aka-efirg · 7 months ago
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dragons love fire
It’s not everyday you’re going to walk into a dragon nest to bond with a hatchling. For their fifteenth birthday, every child of the Nakahara family has to go through that. And tomorrow, the 29th of April, is Nakahara Chuuya’s fifteenth birthday, and needless to say, the redhead is stressed.
ao3
“Can you, please, calm down and stop pacing around? I’m going to be sick just by looking at you.”
The redhead to whom it is addressed turns his head to glare at the speaker.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who is going to fail tomorrow!”
“Chuuya,” the name is followed by a long sigh. “You are not going to fail.” Dazai answers for, at least, the tenth time this evening.
See, as much as Dazai loves teasing the redhead standing in front of him, tonight Chuuya is too worked up to react the way Dazai wants him to react and this is becoming absurd.
Alright, Dazai can understand why his friend is stressed. He would probably be stressed as well if it was him… probably.
(Chuuya tends to be really dramatic when he wants to.
(As if he is the one to talk. He stops counting the number of times Chuuya called him an overdramatic waste of bandages.))
“Okay, but what if no dragon wants me? Or what if they decide I’ll be better as a snack than a rider? Or what if I end up with…”
Dazai quirks an eyebrow. “With a dragon? Like you’re supposed to?”
“With a bat?!”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“It’s a valid concern.” Chuuya crosses his arm in front of him, ignoring the ‘it’s a stupid concern’ from the teenager sit on the bed. “There are bats in the cave from what Ane-san told me, and,” the redhead points his forefinger at the brunette, “this cave is magical, it’s full of dragons. So what if their magic has impregnated the cave and everything inside, including the bats.”
“Chuuya, are you hearing yourself?”
Chuuya stops his pacing to look at his friend.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Which I am. But, right now, you’re being really ridiculous. And that’s saying something that I am the one saying that.” When he sees the redhead opening his mouth to talk, he lifts a finger. “No, listen to me. Tomorrow you’re going to walk inside this cave with your obnoxious and irritable confidence, you’re going to bond with a baby dragon and you’re going to get out of this cave with an equally obnoxious and irritable and awesome dragon. That is what you’re going to do.”
Chuuya’s shoulders sag. “You keep saying that.”
Dazai stares at the redhead, taking the way he seems to make himself smaller with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched forward. He sighs softly and moves a little backwards before patting the spot in front of him.
Chuuya doesn’t wait and practically jumps in the space between Dazai’s legs. He snuggles Dazai’s chest and sighs in content when the other places his arms around him.
He feels Dazai’s mouth on his hair and the contact alone is enough to drain the tension out of his body, allowing him to relax in Dazai’s embrace.
“Yes, I keep saying that, because it’s true.”
Chuuya brings his knees to his chest before putting his arms around them, Dazai’s arms encircling them soon after.
“You can’t know that.” He mumbles into his knees.
“I can. When have I ever been wrong before?”
Chuuya snuggles more into Dazai’s chest, tucking his head under the other’s chin. His voice is soft when he speaks.
“I’m different.”
“I know.”
“My magic is unpredictable.”
“I know.”
“I’m impulsive and never stop to think.”
“I know.”
“I make mistakes, every time.”
“I know.”
Hearing Dazai repeating the same thing again and again, Chuuya turns around brutally, as much as he can in his position to glare sharply at the brunette.
“Are you going to keep saying ’I know’ to everything I say?”
The outburst doesn’t faze Dazai who simply lifts an eyebrow.
“Are you going to keep saying obvious things about yourself?”
Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds before going back to his initial position, this time his arms folded across his chest.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you, you are going to do fine tomorrow, I know it. And since I am the one with the brain, you can’t deny what I say. Tut tut tut,” Dazai adds before the redhead can even open his mouth. “I’m right, you’re wrong. It has always been like that and it won’t change now.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Says who?”
“Says common sense.”
“Whatever you say. You’ll see I’m right.”
Chuuya closes his eyes. He really wants to believe Dazai that everything will turn out okay and that he’ll manage to bond with a dragon but…
“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m different. My magic… it doesn’t react normally. So how can we know it won’t affect… What if I can’t bond with a dragon?”
