between your lovers teeth, you noticed them bite down on you. As they did so, shivers went up your spine. It didn’t hurt at all. Alright, maybe it did a little bit, but it only added to the pleasure. It made you long for more, harder. Would Belphie like the taste of your blood? That’s something to find out later, you didn’t want to go that far this first time.

While getting used to the frankly weird and strangely hot situation, your hips gained movement again. You couldn’t focus on anything but grinding against this foreign sensation, hoping to remember every nook and cranny, and make them yours. It was delicious. 

Belphie’s teeth provided the perfect amount of resistance to rut against. With each movement of your hips the feeling increased, and so did the pressure. As your tip dragged along the sharp edges, you let out moans like you hadn’t ever before. And Belphie’s own grunting, as much as he was able to do so, only spurred you on. Slowly, you felt yourself get lost in the sensation, chasing and relishing in endless pleasure. 

—

You don’t know how long you used Belphegor. You came twice, thrice maybe? And he must have swallowed it all, since you definitely did not stop after your first round. Admittedly, all your memories of it are a bit hazy. You remember quick movement and relentless bliss, but not much more. All the more an excuse to do it again someday. But for now you were spent, and the boy sound asleep next to you clearly was as well. Come to think of it, had he even cum? Were you really too lost in your own thrill to care for his needs?? Surely that wouldn’t do, and you made a mental note to make it up to him extensively, once he woke up. Later.

As you pulled your demon closer to you, you placed a sweet kiss on his forehead. “Thank you” you murmured softly. Subconsciously, Belphegor moved closer to you as well, and you closed your eyes. Content after a night well spent you went on your way to join him in his dreams, hoping to give him more love there.

--------------

HI thank you for reading!! its a pretty niche fetish so I need to make my own contend for it but im pretty happy with how it turned out =w=b just another reminder that I also posted this on ao3, and to comment and like/reblog if you enjoyed my silly lil teeth groping & fucking <3

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ON THE TOPIC OF BARNABY. as well as his relationship with Wally.

So. To kick this off - Riv (@funonion) and I were Speculating, and they introduced me to the johari window:

They put Barnaby in the “facade” section, and I entirely agree. To quote them;

“So he’s Wally’s guide, right? He’s the “knowledgeable” one of the two and is always the one teaching him new things. And you know, it’s one thing if you’re just teaching him how to laugh or how to tell a joke. But.

Clown has given us two doors. One says that Barnaby understands Wally in a way the rest of the neighborhood doesn’t, and is willing to do his dirty work so to speak. The other says that their friendship was not a natural occurring thing and had to be enforced repeatedly within the show. HOW THAT’S BEING ENFORCED IS ANOTHER THING ENTIRELY but it is worth it to note.

What is Barnaby willing to keep? What is he willing to bury for his little buddy? I can’t say anything definitively yet, but the fact that I even have to ask is telling. The class clown archetype is usually used as a way to cover up for something else a character might be experiencing”

And my response, (I won’t directly quote because I have little things in the phrasing & elaboration to add / tweak );

Barnaby being a Comic Relief Character immediately raised so many alarms in my head. I love comic relief characters. They’re always so fucked up in one way or another, and Barnaby is almost certainly SO inauthentic. He’s wearing a comedy mask just as opaque as Wally’s own mask. In everything we’ve seen about him so far he’s either Teaching Wally, wisecracking/joking, or… pretty much nothing else. We got that moment of concern in audio 14-14, but that doesn’t reveal anything beyond genuine care for Wally.

Comedic characters have the best disguises. Their poker faces & ability to deflect is always top tier [and practiced], and just look at comedy-focused actors and entertainers - so many of them have severe issues, either with their mental health or life. From what i’ve observed both in that aspect & with fictional characters, they play it off & work hard to entertain/deflect [one in the same] right up until the end. Sometimes it’s a coping mechanism. Usually it’s both. If they laugh loud enough and make people think they’re lighthearted fools w/ nothing underneath, no one will look any deeper and thus they’re “safe”. 

& I’m a little suspicious that Barnaby’s red/orange/yellow spots aren’t naturally those colors. While yes, he could be (in-universe) designed that way to echo Ms. Beagle, there’s a strong possibility that that’s not it. What if he paints them to feel a connection to her, or it’s a physical manifestation of Barnaby covering up his insecurities/issues - what if it’s part of him striving to convince the world that he is what he paints himself as. 

The laidback funnyguy with a loving mom and not a problem in the world. 

And I mean, Barnaby claims to be a natural blue and I believe him! But the other colors? I’m doubtful

(I was going to include the Cast As Lil Kids Designs in this since Barnaby has all blue spots, but given how early in 2021 it was posted and how there seem to be little discrepancies from the ~official~ designs, I don’t want to provide it as evidence.)

