#whoops I wrote a thing

[the-prophet-lemonade]

You Be You, And I'll Be Busy

shadowgast | rated: t | interconnected one-shot collection | post-canon, episode c02e141: fond farewalls, canon compliant, developing relationship, mutual pining, first kiss, aeor is for lovers, non-linear narrative, 5+5 things

fic summary:

"Seems like unnecessary trouble," Caleb remarks. His hand dips beneath Essek's outer robe, fingering the next layer down: a heavier, ornamental swathe of fabric with gold and silver embroidery around the neckline. "Not easy to get on and off quickly. The layers." "I manage well enough," Essek replies, tilting his chin upwards. He aims to be haughty, but only grants Caleb further access to the intricate fastenings around his throat. "It is no trouble if one knows what they are doing. And I know what I'm doing." There's a pause where Caleb says nothing, but his eyes stray to the silver details of Essek's collar. He studies the clasp like he would a page in his spell book. Then, he says, his voice pitched low: “Has no-one ever taken you out of your clothes, Herr Thelyss?”

Five nights spent in Aeor. Five mornings waking in the Blooming Grove. A collection of connected one shots about two wizards yearning.

🔗Read on Ao3

[mochirimochi]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Julian Bashir/Original Female Character(s), Elim Garak/Original Female Character(s), Julian Bashir/Original Character(s), Elim Garak/Original Character(s) Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Time Travel, Eventual Romance, Romance, Interspecies Romance, Alien/Human Relationships Summary:

When a space time anomaly brings aboard an accidental stowaway from the 21st century the crew scrambles to find a way to send her back where she came from, but can they? And a better question: do they want to?

[a-smile-dat-spreads-like-buttah]

Lovers Reunited

a drabble for @jewelsoffaith

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kore hadn't told Charlie where they were going when they snuck out of the castle in the night, but the journey was certainly a new experience for the girl. She had never left Thisbinar, and now, she was an adventurer, it seemed, like so many things in her life, without her consent, but she did her best not to complain. She wasn't being beaten about by the drow and she wasn't being fed upon on the behind-closed-doors-demon that was the Magister. It did worry her, she had to admit, that she didn't know where they were going, but she tried not to ask. She supposed that it would be easy to leave her behind if she got too annoying, even though Lady Kore had been kinder than all of the other masters so far. She just didn't intervene, remaining a bystander, and then healing her... out of kindness or to hide her husband's monstrosity? Charlie wasn't sure.

But finally, one day the lady told the girl that they were close, and by that time where afternoon becomes evening, they had found an entrance to a cave... to rest for the night? But as soon as they had entered the cave, finally inside to safely rest, a voice thindered above and around them, echoing through the chamber.

"Who goes there?!" The women started, but made no response, prompting the voice to speak again. "Answer me, travellers, or face your doom!"

Dramatic...

Something was strangely familiar about the voice, but she wasn't really thinking about it as traps and challenges began to reveal themselves around the chamber.

"M'lady..." Charlie whispered warningly, trying to back away, back to the cave entrance, but Kore stopped her. Charlie's stomach twisted; was she once again to be used as meat, even so far from her captors? But the lady nudged her, and the girl looked up... to see a face... the face of the person preparing to introduce them to their doom... that face... She froze in shock; she knew that face... yes, she strangely recognized even across the years and across the space of the entire room... but could it be?

Quietly, but loud enough to hear, even over the sound of the traps readying themselves, she called out to him, but not with her name... with his. "Kovacs?" The traps all froze, and so did the warrior.

He looked closer at the face, despite the long distance, his hand on the hilt of his greatsword that he had partially drawn from his sheath. He looked uncertain, as if maybe she was a figment of his imagination or some sort of cruel magical trick, and the girl had to admit that she felt much the same... but he called out to her, the threatening edge gone from his voice, leaving a vulnerable softness that gave him away immediately as he called her name. "Charlie?"

The girl gave a quiet whimper and took off toward him, and he, too, quickly let his sword slide back into his sheath and hurried to her as well, clambering down from his spot above the trap-covered floor.

It didn't take long for them to reach each other, and for the first time in too many years, they wrapped each other in their arms and clutched at their clothes with tight, knotted fists as they stared at each other intently, looking for any sign that all of this could be a cruel fake or trick. The happy conclusion was easy to reach as they looked at each other in awe.

"It's you..." They said it together, and it made the girl laugh a teary but musical laugh that made the man smile.

He towered above her still, but she reached up to grab the knot in his cloak to drag him down so that she could plant a firm kiss on his lips as she began to softly cry.

She didn't notice the others that had ocme to join their would-be protector, and she forgot Kore, still standing beyond the sea of traps, only having eyes and thoughts of the beloved she had thought long gone. She had found him, and was in his arms again.

[doodlewizardry]

Have you ever wanted to find your old Ao3 comments? Easily keep track of which (and how many) fics you've commented on? Rediscover a fic that you left a time capsule of a gushing essay on?

Well, you can! And it's simple! (* Note: it only works for comments written after you turn this on.)

Go to your Preferences:

There's a checkbox labelled "Turn off copies of your own comments". This is selected by default. If you deselect it (and save your preferences) then you receive an email for every comment you leave.

But I don't want to get my inbox flooded by Ao3!

Understandable! Luckily, most email clients allow you to set up rules for incoming mail depending on their sender and contents. For instance (using Gmail), I've made it so that these emails skip the inbox, are marked as read, and moved to a label I call my "Comment Collection".

The result? A complete, organised and fully-searchable repository of any comments you leave from this point onwards! Search by fic name, author, date, that one sentence you vividly remember leaving!

I've set up other rules, too, like starring emails that are replies to my comments - I'm always excited to receive them!

I love this system, and I think it's motivated me to leave more comments. I hope that others find it useful too. Happy commenting!

Original preferences trick from this Reddit thread. Tagging @justleaveacommentfest, which motivated me to write this post!

[unclewaynemunson]

Water was wet. Nights were dark. And Steve Harrington was straight. Those were all facts. Sure, Steve could see what made a man attractive, but that merely meant he wasn't blind, not that he wasn't straight. He loved girls. He loved holding delicate hands, he loved feeling soft curves underneath his fingers, he loved the taste of lipgloss on his lips, legs sticking out of skirts, the sound of high-pitched giggling, elegant feet in high heels...