Dazai frowns, unhappy about hearing the doubt and the hint of self-loathing in Chuuya’s voice. He draws his arms back to push himself against the wall before grabbing Chuuya to turn him around so that they can be face to face.
The redhead’s head is tilted down, his eyes barely lifted to meet Dazai’s who cups his hands around the other’s face to lift it. His eyes are shining, his mouth is curled down, lips red probably from biting them nervously, and Dazai can see how he’s now biting the inside of his cheek.
When their eyes meet, he gives a soft smile, pleased when Chuuya answers with his own smile, albeit weaker.
“It doesn’t matter how different your magic is. If anything, it makes you special and great. Chuuya, you can do things that no one else can do. And yes, sometimes it acts on its own and it looks like you will never control it, but you will. You’re only fifteen and you should stop comparing yourself to others, even to me. Our magics are different, the way I use my magic is different from yours. It doesn’t make it better just because I manage to do spells you struggle with. Yes I can do complicated spells or combined spells, but you, you can do things I would love to do. Your spells might not be refined, quite the contrary may I add, but they’re powerful. And these gravity spells, no one has mastered them like you did, and certainly not in this little bit of time.”
Dazai is watching Chuuya’s eyes becoming wetter and wetter the more he’s speaking, and starts panicking, thinking he said something wrong, until the redhead throws himself into his arms. Dazai can only bring his arms around the other, drawing him closer to him. He nuzzles the red hair, relieved he didn’t say anything wrong.
“You’re different, you’re right, but… it’s not a bad thing. It has never been. And I’ll be more than happy to curse anyone. With you, it could easily become worse.”
“The offer is still open.”
“No need, the last thing I need is you getting in trouble for me.”
Dazai hugs the redhead closer to him, his hand playing with the red strands absentmindedly.
“You’re worth it.” Dazai whispers so low Chuuya almost doesn’t catch it. In response, he tightens his grip around the brunette’s waist, burying his head further into the other’s chest.
A silent ‘thank you’.
“You’ll do great tomorrow Chuuya. You know I always choose to believe when the only outcome possible is the one I predict. So believe in me believing in you?”
Chuuya lifts his head and moves away a little to look at his friend. And the certainty and trust he can see inside the brown eyes steal his breath.
Of course Dazai is here believing in him when he can’t. He’s the only one who has never doubted him. Even when his own family thought he couldn’t do magic, even they thought there was something wrong with his magic when it finally appeared.
(Even when he heard his parents talking two days ago, saying that with how different and dangerous his magic is, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he wasn’t able to bond.
That, with his unpredictable and anormal magic, there was a chance that no dragon would want him.)
But Dazai, he has never doubted him or his magic, has always believed he could do great things.
Sure, he takes pleasure in teasing him, mocking him when he can’t cast a spell correctly while his is perfect.
But, he always takes the time to congratulate him, in his own particular ways, when he does something right, when he can move an object, no matter its size or weight, the way he wants.
He takes the time to comfort him when a spell that was supposed to destroy a single dummy ends up destroying half of the building, when his parents spend hours lecturing on the importance of control.
(As if it’s something he can easily work on when a single thought about how ‘this wall is ugly and should disappear’ can end with the destruction of the wall and everything around it.)
Plus, he knows how much it takes for Dazai to believe. Particularly when the outcome is not as predictable as Dazai makes it look.
But, there is no word to translate how grateful he is at hearing these words. And if Dazai can take this leap of faith, so can he.
“Sleep here tonight?” Chuuya asks, instead of answering Dazai’s question.
However Dazai doesn’t need an answer, all he needs is seeing the fire, so characteristic of Chuuya, slowly returning inside the blue orbs, albeit weaker than what it normally is.
He smiles, knowing that, by tomorrow, the fire will burn so strongly no dragon will be able to ignore it.
Chuuya burns brightly and unrestrainedly, and, not for the first time since he knows him, Dazai thinks that, with his explosive temper, his destructive but beautiful magic and his blazing presence, Chuuya is like a dragon in human skin.
‘Well, it fits’ Dazai thinks, staring at the bluest, prettiest eyes that are looking at him with trust and gratitude and love, ‘the dragons are going to love you tomorrow.’
“I wasn't planning on going anywhere. And my house is too far to go back there now.”
“Your house is two minutes by walking.”
