#write quite a bit

[cemetery-blooms]

FIRST EXAM DONE TWO MORE TO GO!!!!

[cairafea]

my favourite genre of seventeen is when they're straight up lying

ref:

[chimerafiles]

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[illbegottenfaith]

sweet?!

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - I meant to make a separate post a while back but college has been kicking my ass so 😭 but 300 followers!!! insaneee ily all sooo much mwah I feel so so grateful and also a little weirded out cuz wdym 300 people... (I am SO bad at these can you tell um anyways) also this was inspired by a new girl episode!! I kind of have plans for a part 3 but im still workshopping it so idk yet but !! we'll see :)

tropes/warnings - fluff, slight angst, mattheo not understanding physics (but its not like he had a formal education in the subject so is it rlly his fault??), tw descriptions of injury

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @kandralice @clairesblouse @deenaaa

"You're still coming this afternoon, right?"

You were having lunch in the Great Hall with your best friend Ivy, hours before one of the most entertaining sporting events of the year - an underground Muggle sports day. Every year, a group of students from each house would compete in some arbitrarily chosen muggle sport, with varying levels of success. Casualties and knee-slapping memories (for those standing in the sidelines, such as yourself) were a guarantee.

You nodded. "Are you kidding? Watching the boys wack each other black and blue at some poor attempt at a muggle sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope it's hockey. It's got sticks, you know." You got an odd, dreamlike look in your eye. "Merlin, I hope it's hockey."

Ivy dug into her Shepherd's pie. "Good. It sounds interesting enough. Plus, Theo's new girlfriend will be there."

You nearly upset your pumpkin juice.

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

Something in your voice must have given your true feelings away from the way Ivy squinted at you suspiciously. You pulled a face. It seemed convincing enough.

"It's all very new," Ivy said a tad bit sternly. "They met at Davies' party a while back and, well, they fancied each other, so -"

You snorted.

"What, is he blackmailing her?"

Ivy frowned at you. "Don't snark," she rebuked. "It isn't nice. She's a regular daisy, you'll see."

Yeah. Sure. You piled some more mashed potatoes onto your plate.

"Has anyone checked her for brain damage? Look - I'm not even snarking, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing - "

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” Mattheo was saying as the two of you walked over the makeshift Muggle basketball court someone had fashioned out of one of the disused storerooms in the dungeons. He and the rest of the Slytherin boys were wearing matching fluorescent green mesh vests to distinguish themselves from the Gryffindor team, engaged in some deadly serious discussion. A part of you wondered if you should mention that muggle sports weren’t generally meant to be as fatal as Quidditch.

As usual, Theo looked bored to death by the conversation. "We've been over this a hundred times. You dribble the ball -"

"Yeah, right," Mattheo vehemently said. "Like this thing's coming up if I throw it down. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, oddly reminscent of the way you did when you felt a migraine coming on.

"Remember the tennis ball, Matty? The fuzzy, green one?"

"That's different. That thing was tiny, and bouncy. This thing's heavy. It's the size of my head. No, a quaffle. No, a -"

"Then what do you think is going to happen?" Theo interrupted irritably.

“Stick to the ground, obviously. Watch - "

As seasoned as the lot of you had become in anticipating Mattheo's often highly dangerous impulses, this one came entirely out of left field. Theo yanked him back by his vest, but it was too late. He slammed the basketball down and it ricocheted back up almost immediately, punching him right in the nose. Mattheo swore loudly, and the last thing you saw before you looked away was an awful amount of blood.

Even after Enzo took him to the Hospital Wing, once Theo had sufficiently plugged his nose with obscene amounts of tissue, things did not improve for the team. About halfway through the game, an unfortunate scuffle between some of the players left Draco curled up in a ball, grimacing as he clutched his knee. Theo winced, running over to where Draco was doing a rather poor job of concealing his pain.

"Oh, that's so Teddy," Margaret gushed to you, "always stopping by to help anyone in need. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

You nodded stiffly, your slight smile frozen on your face, willing Ivy to hurry back with the snacks and drinks she had left for. After she had introduced the two of you to each other, you decided that Margaret was a perfectly pleasant person, even if she wasn't the type of friend you typically sought out. If anything, you were more confused than ever about what she was doing, hanging around a guy as bitter as Theo.

However, one thing that truly bothered you was the odd remark here or there that revealed her grossly inaccurate perceptions of him, such as this one. You thought back to just last week when you had tripped in front of him on one of the Shifting Staircases, your books tumbling down into the recesses of the stairwell. He had stopped by you, alright. Stopped to point and laugh, that is.

"Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's really sweet," Margaret finished.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

"Sweet?"

Just in time, Ivy hurried over, gently pulling you away with some half-hearted excuse.

"O-kay, I think that's enough bonding for today."

"Sweet," you echoed weakly as you limply allowed yourself to be carted away, the appalled expression still on your face. "She thinks he's sweet." Euch.

But Ivy wasn't paying attention to you anymore. "How bad is it?" she asked, as the two of you neared the cluster around Draco.

"Bad," Ivan replied, gingerly pressing Draco's knee. "He definitely needs to see Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll be able to play any more today, and we're out of reserves, so we're a man short." He turned, motioning to the Gryffindor players scattered across the field that the game was over.

"Damn. I'll take him to the hospital wing, I've been meaning to check on Mattheo too. Meg, you'll help me, won't you?"

With a little difficulty, the three of them limped along once they had pulled Draco's arms over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor players approached the crowd, picking up on what was happening after a glance at Draco.

"What about the game?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "We'll rematch, you nitwit."

You went back to your seat, trying to figure out what to do with Ivy's refreshments. Once it was clear that the game was over, the last of the players and the scanty audience filtered out of the room.

"What gives?"

You pulled your gaze back to the lone Slytherin player left, in a blood-spotted mesh vest. Your least favourite player. You could slap that on a T-shirt - not that you wanted to cheer for him. Merlin, no. Cheer against him, maybe. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy - which, coincidentally, happened to be him. You momentarily abandoned your musings as you returned to the real world, noticing the expectant look on his face.

"Hm?"

Theo spread him arms out and shrugged in a helpless sort of manner.

"I don't get it, L/N. What do you want from me?

You stared at him blankly. "...what are you talking about?"

He scoffed half-heartedly, like he was too upset to put any real heat behind it.

"I have this amazing new girlfriend that everyone loves." He tossed the ball away with a defeated air. "Everyone, except you."

The words stung. You stuck your chin out defiantly.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"Why can't you just be happy for me?

"I just want you to be honest."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Honesty? That's what this is about?"

That's what it had always been about, you wanted to say. You sniffed nonchalantly, rearranging the pleats of your skirt.

"I don't think it's fair to Margaret that you're selling her some lie just to -"

"You think I'm lying to her?"

He kept his voice cool, almost offensively neutral. You rolled your eyes. "I know you are."

Theo was quiet after that, as if mulling over what you had said.

"So," he pressed after a moment, slowly walking towards you, forcing you to crane your head up to maintain eye contact, "you think I should be more transparent with her. That is...show her my unpleasant side."

You allowed yourself a brief smile. "Exactly."

"Be more rude to her."

"Yeah."

"Mock her."

You furrowed your brow slightly.

"Erm, sure."

"Insult her."

"I - what?"

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

In that moment, you decided you never hated Theo more than you did then, with his domineering stances, condescending sneers, and caustically sarcastic remarks. You swallowed hard, your throat almost painfully tight as you felt the traitorous prick of tears behind your eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered. But he wasn't being entirely ridiculous, was he? It was what made the whole thing all that more upsetting.

If he noticed you were teary-eyed, he didn't comment on it, as if it were disappointing. As if you were yet another disappointment in his book of unfairly high expectations. He straightened with a barely convincing air of nonchalance. If anything, he looked just as upset as you felt.

"Whatever, L/N. See you around."

Part 3

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[generic-enthusiast]

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid,” Ponyboy’s muttering as he steps in the door, “stupid stupid stupid stupid.” He goes to slam the door behind him, but notices Darry’s work boots lined up under his coat, so he closes it with a soft click. 

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid—”

“Hey, Pony, how was school?” Darry asks, coming out of the kitchen. His voice has its constant, tired lilt to it. He’s had it for two years, and yet Ponyboy still can’t get used to it. 

Ponyboy opens his mouth to respond but finds himself at a loss for words. Out of pure indignation, no doubt. He just throws the envelope on the table and grabs the back of a chair to lean on it. Darry takes a bite of his apple as he comes forward, eyeing the letter curiously. 

“What’s this?”

Ponyboy looks up at Darry. “You know that writing contest Mrs Anderson was gonna sign me up for?” Darry nods slowly, looking down at the letter and back up at Pony again. “Got the prompt.”

Darry stares at him for a moment as if in expectation before asking, “What is it?”

Ponyboy doesn’t respond, he just grabs the ripped envelope and takes out the folded piece of paper, holding it out to Darry between two fingers. Darry dries his hand on his pants and takes it. 