So yeah, even if he saw what made a man attractive, he was still straight. Even if he could, hypothetically, see himself being attracted to some abstract man in some abstract scenario, he was still straight. He loved girls, so who cared if every now and then, he would turn his head to stare at a strong pair of male arms or a particularly well-shaped male bum? Who cared if, by high exception, he could lose himself in some fantasies of doing certain things with a guy instead of a girl? He loved girls. He would fall in love with a girl, and she with him, and they would get married and have kids, and he would be perfectly happy with that. So he was straight. It was a fact.

Or, well, it was a fact until it wasn't. Until the most mundane afternoon possible happened. Until he was sitting on the steps in front of the Munsons' trailer, with Eddie beside him and a sixpack placed between the two of them. It was one of those early spring days, when birds chirped louder and the sun made all the colors pop out just a little bit more and life was good.

Their beer wasn't cooled properly. Their snacks were very mediocre. They weren't talking about anything remarkable. And yet, they were only one moment away from Steve's whole sense of identity changing irrevocably. They were headed right towards a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

Maybe deep down, he knew that he had been falling for a while, but he was an expert at ignoring inconvenient things. He had been able to call it friendship, or fascination, or even annoyance when he needed to get creative. So later, whenever someone would ask him when he fell in love with Eddie, he would always go back to this particular moment.

Eddie laughed about some lame joke Steve made and took another sip of his beer. And Steve's senses zeroed in on him like he had just unlocked some higher plane of existence. He noticed everything like he had never done before. The movement of his adam's apple when he swallowed, the curve of his neck, the way his curls cascaded over his shoulders looking as soft as sheep's wool... And, when he tilted his head back and looked at Steve again, the color of his eyes when the sun hit them just right: brown as rosewood and dark chocolate and acorns. As a small piece of autumn undefeated by this early spring day.

He felt an overwhelming urge to clash his lips against Eddie's right there, to feel stubble instead of lipgloss and wrap his arms around someone who was made of sharp edges instead of soft curves, to hold a big hand adorned with rings that were anything but delicate, to hear deep laughter instead of high-pitched giggles, maybe even a low moan against his ear...

It was in that moment that he understood what it really meant to be straight – and that it wasn't what he was.

He understood that it didn't matter how much he loved girls. It didn't exempt him from loving boys, and he couldn't choose who he'd fall in love with like he thought he could. He loved this boy right in front of him, the one who was currently talking a mile a minute and didn't notice a thing about the current drastic renovation of Steve's entire brain chemistry. And if he allowed himself to keep falling, he might just end up loving boys just as much as he loved girls.

---

(idc how overdone the eddie-being-steve's-bi-revelation trope is, you can pry it from my cold dead hands. Here's yet another version of it and yes i will project my own experience on steve, no one can stop me)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 43

Geralt will never admit it, but he loves when he dreams. It's soft, and weak, and bordering on psychotic, and yet the dreams are the best thing to ever happen to him. It all started when he opened his eyes to find himself in a field of buttercups and dandelions, with a man stood in the middle, playing a tune on his lute. He was a young man, looked to be barely a man, in all honesty. He introduced himself as Jaskier and pestered Geralt the entire dream until he finally woke up. But every time he dreamt, he dreamt of Jaskier again, until he began to look forward to it, every night. It must be some sort of sick lucid dreaming, given that Jaskier also began to grow closer affections to Geralt. Geralt was quite good at dreaming if you ask him. Over the years, he imagined Jaskier differently. He grew into himself more. Looked more 'complete' in a way. More confident. Jaskier begins getting more and more affectionate, until one night he kisses Geralt. They do a lot more kissing from then on. They fuck, and cuddle, and Jaskier plays with Geralt's hair, and sings him songs, and they kiss, and laugh, and talk, and it's all in their sunny paradise. Geralt appreciates the relieve from the cruel realities of world every night. He thinks it must be a bad trait for a witcher, but he watches Jaskier laugh at his own joke for the fourth time that hour and realizes he doesn't really care if it makes him a worse witcher. It isn't until the night Jaskier mutters "Oh Geralt, how I wish you were real." that Geralt realizes their dreams might not be as fake as they had both apparently assumed.

[steveseddie]

home run

steddie | rating: m | wc: 3,6k | no warnings | tags: post-season 4, love confessions, first kiss, first time, dry humping, coming in pants, car sex, or technically van sex

for week two of @softsteddieseptember “confessing your feelings” and “road trips” and week two of @steddiesmuttyseptember “backseat” and “clothes on”

read on ao3 here

Steve’s fingers tighten around the grab handle as Eddie’s van skids dangerously on the wet road. “I really think we should stop, Eddie,” Steve says, finally voicing the thought he’s been having since they got caught in the rain.

Eddie leans forward on the driver’s seat, struggling to see the road through the sheets of water slashing at the windshield, the wipers failing to keep up. 

At first, Steve thinks he didn’t hear him over the heavy pitter-pattering but then he waves dismissively at him. Steve flinches when he lets go of the wheel and the van swerves.  

“No way, Stevie, if we stop we won’t make it in time for the game!”

“If we don’t stop you’ll drive us off the road,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “And then we won’t make it to the game either because we’ll be dead.”

Eddie groans, using a rag to wipe the fogged-up windshield. “But-”

“Pull over, Munson.”

With a defeated sigh, Eddie hits the warning lights and stirs the van to the side of the road. “As Your Majesty commands,” he says, matching Steve’s bitchy tone. 

“Hey, don’t get pissy on me,” Steve protests when Eddie kills the engine. “It’s not my fault the sky opened up on us!”

Eddie slumps into the driver’s seat, air puffing out and making his bangs flutter. “No, it’s mine.”

Steve snorts. “What? You suddenly control the weather or something?”

“No, but I made us stop for lunch and waste time and got us trapped in this fucking downpour!” Eddie crosses his arm over his chest, pouting. If Steve didn’t think Eddie would throw him out of the van for it he would lean over and pinch his cheek and call him adorable. 

“We had to stop for gas anyway,” he says instead, shrugging. 

“Yeah, but we could’ve had lunch in the van!” Eddie throws his arms up, almost hitting Steve in the face. “It’s called a road trip for fuck’s sake. And now we won’t make it to the game, so it was all for nothing!”