“That’s what I said, too far.”
Chuuya blinks. “You’re ridiculous. Like really.”
“Shut up chibi, it’s time to sleep now. Children need their sleep if they want to grow.”
And before Chuuya can retaliate, Dazai draws him against his chest and falls on his side on the bed, taking the redhead with him. He grabs the covers and slides them on them.
Chuuya gives an angry puff, but doesn’t wait before snuggling with his friend.
“Good night.”
A content sigh leaves his lips when the brunette starts playing with his hair. And just before the redhead lets himself fall asleep, he feels Dazai kissing his forehead and smiles.
“Good night chibi.”
- - - - -
The day after, Chuuya stands before the entry of the cave where the dragons are living, and he is stressed. Extremely stressed.
Because his parents are here, right behind him, and when he turns to look at them… they’re not looking at him like he’s going to live one of the most important moments in his life.
They’re looking at him like they’re already thinking about what they are going to do if (when, his parents probably think) he exits the cave without a dragon. He quickly looks away, not wanting to see the disappointment and the pity in their eyes.
His eyes fall on his sister who is standing a bit behind their parents, her dragon (small, slim, but deadly with his sharp teeth and pointed claws) wrapped around her neck. She’s looking at him with concern but her eyes are warm in a way they rarely are, and it gives him a bit of confidence in himself.
Then his eyes find Dazai’s who, to Chuuya’s utter delight, has been authorized to come. The brunette is looking at him with the same confidence as the day before. A strong and complete faith that Chuuya will do fine. And, more than the warmth in Ane-san’s eyes, it fills Chuuya with determination.
Someone believes in him, wholeheartedly, and Chuuya thinks, Dazai’s faith in him is a powerful fuel.
Chuuya gives a grateful smile to the brunette and, without a look to his parents, he walks into the cave.
A few hours later, the four people outside the cave are still standing there, waiting for the young redhead to emerge from the cave. They just have to wait a few minutes more for him to appear.
And, to Dazai’s delight, nestled around the redhead’s neck, is one of the darkest dragons he has ever seen.
Once Chuuya completely exits the cave, Dazai doesn’t wait to join his friend, ignoring the sigh of relief from Chuuya’s sister and the look of surprise of his parents--
(As if any other outcomes could have been possible.
Chuuya is everything a dragon loves. Chuuya is everything a dragon is.)
--only slowing when the creature on the other’s shoulders lifts its head.
And Dazai is struck by the intensity the dragon is staring at him with its eyes so red it contrasts greatly with the white of the eyes and the dark scales that are not as black as Dazai thought now that they are in the light.
Dazai manages to look away from the dragon’s eyes to gaze at the gleaming scales that somehow seem to form a dark version of a rainbow, going from deep blue to dark purple. The scales are shining, not brightly, but deeply, and Dazai has trouble looking away to look at the redhead who is beaming at him with unrestrained glee.
The brunette can’t help but smile in return, pride and happiness bleeding into his grin.
“Seems like I was right believing in you. I told you right, when have I ever been wrong?”
Chuuya lets out a light laugh, his shoulders trembling a little, causing the dragon to huff before hopping off the redhead’s shoulders.
Dazai watches with wonder as the dragon stretches its wings, and Dazai doesn’t think he has ever seen a dragon that beautiful.
He looks at Chuuya who is now staring at his dragon like he still can’t believe it’s his.
“So, what’s the name of your new companion?”
When Chuuya looks at him, the fire in his eyes is back and burns even more strongly than before.
“His name is Arahabaki.” Now his eyes are shining. “I have a dragon, Dazai.”
Dazai bends down to put a kiss on the top of Chuuya’s head. “Of course you have.”
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supd00dle · 10 days ago
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alright I finally drew him (ft @clownputo ‘s fankid doodle on the punching bag)
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yakichoufd · 3 months ago
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doodles inspired by that bobby/scott fic
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gaypeople · 3 months ago
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i’m very normal about this
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runraerun · 3 days ago
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Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: Part Two
-> Part 1
cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.
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Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.
The Brain Injury Recovery Center.
It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.
So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.
Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…
There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.
“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.
Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.
Can’t let Eddie see him like this…
He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.
“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.
For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.
It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.
Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.
As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.
Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.
He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.
Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.
Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…
His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.
But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.
And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.
It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.
Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?
Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.
Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…
The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.
It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.
Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.
He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.
Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.
Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.
To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.
Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.
“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.
He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.
“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.
“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.
“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”
The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”
Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”
She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”
“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”
“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”
“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”
He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.
“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.
“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.
She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.
He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…
It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.
Hopper steps out.
Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.
When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.
His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.
Then it clicks.
Oh. Steve’s the emergency.
He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.
“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.
Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.
Munson. Eddie.
The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?
Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.
“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?
“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.
When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”
Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”
Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.
“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.
“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”
“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.
The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.
In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.
“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.
Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.
But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.
“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”
Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.
Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“
Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.
She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”
Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”
She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.
“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.
“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”
But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.
“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.
Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”
But she doesn’t, not really.
Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—
No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.
Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.
When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.
🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.
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satoruxx · 20 days ago
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i think it’s so funny how suguru gets injured on a mission and then brushes off every attempt you make to care for him. he could quite literally be bleeding out in front of you but still he’s got that stupidly indulgent smile on his face as he tucks your hair behind your ear to see your furrowed brows clearly.
“it’s not a big deal. i promise,” he’ll sigh every time, and you’ll always huff in response.
(because he’s so ridiculous? almost dying and telling you that it’s not that bad.)
“yes it is!” you groan and then you’re fussing over his injuries—and all he can do is show you that same silly helpless smile.
he’s always telling you that it’s not serious—that injuries are nothing to worry about.
but then you get injured on a mission and it completely flips. suguru is all over you, worry so palpable as he takes your face in his palms and lets his eyes rove over your features.
you do the same thing he does—tell him it’s nothing too crazy and that you’re fine and it isn’t something to be so worried about.
(it really isn’t.)
but he never listens, never cares. one little scrape and he’s panicked. he physically will not let you out of his sight.
and when you call him out for it, cheekily grinning as you chuckle, he just sighs and shakes his head because he knows you’re right. he has no intention of stopping though.
what a hypocrite.
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fluffylino · 11 months ago
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hyunjin takes charge when you feel down. (very soft i promise)
-contains mature themes
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he was cuddled up by your side.
hidden under the sheets. head resting on your chest. while you scrolled through your phone. his index finger tracing your hip lazily.
your eyes glued to your phone. if you looked at hyunjin you'd probably end up crying. he loved you so much. even more than yourself. you'd look at him and feel like it was only the two of you.
he looked up at you, inches away from your face. letting out a small sound for you to look.
"mhm?" you hummed, smiling a little at how dazed he looked.
eyes soft and lips jutting out into a pout. you pecked him. a small smile appearing on his face. nudging his nose against your cheek.
you could feel his eyes on you. the reel you were watching making you giggle. until you felt that sadness within you disappear.
what were you even doing with your life? everything was becoming too much. you weren't living life. you were surviving.
"mommy" hyunjin mumbled, hiding his face in your chest.
breaking you out of your thoughts. you weren't feeling like yourself. you wanted to be taken care of. today.
you were vulnerable.
heart aching with tiredness. you hummed, holding your phone with one hand. using your right hand to stroke his head. untangling a few strands carefully.
"can i?"
how could you deny him when he asked so softly. voice stuck in his throat. you nodded. letting him slowly push your shirt up.
a small whine leaving him at the sight.
laying back down. mouthing at your exposed chest. his other hand coming up to hold your right boob. tongue laving over your hardening nub. you sighed. finally keeping your phone down.
all his attention on you.
"hard" he whispered. very carefully grinding his covered length against your thigh that was slotted there.
"j-jinnie" you whimpered. mind going fuzzy.
you missed him. even though he was so close. you wanted him closer. feeling extra submissive. his face lifting up to look at you with such kind eyes. you felt like you were going to start crying.
he seemed to understand.
he always understood.
"daddy will take care of you" he reassured, moving upwards to kiss you. holding your face as tears fell down.
kissing them away as you closed your eyes. all your worries sinking away.
"s-sorry" you whispered. what if he wanted you to take care of him.
"nothing to be sorry about, my love" he mumbled against your lips.
"tell me what you want"
you didn't know what you wanted from him. you wanted all of him. seeing him satisfied made you feel better.