He fumbles with the piece of paper for a moment, trying to unfold it with just one hand, and his brow furrows as he reads through the prompt. “What’s wrong with it?”

Ponyboy sighs, forever uncomprehended by his environment, and snatches the paper back. He doesn’t really know what to do with it, though, so he throws it onto the table again — not quite as energetically this time — and goes to slump down on the couch. 

“I’m fifteen. How’m I s’pposed to write about ‘being in love’?” He asks, saying the last couple words in a mocking tone. 

“Hang on now, I ain’t seen nothin’ ‘bout being in love.”

Ponyboy squints up at him in a way that distinctly says ‘are you stupid?’ “Did ya even read the prompt?”

“Yeah. Says to write about love. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout being in love. You can write about Pepsi if you wanna.”

Ponyboy looks up at him, then down again. A couple silent moments go by before he asks, “The drink or the brother?”

Darry makes a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I meant the drink, but I reckon they’ll like it more if ya write about your brother.” 

“Huh.” Ponyboy looks away from Darry and starts staring into nothingness, deep in thought. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to be annoyed and I’m not allowed to so now it’s sorta between annoyed and nothing and the feeling is annoying me.”

Darry hums, mildly amused.

“Is this like college essays where you just gotta compete for the saddest sob story? ‘Cause I think I win if it’s that.”

Darry looks down at him, confused. “Who told you that?”

Ponyboy blinks at him. “You did. When you applied for college. You said ‘I hope somethin’ terrible happens to you in the next six years and you’ll be a lucky son of a bitch if it does.’” He goes quiet for a moment. “Then Ma told you to watch your mouth around her.”

“Oh.” Darry blinks. “I don’t remember that.”

Two years ago, when police officers appeared on their doorstep to ask Darry to identify the bodies and the bathroom tiles were cold under his knees and the bile was burning his throat and Johnny’s hand was warm on his back, thumb rubbing back and forth, Ponyboy’s mind was blank. A couple minutes later, though, when he leaned his head on Johnny’s chest with a couple half-hearted coughs, the only thing he could think of was that at least he would have a great college essay. 

Johnny didn’t really know what to do when he dissolved into hysterical laughter. 

Ponyboy shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I do.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them says anything for a couple moments. “I’ve never written for a contest or anything, so I don’t know what they want. Just writing good should be enough, prolly.”

“Yeah.”

The room falls into silence for a while. 

“I better get started on dinner. Try and get your homework over with before Soda gets home, alright? I know you get distracted with him.”

“Okay.”

Darry goes into the kitchen and Ponyboy picks up his backpack and goes into his room. He has to finish some math exercises for tomorrow, and Darry will get mad if he asks him to look them over too late at night, but he gives himself a couple minutes to look over the prompt one last time. 

Love is a central part of human existence, something near every writer touches in their work. From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty like the night” to Greek myths such as Sophocles’s Antigone. It’s been written and sung and painted about from every perspective — except yours. 

The 1966 edition of American Young Artists’s yearly writing competition asks you to write a short story (no longer than 8,000 words) or poem (no longer than 50 lines) about what love means to you. 

Please do not: 

Submit an essay or straightforward answer. While undoubtedly interesting, the objective of this contest is to explore your creative prowess and ability to transmit messages and themes through subtext. 

Submit more than one piece. You will be disqualified and none of your pieces will be considered. 

Rewrite a story that has already been written. We are not interested in why you believe Orpheus turned back or how Romeo and Juliet would have lived in another world. The story or poem you submit must be entirely original, not based on someone else’s work. 

There are a couple more points, but Ponyboy stops reading. He doesn’t know where to start. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s felt love before. No one ever bothers to give you a straightforward answer to what it is, only hints here and there that you’re supposed to put together so you get the same definition as everyone else. 

Tall tales of butterflies and blushing and stumbling over words. Of holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes and feeling connected. Of being willing to risk your life for someone (did he love the kids in that church?), of wanting the best for them (shouldn’t he want that for everyone?), and putting them before yourself. 

Ponyboy groans again and buries his face in his pillow. 

He takes the math homework out of his backpack and gets a pencil. 

A minute later he gets up and opens the door, yelling on the way to the kitchen so Darry can hear him over the sound of whatever he’s cooking, “Darry! Is cosine the adjacent or opposite side?”

…

Ponyboy might have school friends, but none of them can hold a candle to Johnny. 

They’re fine for grouping up for projects or sitting together at lunch, but he wouldn’t spend hours next to them in silence, reading or drawing or just thinking. He wouldn’t invite them home and sit down on his bedroom floor next to them, just enjoying each other’s presence. Letting them flip through his sketchbook would leave him anxiously looking over their shoulder and watching their face, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Which means that now he spends an awful amount of time alone in his room. He doesn’t usually mind, but now the stupid prompt seems to be glaring at him, screaming that he should be working on it. 