Not for nothing, Steve thinks. They spent the last couple of hours bickering over who got to pick the music and then singing along horribly to whatever they picked to annoy the other one further, which is one of Steve’s favorite parts about driving around with Eddie. That and watching him while he drives, less worried about being caught staring at him. Not to mention the milkshakes they had at the diner where they stopped for lunch were the best Steve’s ever had. Even if they miss the game, which was the whole reason for this trip, Steve would be okay with it. 

But Eddie sounds genuinely upset about it so Steve turns to face him and puts his hand over his knee. “I bet we can catch the rerun at our hotel in Chicago.”

Eddie huffs. “That’s lame, Steve.” His eyebrows knit into a frown. “You were supposed to be there and watch it live, maybe get hit by a ball or something.”

“Eds, why are you so butthurt over this?” Steve can’t help but ask. Missing a basketball game—even a big one that they drove all the way to Chicago for—shouldn’t be getting under Eddie’s skin like this. “You don’t even care about basketball.”

“No, but you do,” Eddie says with a sigh. “And you- you’re always doing things for the kids and for Buckley and for me so I just wanted to do something for you. Wanted us to do something you want for once. That’s why I got the tickets.” 

It’s Steve’s turn to frown. “Wait, I thought Wayne got the tickets from someone at work.”

Eddie hangs a hand from his neck, watching the rain fall through the window, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Er, no, I asked him to get them for me like a month ago when he drove to Chicago for a job,” he explains shyly. “’Cause, you know, you need a credit card to get them on the phone and well, obviously I don’t have one and neither does Wayne, so-”

“Why?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Because we’re poor?” 

“No, Eds, why- why did you lie about the tickets?” 

“’Cause I knew you’d get all—” he gestures wildly at Steve, “—you about it and offer to pay for them or something and that wasn’t the point. The point was me doing this for you, y’know? Driving four hours just to sit and watch a game that I don’t give a fuck about because you give a fuck about it and I give a fuck about you. Many fucks, in fact.” He lets out a shaky laugh in the middle of his rambling. “Fuck, Steve, I actually love-”

And then Eddie snaps his jaw shut so hard that Steve is surprised he doesn’t bite his tongue off. 

One minute he’s looking at Steve like a startled deer, big cow eyes wide and spooked, and the next he’s flinging the door open and stepping out into the rain before Steve can do anything to stop him 

He blinks at the empty driver’s seat. “What the fuck?” 

He watches through the windshield as Eddie paces anxiously in front of the van, muttering to himself as the rain hammers down on him, soaking his hair and clothes. With a sigh, Steve grabs his jacket from the backseat, zipping it up before following Eddie out of the car.  

“Eddie! What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m drowning myself,” Eddie says, running a frantic hand through his rapidly soaking hair and talking just loud enough for Steve to hear him over the rain. 

“Why?”

Eddie whirls around to face Steve. His bangs stick to his forehead because of the rain and Steve wants to reach over and brush them back. “C’mon, Stevie,” he says, shaking his head. His expression is open, vulnerable, terrified. “You’re smart enough to know that was a love confession. And a shitty one at that.”

Steve blinks, feeling droplets of water fall from his eyelashes. His heart hammers in his chest. “You- you love me?” 

A laugh escapes Eddie’s lips—a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Sweetheart,” he says, his lips curling into a sad smile. “I’m so in love with you that I was down to drive us through a torrential storm to watch dudes throw balls into laundry baskets with you.”

Despite the rain soaking Steve’s clothes by the second, he feels warmth spreading through him at Eddie’s words. “Eddie-”

“I don’t expect anything, Stevie,” Eddie interjects. “You don’t even have to let me down gently or apologize-”

Steve tries again, taking a step forward, but Eddie instinctively takes a step back. “Eddie, I’m not-” 

“I know-”

Steve growls, exasperated. “No, you don’t know,” he snaps when Eddie keeps interrupting him. “God, you’re infuriating sometimes.”

Eddie laughs but it’s a little shaky. “Big word, Stevie. Twenty points for you.”

Steve shakes his head. He closes the distance between them in two long strides, trapping Eddie against the hood of the van. Eddie looks spooked at the proximity so before he can run away Steve cups his cheeks, keeping him in place. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Uh, Steve?” 

“I need you to shut up, Eddie,” Steve says, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheekbones. His lips part, undoubtedly to make another remark but Steve beats him to it. “‘Cause I’m trying to tell you I’m also in love with you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“There you go,” Steve says with a chuckle. His stomach flip-flops in anticipation. “Eddie, you know I love basketball-”

The words make Eddie frown. “This isn’t the love confession I imagined-”

“Christ. Shhh!” Steve presses his finger against Eddie’s lips with an amused chuckle. Eddie yelps but otherwise stays quiet. 

“I said I love basketball,” Steve starts again, “but I’m happy to watch it just on TV, y’know? The reason why I agreed to a four-hour drive for a game was you. I wanted to go on a trip with you. We hang out all the time and it’s never enough. I’m fucking- obsessed with you! Christ, I love you!”

His finger leaves Eddie’s lips, telling him it’s okay to talk, but Eddie just blinks at him, and for a moment, all they can hear is the rain falling around them. 

Finally, Eddie clears his throat. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do a love confession,” he says in an awed voice.

“Do I get another twenty points?” Steve asks with a chuckle.

Eddie giggles. Steve has to fight the urge to pinch his cheek again. Adorable. “You get all the fucking points, sweetheart, that was romantic as fuck.”

His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheeks, warm and pink despite the cold. “Do you know what’s more romantic than a love confession in the rain?” He asks. Eddie shakes his head, water dripping from his bangs. “A kiss in the rain.”

Eddie’s eyes widening in realization are the last thing Steve sees before he surges forward, all but mashing their lips together. 

There’s barely half a second of Eddie’s frozen shock before there are hands in Steve’s hair and lips moving slowly and tenderly against his own. Steve moves closer, pinning Eddie against the hood of the van, one of his hands leaving Eddie’s face to settle on his waist. He wants to move even closer but the angle is a little uncomfortable, and he can’t lay Eddie down against the hood the way he could do if they’d drove the Beamer. Also, the rain isn’t stopping and Steve is starting to get cold after standing under it for so long.