"jerk you off?" you asked.
closing your eyes while he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. he hummed, shuffling around so he could still hold you.
his leg thrown over your waist. pulling his pants down just enough.
you watched silently. his length slipping out. tip rubbing against the side of your thigh.
you hadn't even realised you zoned out. that was until he gently held your hand.
making you wrap your fingers around his cock. his own hand engulfing yours as he guided your movements.
starting off slow. with long strokes.
"you did well today baby" laying soft kisses to your neck.
"ah- so proud of you" you let yourself sink into his grasp. your hold on his dick getting more firm. pumping him more eagerly.
you puckered your lips, wanting him to kiss you till you couldn't breathe. and so he did. lips pressed against yours.
intentionally you swiped your thumb over his sensitive head, precum wetting it.
"d-don't tease, my love" you stopped your tricks, letting him enjoy.
"you're my beautiful s-smart baby" you whined, pulling away to look at where you were pumping him. his own hand next to yours.
so much bigger.
"want my fingers?" you shook your head, keeping your mouth open. as he moved his hand off his dick. now you were in charge of making him cum. his index and middle finger sliding right in.
you moaned at the feeling of his digits.
"want me to cum all over your stomach?" you nodded, ignoring the drool that had dripped down his wrist.
your grip on him growing tighter as you stroked him fast. breathy whines leaving his lips. he was getting so close. you knew it. you could feel it from the way his dick throbbed in your hand. his hips moving unconciously to match your pace.
he gradually sat up. nipping at your stomach. eyes shut tight.
it all happened so fast. his cum spurting out over you. staining you.
riding out his orgasm. he let out a heavy breath, leaning down to lick his cum off of you. before kissing you. groaning at the taste of him.
"mommy did so well"
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i think that in small tightknit communities, all residents should receive a coupon book on their bday that allows them to commit [x] number of nonviolent crimes per year
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magicshop · 9 months ago
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his smile could cure the world ♡ [for @morshiberna ♡]
cr. 0613data
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grogumaximus · 4 months ago
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introspectivememories · 1 year ago
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goddd i just know that tim never takes off that fucking necklace. and you know bear doesn't have that much money so tge necklace was kinda cheap and it wasn't anything the bear meant for tim to wear regularly it was just like a keepsake y'know? wear it on a date or a nice outing. maybe when they're both home together. but tim is practically feral over it. like straight up refuses to take it off. it's turning his neck green at this point and everybody is soo done.
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szfiction · 9 months ago
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This parallel makes me insane actually (and there is something incredibly Lawlu about it to me)
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manderleyfire · 4 months ago
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Cooper Howard vs The Ghoul + flirting game (they're the same picture)
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ratshells · 5 months ago
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I do not trust Leander w the information about the MC’s hands like at all!! like, I just figured that the information about the hands was payment for the room because knowledge is currency and whatever but… other than that… what is he going to do w that information. Because if you do Vere’s little route, he says that word about your hands can easily get you locked up or killed like him. And Leander is the only one who knows what you’re capable of.. and has shown his manipulative side (multiple times),, so what is keeping him from using the hands thing as a “gotcha” for the mc to keep them from ruining his reputation (bc you know damn well you’re gonna see something unsavory w him bc there’s no way he’s not doing some fuck ass shit on the low). like idk i think that telling Leander of all people this info will bite the mc in the ass somehow.
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undertheredhood · 1 year ago
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pre-death jason anytime bruce is being annoying: the way you’re currently behaving is the reason why nightwing left you
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flashypunches · 4 months ago
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( REUPLOAD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT im so sorry )
You're someone who's held great resentment for your godfather.
For your first meeting, for his ego, for his murderous intent towards your father.
For his failure to provide comfort or understanding when your parents refused you as a son, when your friends have left you as a corpse.
You suffer through long years, sticking with him through thick and thin, because he’s the only one like you, the only other Death refused to take.
( The daughter he made, the cousin you mourned, Dani, is gone. She will not return to either of you. It is always his fault. )
Because he’s all you have left. The only one who wouldn't refuse you.
He moves you to a city that matches your dreary state. Vigilantes take residence, closing in on crime. Closing in on your godfather.
Vlad leaves. He doesn’t take you with him.