Mrs Anderson won’t ask him to have something written until at least a month from now, but it still torments him. He finds himself zoning out in the middle of a drawing, wondering about whether love can really be considered a feeling or if it’s actually something else. Answering some questions for science class is interrupted by three attempts at starting to write something about his parents, but all of them sound cheesy. 

Finally, when Soda asks him if he’s okay because he doesn’t seem to be completely there, he decides to just get it over with and excuses himself from the dinner table. 

Ponyboy sets up the typewriter, grabs the stupid, stupid prompt from his bed and reads it through. 

He skims through the rest of things not to do — most of them fairly obvious — and reaches a small bit at the end. 

If you’re not sure where to start with this prompt, you can try exploring some of the more common literary topics relating to love. We’ve included a list of some of the most common ones: 

Love as a home, someone safe, where outside troubles can’t reach you. 

Home isn’t home anymore, not without Ponyboy around. It wasn’t home before, anyways, not with the constant simmering tension, the knowledge that Darry and Ponyboy could start at it at any moment. Living over a ticking time bomb, not knowing how much time was left, waiting for the seconds hand to tick for the last time. 

And now every room is riddled with landmines. A single misstep can set them off, saying the wrong word at the wrong time — Soda can’t take it anymore. He loves his brothers, he really does, but he can’t let the tension seep through his skin and into his veins.

He’s started to spend less time at home. It started slowly, a couple months ago, but now that Ponyboy’s gone, he hardly spends any time there at all. 

Money’s tight as always, and he takes all the shifts he can. Steve hangs around even when he’s not working, and, honestly, Soda kinda prefers being at the DX over being at home. 

Sure, he needs to talk to the occasional customer and put on a fake smile, but the customer doesn’t know him inside and out. They don’t know all his tells and they don’t know that he lost Mom’s pot pie recipe and they don’t know his brothers hate each other. All they know is that they want a candy bar or they need their car fixed. 

And then they’re gone. 

And whether or not Soda sold the routine, whether or not they know he was faking it, whether or not they think there’s something wrong with him, none of it matters, because they’re never going to see him again. They walk out that door and he’ll never talk to them for the rest of his life. 

It’s a breath of fresh air to be able to exist without the constant pressure of holding them all together. 

And then there’s Steve. 

Steve, who sits on the counter while he does his book reports. Who pretends to hate Ponyboy so he won’t go out with them when Soda needs to decompress without his brothers around. Who somehow always knows when he’s worried about his brothers fighting or how disinterested Sandy’s been recently, and starts telling him some crazy, probably made up story. 

You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows, Steve told him once, Shows you’re worried ‘bout somethin’. 

Sometimes Soda wishes he could come home to Steve, instead of Darry and Ponyboy, go out with him instead of Sandy.

Then he realises what he just thought and a wave crashes down on him, a wave of ungrateful and don’t care about them and queer. 

2. Venatus amoris. Being loved as something to hunt, to be achieved. 

You don’t become Boy of the Year without picking up a few tricks on how to be well-liked. 

If Darry wants someone to like him, he’ll get them to like him. He’s got it down to a science at this point. 

Now, love, that’s a trickier bit. He’s not all that sure how to get that. But for now, being liked is enough. 

He’s learned how to smile and avoid dangerous questions. He’s learned how to hide the parts of himself that other people don’t like — the part of him that can’t lose and goes to the bathroom after a bad game because he can’t break linoleum the way he can break drywall. The part of him that doesn’t understand what people want when they talk to him and goes over every interaction when he’s trying to fall asleep. The part of him that feels things as strongly as his little brothers do. 

People like a pretty shell, they don’t like a messy, feeling person.

The doors in the Curtis household don’t have locks, though, and the walls are thin. So when he punches the bathroom wall after losing because stupid fucking Mark couldn’t run fast enough, the whole house can hear him. He can’t turn on the shower to drown out when he’s crying because they have one bathroom in the house, and you better believe Ponyboy and Sodapop will barge in if they need to. 

There’s no hiding, no covering himself in a shell.   

Which is fine, until this fifteen-year-old kid shows up with Soda one day, claiming to come from New York. Darry doesn’t mind if his brothers and their best friends know that he’s a sore loser, but he’ll be damned if this asshole knows a thing about him. Dallas Winston is still a stranger, even if he’s a teenage hood, and it means that Darry’s walls come up. 