So he breaks them apart despite wanting to kiss Eddie longer but keeps their foreheads pressed together. “Can we get back in the van now? Before we drown for real or catch pneumonia or something?” 

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eddie says in a deep voice. The way Steve shivers this time has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with how Eddie sounds and what he just called Steve. 

Hooking his fingers through Eddie’s belt loops, Steve drags him towards the passenger’s side, pausing to kiss him every few steps. There, instead of reaching for his door, he reaches for the sliding door handle. 

Eddie frowns. “Wait, I thought-”

“It’s still raining.” Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.” He kisses the other one. “So I thought we could keep this going in the backseat.” He places one final kiss on his lips.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he nods fiercely, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s jacket and pulling him inside. They land on the backseat, Steve on top of Eddie, and while that’s exactly what Steve was after when he led them to the van, he still needs to get the door. Eddie doesn’t seem to care about that—he hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

Steve lets it happen for a moment, already addicted to kissing Eddie but he must put a stop to it when he feels water starting to get into the van. He pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, and effectively separates their lips. “Gotta get the door, Eds,” Steve says when Eddie whines. 

“Hurry up,” he says impatiently. With a nod, Steve goes about sliding the door closed and then he’s back to hovering over Eddie, leaning down to bring their mouths together again. This time he licks the seam of Eddie’s lips, and when he parts them immediately, Steve slides his tongue inside, licking into Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie makes a small needy noise in the back of his throat and Steve takes it as approval, kissing him harder, letting one hand snake under Eddie’s wet shirt, feeling him up, while he holds himself up with the other one. Eddie’s hands make their way to Steve’s hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands, tugging lightly on them, making Steve momentarily break the kiss so he can let out a moan when the tug goes straight to his dick.

Eddie looks up at him with dark eyes. He gives his hair another tentative tug to see if he can drag that sound from Steve a second time. 

He can. 

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers like he can’t believe this is happening. “You’re a dream.” 

Steve desperately wants to hear Eddie too, so he starts kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Eddie tips his head back with a heartfelt groan, exposing the column of his throat. Steve takes that as an invitation, sucking at the pale skin until a mark starts to bloom. He bites lightly at the skin and soothes the sting with his tongue, listening to Eddie’s delicious string of gasps and whines.

His legs come up to wrap around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer until Steve is lying on top of Eddie. 

Eddie who is hot and close and already hard against him. 

Steve is hard too, he can feel his dick pushing against his wet jeans. He knows they should probably get out of their wet clothes soon but right now he doesn’t have enough patience to do that. He doesn’t want to waste any time that could be spent kissing Eddie, not until they’re satisfied. If the way Eddie is wrapped around Steve like a needy koala means anything, he doubts Eddie wants that either. 

So instead Steve slowly moves his hips to meet Eddie’s. 

A whimper slips past Eddie’s lips at the friction. “Oh, fuck, Steve,” he pants against Steve’s lips. The way Eddie moans his name goes straight to Steve’s dick, making it twitch as it begs for more friction. He rolls his hips again. “Jesus, fuck- I’m- sweetheart-”

“You okay?” Steve asks when Eddie can’t seem to finish a sentence. When he rolls his hips again, Eddie makes a noise like he’s dying, failing to utter any words. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” Eddie protests, shaking his head, hair wild and fanned out on the seat. “Don’t stop. Just uh- fair warning, I’m about to embarrass myself and come in my pants like- fuck, like this.” 

Steve groans. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?” 

Nodding enthusiastically, Steve starts rolling his hips at a steady pace. “Yeah, I want it. Wanna make you come, Eddie. Wanna see you.” 

“Holy shit, Steve,” Eddie swears. On the next thrust, he pushes his hips up just as Steve grinds down and they both moan loudly.

They fall into a rhythm after that, approaching the edge quickly. Hoping to make Eddie come first, Steve wedges his hand between them, cupping Eddie’s hard dick with his palm. It feels big and Steve’s brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears when he so much as thinks about touching Eddie without his jeans and his underwear in the way, about blowing him, about Eddie fucking him. His own body jerks almost involuntarily against Eddie’s thigh. 

He does his best to rub the length of Eddie’s dick as best as he can through his clothes, pressed so close together. Eddie lets out a string of moans and whines that shoot sparks of pleasure down Steve’s spine.

“God, Eddie, you’re so- you sound so good. So fucking hot.”

Eddie shudders against him, his breaths coming quick and short. “Don’t stop,” he pleads even if Steve has no plans to stop what he’s doing, not when he’s so close to giving Eddie what he wants. Instead of stopping, he squeezes the head and strokes him faster. “Fuck, Steve, I’m close.” 

“Yeah, come on, Eddie,” Steve urges him on. Eddie sobs against Steve’s neck, hips jerking along with the movement of Steve’s hand. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

Eddie whines, high-pitched and needy. “Steve, I’m gonna-” He bites out just as Steve squeezes the head of his dick, his words trailing off into a moan as he tips over the edge. Steve watches Eddie come undone for him—head thrown back as his eyes roll into his head. It’s the hottest thing Steve has ever seen. It’s too much. He needs to come.

He grinds against Eddie’s hip, hard and desperate, chasing his own release as Eddie catches his breath. He’s so close already. 

Eddie must realize it too. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he tells him, his hand finding its way back to his hair, brushing it away from his face. “Fuck baby, you look gorgeous like this. Flushed and needy. Humping my leg, so desperate,” he whispers, kissing Steve’s cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. Little whines escape Steve’s lips as Eddie starts to run his mouth.

“Can’t wait to do this somewhere else, Stevie, someplace where I can drop to my knees and blow you.”

Steve’s breath hitches, his dick twitching when he pictures Eddie on his knees for him—lips wrapped around his dick, eyes molten as he looks up at him. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart?” 

Steve nods eagerly. “Y-yeah. Wanna blow you too.” 

One of Eddie’s hands cups his cheek. He runs his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “‘Course, baby. You can do anything you want to me.” 

Steve’s hips stutter, his brain foggy as he gets closer. “Y-you too. Anything. Fuck, Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, baby, c’mon,” Eddie whispers. His hand travels down until he’s cupping Steve’s ass, urging him to grind harder against his hip. Steve feels like he’s on fire. He’s so close, he can feel it, he just needs something more-

That’s when Eddie tugs harshly on his hair at the same time Steve grinds down, and just like that, he’s done for—he moans Eddie’s name as he spills into his boxers. Eddie kisses him through it, whispering praises against Steve’s lips that make shivers run down his spine. 