& on the topic of Wally and Barnaby’s relationship being both real and not - disclaimer, this conversation happened before my Updated Thoughts On Them post, so there may be some minor rephrasing here from what I originally said - I’m sure that the relationship started out as inauthentic. Wally was assigned Barnaby as a best friend and technically vice versa, but I don’t doubt for a second that it became real to some extent. Clown wouldn’t treat their relationship outside of “canon” WH stuff the way that he does if they weren’t actually friends. They’ve said that Wally & Barnaby would be friends in every universe (which melts my heart <3 platonic soulmates my beloved <3), so then I have to agree with Riv. what WILL Barnaby do for Wally? I touched on this in the Milk Theory, but especially if Barnaby prides himself on “knowing Wally better than anything else”, what would Barn do to preserve that?

This relates to another conversation we had - Barnaby possibly having abandonment issues. It’s such a choice to have him of all characters be explicitly stated as an orphan. That and while every other Neighbor with a mentioned family have a somewhat large one (Howdy and his gajillion relatives, Julie and her three siblings, Poppy and her crowded tree [note: Eddie has a mentioned mother, but that info is tenuous and who knows if there are other Dears]), Barnaby has also explicitly stated that Ms. Beagle is his only family. That’s it. And farm life can’t be a sociable way to grow up, not with all the chores he must have had and how rural he might have grown up. Barnaby jokes that Home is the “Big Apple”, which could just be a joke - but jokes often come from a place of truth, and Home might be the most populated area Barnaby has lived in. Who’s to say!

Either way, Barnaby was orphaned one way or another, and I don’t doubt that it weighs on him. Especially if  his birth parents really did abandon him. That added to a possible life of loneliness… I wonder if he’s latched onto Wally emotionally, which would hit all the painful places if it turns out that my “Barnaby is more attached to Wally than Wally is to Barnaby” theory has merit. Abandonment issues could also strongly back the apparent walls he’s plastered over with circus tent fabric

Back to Barnaby & Wally: the fact that, at present, Barnaby and Wally seem to have the best disguises / strongest masks. That. looking at 14-14, i suspect that Barnaby is excellent at keeping his up, but as soon as Wally’s mask cracks, so does Barnaby’s. 

And then there’s the side of their dynamic that we could look at - it seems to be a very multifaceted relationship. The way that Barnaby genuinely cares yet in the 00 Halloween audio Wally was left off to the side and Barnaby was just “checking on him” while socializing (then again, this could be part of Barnaby understanding Wally & respecting his space / Wally wanting a break from that socialization). Barnaby is patient with Wally and yet he seems to sometimes treat Wally as his sidekick / let him fade into the background and yet Barnaby kept checking in on Wally during the 14 bug audios (this last one I could tie into the abandonment issues theory). 

Then there’s how Barnaby calls Wally kid & can tend to treat him like one despite both of them being in the same age group. The way that all of this could, in a way, relate to the infantilization of autistic people (no matter how well-meaning or unintentional) & internalized ableism. 

Note: Riv pointed out that Barnaby does seem to be doing the best with what he has, and that this can connect to the Johari Window’s blind spot / unknown. 

I do agree with this wholeheartedly! And I have to mention that - and making a Very educated guess here - the interactions we’ve seen take place in the very late 60s / very early 70s, so Barnaby’s behavior towards Wally is actually pretty fucking stellar given the time period. We can’t expect him to be perfect or do everything / say everything right. That would be boring I think! And one thing I deeply appreciate about the Neighbors & their dynamics is that they feel like real layered people, not cardboard cutouts being perfect caricatures of what people are “supposed” to be like.

Riv also presented this:

We likely are going to reach a point where Wally asks Barnaby something that he can’t / doesn’t want to / won’t answer. And like.. Ok. This is a slight tangent but I swear it’s related! When I first discovered WH and learned the Wally basics, I wondered two things.

Are we going to watch Wally “discover” new emotions? Because he certainly has them. Clown has said that Wally only ever feels happy, and a lot of people took that to mean that Wally can’t feel anything else. I don’t think we should take that answer at face value, because. I mean. Look at the project & creator we’re talking about. Layers, guys. Indirect direct answers. I think that Clown meant that Wally only ever feels happy in the Neighborhood because he has no reason to feel any negative emotion. Everything is as it should be. Until it isn’t - and I think that’s where he’s going to have to struggle with new emotions as he encounters them through new situations/events unfolding as the “story” starts to deteriorate. We’ve actually seen this a little bit - in Wally’s record audios (i believe the chronological second to last?), the way he says “Let Me In” so insistently. That’s definitely not a positive emotion being expressed. 