He leaves you his wealth, a place in a school that makes you miss home, and an order to never speak to the ones who made him run– the Waynes.
He doesn’t return. Never properly. You make due with phone calls and brief visits every now and then. You don’t mind, you preferred this more than his haphazard attempts at providing companionship when it was too late.
Your schoolmates does not like you. That is okay, even if it leaves you longing for friends.
( Sam and Tucker are in Amity and will stay there until they die. They would never come and visit a corpse like you. Not when you desecrate their friend's body, parading it around, like you're him. They know who you really are. They've always known, they just couldn't see sense before. )
But you find someone who could be one.
He is prickly, rude, disliked less, but disliked nonetheless. But he is the only other person who does not care about your worn out shoes, for your scars, your clammy skin, all the things that made your parents refuse you as a son, as sentient— or about you coming in the middle of the school year.
You care not about his attitude, desperation clawing at your mind for any form of socialization not from Vlad or who he calls company.
You make quick work of befriending him, a shared rivalry for an annoying schoolmate pulling you close together.
You learn his interests, his pets, his family. You know his name but do not ask for it. Willful ignorance could be considered bliss. Just for a moment.
He lets you stay at his house for a night, though his siblings push the matter more enthusiastically. You do not see his father.
( “He’s on a business trip.” Daniel blinks, looking up at his friend.
“Who?” he asks, despite knowing there’s only one person that Damian could be referring to.
Damian tsked automatically, “My father, you imbecile. He will return in two weeks notice.”
Daniel thinks of his godfather, of his various excuses over the years to many people, including him. But instead of telling Damian the likely truth, that his father won’t return, never like how his best friend wants him too, an “Okay” comes out in place of it.
Let him bask in ignorance, Daniel tells himself, Let your friend have this. )
His father comes back. You don’t call Vlad when he forgets you. For all he wanted you as a son, now he never tries to treat you as such.
You continue the cycle of avoiding an empty house, of sleep-overs, of waiting for something to happen.
And something does. Your godfather comes back. He lies to you that he won’t leave again. He says that he will stay longer, that the family who tried to run him out won’t succeed again.
You do not think of your best friend. Why would he even care?
Your godfather treats you like he had before, when you still had your friends, your home. Like you are a misbehaving child, and him, the tired parent.
( Shouts of an argument ring from an dead manor, before being shut out to the upstairs.
Daniel slammed the door, not caring if Vlad had heard it or not. Ancients, he'd forgotten how much of an utter fruit-loop Vlad was. He gritted his teeth, rubbing the bruise left on his wrist by the man.
Why'd he expect anything different? Vlad was just going to be his usual nutty self, and go back to treating him like he was still some misguided kid, that he would just come around to playing nice with Vlad.
The wood of the door was smooth, most likely sanded down from any splinters by the past families who lived here. Daniel moved his fingers along the grooves, faintly remembering how he had done this before, when he was better. He bit his tongue, ignoring the bitter taste of ectoplasm it brought forth.
He hadn't thought of who he was before since he'd ran. He hadn't been this angry at Vlad since he ran. He hadn't felt so like himself after he ran.
Daniel would be lying if that thought didn't make him feel just a little bit better.
He let his head fall into his knees, back leaning against the wooden door, limbs sagging. He did not cry, because the Danny from the empty home did not do that. )
It irks you, but not like before. Maybe you were doing something right if he’s treating you like this now, treating you normally. Maybe you’re back to who you were before, before the rejection scarred you.
Damian notices the change in your personality, as you notice his change in costume. He is on the rooftops, in the streets, cloaked in muted colors, not unlike your own old costume, and his family knows your godfather is back.
When you come back to school after a week of Vlad trying to bond with you without success, Damian doesn’t say a word about your godfather.
You don’t either. What even is there to say?
“Oh, I know that you are investigating my godfather, and that you’re a vigilante, surprise!”
You would have been killed ages ago if that was your response.
Your friend does not invite you over anymore. You know why, understand why but it still stabs your core, in the way a butter knife does to wood. Dents it but does not cut.
You repeat the loop of boring conversation, of stilted companionship. You grow tired of it, as you always do.
Vlad's signature is easy to forge. You get to skip your classes under the guise of it being a family emergency.