Steve can’t kiss him back at first, the aftershocks of his orgasm leaving him feeling a little stupid, yet Eddie doesn’t seem to mind—happily taking control of the kiss, licking into Steve’s pliant mouth. 

Once his brain comes back online, Steve kisses him back lazily until his neck starts to hurt and the arm holding him up cramps and he has to lower himself on top of Eddie, his head resting on his chest. 

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound in the van is their labored breathing, as well as the rain falling outside, though not as hard as before. 

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, which is slowly starting to dry. “We might’ve missed the game—” Eddie starts, and for a moment Steve is confused, having completely forgotten about it, “—but that was definitely a home run.” 

Steve snorts. He gives a weak slap to Eddie’s shoulder. “That’s baseball, you dork.”

“Eh, whatever. I won, ‘s what I’m saying.”

“You lost your money though,” Steve says, absently playing with Eddie’s curls.

“Worth it!” He says, and Steve can hear his grin in his voice. “Hey, it’s not raining as hard anymore. We can try and make it for the last few innings.” 

“Again, Eds, that’s baseball,” Steve giggles. Eddie shrugs, jostling him slightly. “And I told you I’m fine watching it in our hotel. I prefer it, actually. Can’t do this—” He props himself up on his elbow and kisses Eddie, “—at the game.” 

“Good point.”

Steve smirks. “Can’t fuck me at the game either.” Eddie splutters, his eyes nearly bulging out of his face. Steve laughs. “You okay?” 

“Yup! I just- I think my brain broke just by thinking about fucking you.”

“But you want to?” 

A hysterical laugh falls from Eddie’s lips. “Do I- Steve, sweetheart, baby, that’s the understatement of the year. Of the century even!”

Steve smiles, pleased. “Then it’s settled, we skip the game and head straight to the hotel.” He pauses, thinking something over. “Maybe dinner first. It can be our first date.”

“You don’t need to wine and dine me, baby,” Eddie says, “you already got into my pants.” 

Steve glances down at their still wet clothes. “Technically, I didn’t.”

Eddie snorts. “Guess you’re right. Okay! You can take me out to dinner, big boy. Though we should probably change first.” 

Steve shifts, grimacing when he feels the mess in his boxers. The fact that his clothes are soaked only makes him feel more gross. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

They dig through their duffel bags for dry clothes and use the back of the van to change. Steve lets himself look at Eddie in a way he never allowed himself when he stayed over or when they hung out at the pool and finds Eddie staring right back, both of them smiling—giddy and slightly disbelieving. 

By the time they change, the rain has stopped completely so Steve steps out so he can move to the passenger seat. Eddie simply climbs to the front and flops gracelessly onto the driver’s seat. Steve watches him maneuver his long limbs with a fond smile, reaching over to smooth his hair down. 

Eddie smiles back at him, dimples digging into his cheek. Steve can’t help but lean over the space between them and kiss each of them before finally kissing Eddie’s lips. 

“Are you sure you’re not even a little sad we missed it?” Eddie asks when Steve pulls back. 

He shakes his head, leaning back against his seat. “No, Eds.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, interlacing their fingers together in the space between the seats. “As far as I’m concerned, I already won tonight.” 

“Steve Harrington, you sap,” Eddie teases yet he squeezes Steve’s hand, placing them on top of his leg, refusing to let go, going as far as using his other hand to switch gears as he starts the van. “Let’s make sure you score a few more times tonight.”

“Oh yeah, baby, talk sporty to me,” Steve says in a deadpan tone that makes Eddie cackle loudly.

But despite the two of them joking about it, they score again that night.

And a few more times after that. 

[lizhly-writes]

redacted for WIP Wednesday please

you got it!

.

The Peak Lords of An Ding and Bai Zhan were married.

Shang Qinghua did not write this. The barest hint of a thought had crossed his mind, when he had paired up Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge in a poorly-thought-out energy-drink-fueled fugue, but then he'd gotten distracted trying to figure out some historically-accurate energy drink equivalent, and well, that was that. Thought gone. Poof. Vanished.

Now, it had come back to haunt him.

Turned out, in Shizun's time, there had been a record number of disciples lost on standard supply trips. Obviously, An Ding needed further protection, and who better to do the protection than Bai Zhan? That was why the head disciples of that generation had been engaged.

It had turned out... weirdly well?

Shang Qinghua wasn't sure that Shizun was in love or anything like that, but he certainly liked the Peak Lord of Bai Zhan. That friendly and productive working relationship had echoed down into the disciples. The disciples were friends. An Ding disciples cheered on and supplied Bai Zhan disciples against different Peaks. Bai Zhan disciples chased down their sectmates for An Ding paperwork. You rarely saw an An Ding disciple wander around without a Bai Zhan disciple close by, and vice versa.

Even Shang Qinghua, who... was not great at making friends, had some random Bai Zhan disciple he didn't know stop in the middle of what they were doing to accompany him on some random errand. Shang Qinghua had felt oddly like some fainting maiden getting escorted by a chivalrous knight. It wasn't just him; this seemed to be how a significant portion of An Ding felt about Bai Zhan. A significant portion of that portion used it for romantic fuel.

In this sort of environment, it wouldn't be weird if the An Ding and Bai Zhan head disciples were engaged again. This was the common perception of pretty much all of the An Ding and Bai Zhan disciples, a lot of which... knew each other on a deeper level, let's say!

Which was why, even though Shang Qinghua knew he'd written a marriage to Yue Qingyuan, 60% of him expected Shizun to say, "You'll be engaged to Liu Qingge."

[pinkrose05]

Ok so @b1adie's post from earlier got me thinking about element Types and Paths again.... and predictably enough, I am also here to talk about my fave old man Yingxing and how his kit would look like if he were playable.

We can probably agree that Fire type makes the most sense for many, many reasons, but in terms of Path I'd like to humbly propose....

drumroll

...Preservation!

Ok, hear me out: Preservation in this game is frequently associated with building and construction. You've got Qlipoth's walls, the Cornerstone effects, and the very act of creating a shield! Naturally, a master artisan would be right at home constructing stuff; I mean, remember that one scrap lion?