How will the topic of death be handled - because it will be handled, it’s stated in the project warnings. I was wondering this even before I read the list, because I was presented with a blank slate puppet character and so went “oh fuck, this dude doesn’t know about death, does he?” Obviously I wanted to know how that would go. I want to know how it Will go! 

How would Barnaby explain emotions that Wally doesn’t know how to convey? How would Barnaby explain death in a way that Wally would understand - given that Barnaby (& all the Neighbors sans Wally) knows what death is  - and would Barnaby be willing to explain such a thing? I have a feeling we may find out.

And in a way, I suspect that if none of them know, Wally will find out himself and have to process it without help. But then again, how can something die if it was never really alive in the first place? Unless the death warning relates to human characters… I’m currently assuming it relates to both humans and puppets. 

In conclusion: Barnaby has a carefully fabricated facade, he's doing the best with what he has but it likely won't be enough, and uh. shits fucked!

[neptunesailing]

tatsumi (enstars x hnk au)

[good-wine-and-cheese]

Literally so depressing to see people everywhere go "okay so to make sure this show isn't cancelled this season make sure you watch it over and over have it in the background playing, tell everyone to do the same". It's like watching people running on a media consumption hamster wheel that generates the energy required to keep a show alive because the company cut power to life support to save money, and if you stop for a second the show risks dying

[weretheones]

hope y'all are still interested in all you got because after three+ months of writers block I finally finished part 11 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[grimfantas]

you can call me heartless all you'd like, but it won't bring her back and it won't help you heal.

[citrinesparkles]

music (in quotation marks)

tim drake x gender neutral reader. 353 words. notes: the happiest of SUPER belated birthdays to @unmotivatedwrit3r. one year i'll get you your gift on time. some day. (hope you enjoy sweetie!) warnings: none that i can think of!

studying was stressful. that much wasn't news.

what was news was that it could actually be made better.

right now, it was made better by tim laying next to you and playing dj with a speaker on your nightstand, cycling through music to give you background noise and company.

it was nice; a normal, safe moment. no mask, no cape, just the two of you and a sweet melody filling the room.

until it was replaced with grating, screechy guitar.

"timothy," you huffed. "what is that?"

"music?"

you looked up at him, pursing your lips slightly in an attempt to delete several snarky comments (such as "i do not think that word means what you think it means" and "how dare you"). "could it be replaced with other music?"

"what, not a fan?"

"...no. no i am not."

he rolled his eyes playfully. "no accounting for taste," he muttered, skipping the song. "but since you're the one working, i'll have some mercy."

"much appreciated."

you continued reading for several songs, peacefully enjoying his company, until he sighed.

"i'm out of music."

you snorted. "out of music? all music ever, out of it?"

"yes."

"that is very sad."

"i know," he huffed. "i thought this playlist would be long enough."

you bit back a laugh. even with the clear hint that he wanted your attention, he subtly avoided your gaze- even now, he was all but dancing around the real request.

he was so brilliant and so brave, but in moments like these you got to see someone clumsier. someone a little shy.

he had come a long way with communicating his wants and needs, but he still chose to play an obvious, amateur game of chess with you here to get the affection he craved.

honestly, it was barely even checkers.

"would you like me to help you create another playlist?"

he perked up immediately, eyes darting to meet yours. "would you?"

you nodded, setting your work aside and moving to lean your head against his shoulder. "just one rule."

"hm?"

"no-" you brought both hands up, making quotes in the air- "music."

[eddiemunsongf]

the thing about when people say “oh, eddie was just comforting chrissy because he’s such a good guy” or even “his first response to seeing a girl in distress was to make her feel better hes so scrunkly!” is like.... that’s just not what happened there. eddie’s first response to chrissy’s visible distress was to be defensive and haughty. he thought she was scared of him, and it hurt his feewings, so he was brusque and then tried to bail completely. he had a very “sorry to be an imposition >:(” energy. 

it wasn’t until chrissy reassured him that he wasn’t the problem, and beyond that, asked him to stay, that eddie relaxed. i love eddie a lot, but it was chrissy who was instinctually kind and empathetic here. she was the one who put her trust in a relative stranger, one most of her peers mock and judge and even fear. maybe he was her only option to get drugs, but she chose to open up to him and be vulnerable. he just reciprocated. 

[miutonium]

"We look cute together aren't we?" ❤️

This suppose to be a Valentine's day art but like I'm so late lol _(:3」∠)_ Anyway timelapse undercut :3

Jsyk this was such a pain for me to record because I have to export the timelapse, clear it from my canvas and then restart timelapse again and then attach all of the clips all by myself because my tablet can't handle the big file size (I'm talking like 200+mb without the timelapse) _(:3」∠)_