( Damian is near the gate when he gets off the bus. Daniel's ratty sneakers are hitting the ground, as he walks over to him.
The weight of his backpack feels heavy, the evidence that Daniel had stuffed inside not helping his back. Damian twirls around at his steps, a scowl already on his lips.
Daniel smiles back, readjusts the straps on his shoulders. He whispers to Damian, uncaring of the fight currently breaking out in the front, the fight that Damian is watching, "I'm getting out of school today, wanna come with?"
His friend tears his eyes away from the brawl, looking intrigued at Daniel's offer.
Damian considers the chance. The thought of having to sit through another day of school with only Jon for mild company sickens him.
"I suppose I can, though if this is a trap Masters, then let it be known that—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you in still?" Daniel flashes his (only) friend a cheesy grin, ignoring Damian's eye-roll at his theatrics.
"..Yes."
-
The route to the local park is quick, though slowed by the need to be away from the public's eyes, lest they be caught right away in their venture.
Daniel gasps in a breath, ancients, did he need to jog way more. Damian easily strides beside him, the only sign that he was showing off being the smug gleam in his green eyes. Bastard.
The papers, the records, the flash-drive, all weigh down his back. Vlad has definitely noticed them missing, and he most definitely knows who took them.
But Daniel didn't care, not right now, because right now, he was spending time with his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and he'll deal with Vlad later. )
You drag Damian over to a secluded bench, taking no mind to the mutations Poison Ivy has given the plants near. The backpack is emptied, and you guide your only friend to the path that leads to Vlad's destruction.
The dread fades away, the high of adrenaline taking its place, at the crimes left behind in pieces, put back together in a backpack, and let loose into the hands of your only friend.
It feels good, like something’s been taken off your shoulders. You know that Vlad has anticipated you telling someone about what he’s done. He’s still not leaving.
Your high is running down, as you start to beg Damian not to arrest him, lying to your only friend that Vlad is a better man, and doesn't deserve to rot in a cell. You know that when you take a separate route to your homes, that he’ll tell anyway.
You can’t bring yourself to care. Vlad’ll just weasel out of it, as he always does.
He knows what you did, doesn’t bring it up, with the only sign being a watchful eye whenever you’re back in his grasp.
You get invited to a gala by your friend. You accept, uncaring of Vlad's reaction.
Your friend gets held ransom. No one’s worried, no one feels anything but annoyance. You stay away, not wanting to feel your core straining to help, to protect.
The Bats swoop in to help. You ignore the envy at their luck at having a team of other heroes to depend on.
( Your friend ) The Waynes send people after your godfather. He tries to bribe his way out of the charges, out of the jail cell that cannot hold him. They leave with him in tow.
You start staying overnight at your friend’s house even more. Damian doesn’t say a word about it.
His father does. His siblings do.
They talk about adopting you, they fight about Vlad, about what they are meant to do with your godfather, and what to do with poor old Danny. You don’t listen in much. They remind you of your parents, just a little bit. It hurts.
Vlad is let go. False charges, apparently. You know he just bribed the judge and juries.
He wants to talk to you, intent on having a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without shouting and tears ending it.
I'm sorry for not being there, please, give me forgiveness, are the only things you remember from the conversation. You do not give him what he wants, but the conversation doesn't end in slammed doors and withheld tears.
You sleep under his roof for the first time in weeks, the most civil conversation you’ve ever been with him looping in your mind. You even wonder if he’ll let you go to your friend’s birthday party.
You don’t sleep at your friend’s house as much. There’s not much need to anymore.
You wake up one night, to hear the sounds of ectoblasts and footsteps. They are on the roof, and you know what they’re here for.
You go ghost, going up the roof, watching invisibly as Plasmius shoots at the vigilantes who yell about something. You stay like that for a moment. You almost decide to let him go.
He's the only one you have left, to leave him, to abandon him, is to leave the last person in your corner. That thought is the only reason why you lift your thermos up, capturing Vlad in one fell swoop, before he leaves too.
The vigilantes are not pleased, as the Bat barks out orders to find you. You can imagine Vlad is the same, fuming at your disrespect inside the can.
With Vlad in your thermos, the Bats on your tail, there is no hope in your mind of getting out of Gotham with everything you need.
Oh Danny, what are you going to do?
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