Yeah, Yingxing is very good at building things up from the ground. Just imagine the amount of detail this bitch would put in his shields! Knowing him, they'd be the most elaborate magic walls to ever wall in history.

Another thing is how Preservation pathstriders admire stubbornness and are prone to protective actions. As for the former trait, stubbornness is a part of persistence, and persistence through adversity is a key aspect of Yingxing's character: his home is destroyed, he's always struggling with the sabotage and prejudice of his seniors and peers... and still he keeps pushing on and ahead, all the way to hard-earned success.

As for the latter, Yingxing's attachment to the makeshift family he's found in the Quintet can definitely lend itself to a protective streak- doubly so considering the weapon gifts he'd given to them all. It's like he's always watching their back! It's his way of keeping them safe so he doesn't lose his loved ones again!

(It's the only part of him that will stay with them when he meets his timely demise. It's proof that, even in death, he will forever stand by their side.)

A third thing is that, if you consider the construction aspect again, Preservation is actually the most direct antithesis to the Path of Destruction. The symbolism in there really hammers in (heh) the 180° turn between Yingxing and Ren- and wouldn't it be the perfect sort of ironic for them to mirror each other in the very core of their beliefs?

(I actually think they should have the worst anti-synergy in history if/when Yingxing becomes playable. There's a kit concept somewhere in my files that has 1) several ways of pulling aggro, 2) Max HP buffs that depend on using skill points, and 3) a one-turn block on allies' HP changing whenever any of Yingxing's shields break. It's basically a dedicated sustain kit that just so happens to be a massive Fuck You to Ren in specific, because come on, the idea's just too good to pass up!)

[m1d-45]

reverse isekai but it’s me at 6:45 pm in a car

-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest, depictions of modern organized religion(none are specified, none are in great detail, but talks of restrictions within those are mentioned. it’s only one paragraph but still), this is unedited and with zero (0) plot to it :))

-> lowercase intended

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky

your world is loud.

from the moment the favored could see it, this was clear. it was loud, filling with screaming machinery that left trails of dust and buildings so tall it made their neck hurt to view.

it was bright, with lights that shone through the darkest of nights, reflecting off glass and the speeding machines and reflecting reflecting reflecting back into eyes to sting. your sun is so harsh, so unpleasant and overbearing, hot instead of warm and burning instead of soothing.

it’s cluttered, wires suspending from towers and running along your roads. glittering signs point out things they can’t read, the sacred script only giving them a headache. at night, they can find no comfort in the stars, something that sends them into a panic the first time they see it. it’s not clouds, it’s not anything worldly blocking their view, it’s that they’re gone, the ones they can see washed out and faded. they wonder how anybody can live like this, and if you blessed them with a night sky of such beauty because yours was so…

they can recognize some of it, the plants and trees and flowers, wild or not, call to them in recognition, but so much is frighteningly new. the style of the clothing, the kinds of jewelry on the people you pass. try as they might, they can’t locate a single vision anywhere, not even on you. they wonder if people hide them, like during the vision hunt decree, but even at home you don’t reach for it, you start fires with odd devices and plants grow slowly, the air and stone unmoving to your desires. you spill drinks. you freeze water using more strange machinery.

it’s so strange, because they can feel your world brim with elemental energy. their vision beams, shining so brightly with all of the potential suspended in your world. no matter how poor their elemental sight, your world glows, the air itself carrying a blue tinge. they try, in a world without visions, to use theirs, and their power springs in an instant to their fingertips. it dances across their hands, enveloping when they barely intended for a small spark, a small flame jumping across the dry grass of unspent energy in your world. they extinguish it quickly, tightening their hand into a fist to stamp it out before they damage something, and something like awe shines in their eyes. there’s so much, their vision so eagerly lapping it up, and you.. don’t use it?

you have machines for everything, devices to harness the wind and waves, boats to travel across water at impossible speeds, strange flying machines that you can hear from the ground, mere specks in the sky, and yet… you have yet to capture them in their most essential forms. you speak of elements, sometimes, but you use different names and there seems to be many, many more. you say that the air holds ‘nitrogen’, that you seal things with foil of ‘aluminum’, and you even say that water itself is composed of ‘hydrogen’ and ‘oxygen’, something that they struggle to understand. how can water be made of something else? how can hydro users bend more than one thing to their will? how can anemo wielders command such a broad spectrum of things? you speak of other elements in the earth, and though some are familiar, such as iron and gold, others’ names hold no meaning. you say potassium is in fruit, that there’s multicolored rocks called bismuth and poisonous liquids named mercury. you say that there’s 118 elements, when all they’ve known is 7.

it takes them a while to come to terms with that one, and even then they settle on it being inherently outside of their understanding. after all, they are in a world crafted by a god.

speaking of..

there are multiple religions in your world?

and it’s not as if they’re different ways or interpretations of the same god, no, it’s entirely different ones. not in the ways of teyvat, where everybody’s aware of all seven and follows the one of their nation, not even that much. they’re wildly different, with different policies and ways of worship, some with multiple gods and others with just one. some are strict, ways of lifestyle chosen and laid out, whilst others are lax. and even within the same religion, it varies from one place of worship to another? somehow? some religions specify clothing, disallowing certain parts of the body to be exposed- which they can understand to an extent. it’s when they learn of religions that police love, ones that write in harsh lines where and when and who somebody can love, that they need to take a step away.

so many parts of your world are confusing. so bright, flashy, new, rumbling in the walls and barreling down the roads with nothing but a scream to warn. lights are everywhere, every sign and post and building vying for your attention. this they could understand, as who wouldn’t wish to be the object of your interest, but the most dizzying fact that they learn during their stay is that you are no different than anybody else. everybody is subject to these sights, everybody is pulled in by a particular shade or cut of cloth, everybody is startled by the bright lights and loud announcements. everybody. you’re lost in the ocean of people so different and yet endlessly identical, nobody’s eyes lingering on you or calling your name specifically. when you step into a crowd, nobody notices you, save for the select, precious few to whom you are known. you have to carve out a place in your world, go out of your way to make sure your name, your face, your interests are kept in somebody’s mind, and even then people dare to forget.

that’s the worst of all. overwhelming lights, sounds, smells: nothing. it makes sense that they’d be out of their depth in a world built for the divine. but to know that you’re not receiving any of the recognition you deserve, to know that nobody thinks highly of your work in teyvat, to know that you were kind enough descend and build yourself a new life amongst the world, and to share your creation across said world, only for nobody to appreciate it. nobody thinks twice. people dare to complain over something you’ve hand-crafted, over something that, even after completion, you revisited with a traveller, doing your best to save one sibling and fix the problems that had cropped up in your wake. you’ve done so much, you’ve cared after it so lovingly, and you boosted the power of some of those you granted a vision to. as somebody who had experienced this love first hand, the favored could not find the words to express their anger at the situation. your world was wrong, it was cruel, and though they found beauty in the most hidden of places, it didn’t change the fact that it didn’t love you.

it only strengthened their desire to take you back to teyvat, where you would be truly loved.

[towards-toramunda]

Yes there’s part of me that wonders if Orym’s recent uptick in pining after Dorian is because he’s used to and comfortable with being in love with a person who is absent and believes he will never see Dorian again so at least he has something to direct his loneliness at instead of doing something about it

[the-prophet-lemonade]

You Be You, And I’ll Be Busy: Part II

shadowgast | rated: t | interconnected one-shot collection | post-canon, episode c02e141: fond farewalls, canon compliant, developing relationship, mutual pining, first kiss, aeor is for lovers, non-linear narrative, 5+5 things

chapter summary: Essek grapples with the return from Cognouza. chapter extract:

Here, he pins this image of Caleb to memory. Caleb in the dew-sprinkled grass. Caleb with his flame-coloured hair falling loose around his shoulders, Caleb soaking in the sunlight after so long without it. It is a memory Essek will turn to often; he is not sure when curiosity became need, became longing, but he is a different drow to the one that entered Aeor with the Mighty Nein.

He longs for something he doesn’t have a name for. Comfort, he will call it. It will have to do.

Five nights spent in Aeor. Five mornings in the Blooming Grove. A collection of connected one shots.

🔗Read Part II on Ao3

Read from the beginning?

[catharusustulatus]

Steve is telling Jonathan about Eddie and how he feels it’s his fault Eddie died and how awful he feels, and Jonathan interrupts, goes “Eddie Munson? Long hair, silver chain?” And Steve goes “yeah, yeah. God I just…” and Jonathan laughs, goes “Steve, I sat behind him in math class. Dude had a fat crush on you, man. Doodled your name and everything.” Steve is like what!!!? Jonathan laughs again. “Yeah, his notebook was full of them. Steve Harrington, Eddie Harrington….my favorite was Steve Munson.” Steve asks why he never told him. “Because I didn’t know you wouldn’t beat him up.” “Oh.” “Yeah, but you’ve changed. And he’s…gone.” Jon shrugs. Steve looks on the brink of tears. Jonathan is like hey hey, what’s wrong? You uncomfortable or something? And Steve just sighs, says “no, no. Just thinking about what could have been I guess.” He sighs again, fiddling with his hands. “Oh shit,” Jonathan says. “Oh, oh….” And then Steve puts his head in his hands and cries.

[capricioussun]

💛💕

[mci-writing]

Warmth (Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

Warnings: Obsessiveness (near the end), implied major character death, reanimated corpse (it’s Deku), necromancy, Deku is the equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster kinda, a little ooc, mentions of pain, descriptions of skin burning (not exactly but yeah idk how to explain it)

Kofi

Viridian irises glance over the form laid before them, a longing sigh passing through chapped lips and landing on deaf ears. Fingers, cold to the touch and tinted blue from lack of flowing blood and oxygen, slide across the small expanse of exposed (s/t) skin, the thumb stopping just under a closed left eye and softly, lovingly, tenderly rubbing the area. It leaves the warmest goosebumps, so warm it should ache, dulling once the contact is distanced.

Whispers of ‘patience’ sound through the air, chilling down to the bone and causing him to pull away out of instinct. The reactions of those around him tell him that they aren’t really there, but he can’t help his response after being told such for so long. For so achingly long.

“Deku-kun,” He feels himself straighten at the voice beside him, a hand setting itself at the small of his back. The thumb rubs small, circles in an attempt to soothe his worrying, “If you keep tugging at your lip like that, you’ll rip it off.”

He becomes self-aware of his habit after his companion points it out, cheeks warming as he quickly lets it go. He wets his lips with his tongue after, teeth grazing over the bottom one as they pop out. He’s unable to stop the awkward chuckle that follows or the way his eyes flit from those around him to the body on the table.

“I’m sure (L/n)-San wouldn’t mind reattaching it once they wake, Uraraka-San,” Todoroki stands near the door, his eyes never straining from beyond the frame as he speaks to them. It’s hard to miss his tense demeanor from where they’re placed, one of his fangs pointing past his lips.

Izuku feels himself sweat at that, a wobbly smile forming on his face as he brings his full attention back to the other members of their group. The best he can manage out is a small “T-Thanks, Todoroki-San” as his hand connects with (Y/n)’s and laces his fingers through theirs.

Silence fills the room again after that. Midoriya can hear his heart racing and feel (Y/n)’s faint pulse. They pump in tandem together, like always. Yet, it does nothing to ease his fears. He knows that spell they cast was powerful, but they’ve been out for a few days now. The only reassurances he’s received of them still being alive was the small noises they’d make as they rested, the way their hand tightly holds his each time he holds it, and the addictive burn he receives with each touch to their skin.

The book of necromancy did say that some spells would be harder to cast for users with less experience, but Midoriya didn’t realize that translated to needing to rest for so long to regain the little strength of power (Y/n) knew how to use. He would’ve tried harder to suggest something else for their escape.

“Oi, Deku!” The rough voice of his childhood friend wakes him from his thoughts, his thumb and forefinger making themselves known on his lips as they tightly squeeze from the small jump he makes. He’s being side-eyed by shades of crimson, but not many would catch the soft worry behind them, “Me n Shitty Hair’s got the ship waiting at the dock. Cargo truck’s outside.”

Emerald eyes meet the fiery shades, an understanding spoken between them that only their little bubble could process. Without a beat, Bakugou comes forward and lifts the end of the slab they're laying across and Todoroki is quick to grab the other end. They load it into the cargo truck's trunk, careful to ensure they're strapped down in the back before Todoroki hops out. Midoriya watches on, eyes longing for the warmth he’s just lost.

~~~~~

The car only holds four people, debatably three if you wanted to argue whether or not Midoriya could still be counted as human in his current form. He was undead, that much he could confirm from the way his body had been stitched together and the ice cold feeling of his skin when he wasn’t within a certain proximity of (Y/n). He was something like Frankenstein, but the context seemed less science fiction and more fantasy. He had no clue why he had been brought back to life, just that he had been. (Y/n) and Kacchan always avoided the question when he’d ask how he’d died.

That’s another thing, it’s always the three of them. Even now, only Kacchan and (Y/n) were going to board the boat with him. Kirishima was only here to take them there and back.

His gaze pans away from the passing scenery outside to the body pressed against his. His cheeks warm as bright a red as they possibly can at the proximity, yet he can’t force himself to move away from the burning sensation of their skin touching. It hurts in the nicest way possible, making him feel way more alive than he thought possible. It’s why he thought he had just woken from a long sleep instead of immediately thinking he’d come back to life, the warmth too comforting for him to question anything at the time. Both of his companions joked about it being out of character for him.

He takes in the low rise of their chest and the serene look of their face. It’s one of the very few times he hasn’t seen them worried out of their mind since being brought back to life. He’s tried not to keep count of their smiles, one of his favorite aspects about them. If with their lips held in a neutral shape, he’s fighting the urge to kiss them until they swell.

He feels himself warm more at the repeated thought of laying a kiss on their unconscious form. He should be ashamed, but he’s been wanting to be intimate with them for a while now. It’s gotten so bad he gets a little jealous when he catches them and Kacchan away from him, whispering between themselves in a bubble of their own that he feels he won’t fit in.

That thought sours his feelings a little, especially when he knows he could never take them from Kacchan and he could never take Kacchan from them. The idea of them moving forward without him, leaving him out, and further pushing him away from the picture he'd perfectly fit in before his current state, gives him a deep pit feeling in his chest that he doesn't enjoy dwelling on for too long.

But right here… Right now…? He could just give them a quick peck and pretend it didn’t happen. No one would know… Unless they woke up from it or something…

He weighs his options, emerald eyes measuring and tracing the outlines of your lips. He has vivid memories of the one time he managed to get a kiss from them, in the dead of night when the only witnesses aside from themselves were the twinkling constellations. He doesn't remember how long ago it was, but he can perfectly picture the sight of them shyly smiling, their face warm, and (e/c) eyes dilated like a super moon. Their lips fit perfectly against his, slated and locked like they were meant to be attached for eternity, and delectably soft like fresh baked goods straight from the oven. He'd press his lips against them as much as he possibly could, suffocate against them even.

The cons would be them waking and beating the shit out of him... Or Kacchan catching him and beating the shit out of him...

Midoriya leans forward, hand burning as he cups their cheek. He rubs his thumb against their skin as his lips finally meet theirs again. It feels like home, his lips feverishly sucking against the plump flesh like he'll never be able to do so again.

He pulls away once he realizes he's being too greedy, too desperate. He sucks in a deep breath, the butterflies rising to his chest as his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can feel the warm honeydew in his cheeks, worsening when his eyes dart up and meet a certain pair of crimson ones. They stare at one another for a moment, but Midoriya can't read what Bakugou is thinking at all. Bakugou sends him a small smile, or something close to it. His lips quirk upward on one side before he turns back to the road. Kirishima is talking about something, but he's obviously not paying attention.

"'Zuku?" The soft call of his name has him looking down, meeting the dazed stare of (Y/n). They're still relatively exhausted from their overuse of magic, a bit of light missing from their pupils. They press their cheek into his hand, the bags under their eyes heavy, "Are we... heading there?"

"We're going to the dock right now, (Y/n). Kacchan's in the front seat and Kirishima's driving us there," Midoriya informs them, voice low as to not cause them any discomfort. He knows they typically suffer from headaches after too much use of their necromancy abilities, "I'm sure you should be able to rest a bit longer-"

"No, no," They begin to sit up, getting a grip on his shoulder and using it to push themselves up. They let go and force themselves to sit up on their knees, getting in a position where they can easily look out the window, "I have to check that... we're not... Not being..."

Their voice trails off as they grab their head, another splintering headache racking their body from the sudden movement. Midoriya is quick to grab hold of them, leaning their body against his. Gravity lays them back across his lap, their face pressing into the fabric of his shirt while they close their eyes. Out of instinct, he presses his fingers against the nape of their neck, slowly sliding them upwards to press at various spots in the back of their head.

"No one's following us, (Y/n). We made sure of that..." He murmurs, pushing their hair out of their eyes. His hand eases down the side of their face, fingers hooking under their chin and pushing it up so they can see him better, "Get your rest."

"Izuku...," They stare at him for a moment, different emotions flashing through their (e/c) eyes. One of their hands reaches up for his cheek, the flesh feeling as if it'll catch on fire at any moment. They pull away too quickly for his liking, the same stricken look reaching their eyes like every other time they touch him and they're reminded of their afflictions. He's heard them apologize to him in the late hours before.

With little thought, he grabs their hand and presses it back to his flesh. He feels just a little closer to being human again at the touch. He nuzzles into their hold, keeping eye contact with them and watching the confliction beyond their irises. He doesn't care about the way his body screams to flinch away from the heat, pressing more into it as opposed to as opposed to running from it. He tightens his hold when he feels them try to tug away from him.

“Izuku, stop. You’re hurting yourself-,”

"No, it's okay," He responds too quickly, leaning into their touch. He presses his ear to their chest, listening to the steady beating of their heart and the movement of their breathing in their chest. The heat isn't as excruciating, simmering to an addictive warmth adjacent to bodies entangled in a hug. It crawls over his skin and wraps around him like a blanket, "Everything is okay..."

He never wants to leave from (Y/n)'s hold, (Y/n)'s warmth, ever again. He doesn't know how he could ever live without it, especially not now when the cold is even colder than before...

[libraryleopard]

dead boy detectives has a weirdly strong grip on my brain, so i wrote a blog post of some book recommendations that fans of the show might also enjoy! there's books with ghosts, paranormal mysteries, people who used to be birds, evil mold, 80s punks, edwardian gay guys, big snakes, cat shapeshifters, psychic girls, and more–hopefully a little something for for everyone!