Which is. Exhausting.

Dallas seems to be everywhere. He’s latched onto Johnny, and Johnny’s always with Ponyboy, so there’s no escape. 

And he isn’t falling for Darry’s usual tricks. He scowls at Darry’s forced smiles and scoffs at the questions he asks without caring. Either he doesn’t notice social cues, or doesn’t care about them. Whichever it is, he doesn’t bother to hide that he doesn’t like Darry, and seems to get a rise out of getting him to try and prove himself. 

Which finally pushes Darry over the edge. Why should he give a fuck what anyone thinks about him? Being well-liked only got him so-called friends that forgot him as soon as they threw their caps into the air. 

So what if Dallas Winston doesn’t like him? So what if he thinks he’s a weakling? So what if those years didn’t mean shit to Paul and Mark and Noah? 

Who gives a fuck? Darry definitely doesn’t. 

“What’s your fucking problem with me?” It comes out scathing. 

And Dallas Winston has the fucking gall to look him up and down judgementally and smirk impassively. You’re in my house you asshole. “You ever told me anything that wasn’t a lie?”

Out with the forced smiles, out with the meaningless questions, out with the closed doors. 

You wanted the real me? Here he fucking is. In all his glorious colours. 

So he snaps and he stares and he doesn’t ask about what he doesn’t care about. The underlying Are you happy now? grows sharper and louder and covers up the noise outside, so much that he doesn’t notice when the contempt starts to leave, when something else starts to grow. Maybe Dallas doesn’t quite like him, but there’s something else there.

He doesn’t notice it, any of it, until Steve’s handing him the phone, saying Dally asked for him. 

Johnny’s not entirely sure when, but at some point during the seventh grade, a fire started burning in his chest. 

He doesn’t notice any of it until he’s screaming because there’s nothing else you can do with a body full of bullets. 

3. Ignis amoris. Love as fire: uncontrollable, burning, intense. 

He doesn’t know how it was before. Was it frozen over or just numb? Was there anything there at all?

Maybe it was just empty. What was the point of anything without the little flame to enlighten it?

At first it was quiet, warm, crackling in tune with Ponyboy’s excited rambling. They were ten and twelve, and it was the first time that Johnny found out what it meant for someone to see him and care. 

As days turned into weeks turned into months, casual touches and toothy grins and barks of laughter threw firewood into the flame. It would flare protectively when a Soc shoved Soda when he was just trying to get to class, burn warmly when Steve waited for them in his car despite having a free last period, thaw even the coldest of nights as long as Dally was in the lot beside him. It reached his cheeks when Darry called him smart and burned brighter every evening spent with Two-Bit, wandering around and avoiding responsibility. 

But when it really roars to life, when it becomes a starved monster that takes over Johnny’s body, is when crickets fill the air or the wind whistles past his ear or the low rumble of whatever cars are still driving around reaches the lot, whispering to him as he lies on his side, eyes tracing Dally’s profile. 

When it crawls up his throat, when it starts making his brain do flips, is when the stars glitter in the sky above him or when clouds crawl over them and bathe the city in darkness or when it’s pouring and he’s running with Dally, jackets over their heads, trying to find a roof to huddle under. 

When it turns from warmth to heat, when it turns from comfort to exposing hidden truths about himself, is when he lies next to Dally in the lot, both pretending that they don’t have to pretend, fingers inching closer, pinkies only just grazing as the sun comes up. 

And then he has the sun to bring him heat, and the fire turns back into embers with small, pale flames above it, and Dally’s still beside him but it isn’t the same when there isn’t the rush of adrenaline, the weight of the news stories, the freedom that darkness brings.

But it burns nonetheless. 

There is a world where that fire never starts burning. Where Johnny’s chest stays empty and cold and dark, where the hearth gathers dust as it’s beaten day after day. 

In that world, Johnny doesn’t survive. 

How ironic, then, that it should be fire to take him from this one. 

4. Furor amoris. Love as madness: all-consuming. We are blinded by it, confounded, and act purely out of passion, rationality all but forgotten. 

Dally isn’t thinking. His head is completely blank, just like that bullshit the hippies spread around. 

A couple minutes ago, he was stumbling around hazy, dark blues, forest greens wrapping around him, black ink dripping down from the sky. 

Now there’s red streaks tunneling around him, bringing him down the only direction he can go in. 

Dead.

Red like Johnny’s jacket collar four months ago in that field that Dally takes a long way around to avoid seeing. 

Dead.

Red like when the church brought them straight into hell yesterday. 

Dead.

Red like the rumble. 

Dead.

Red like the sirens following him as he runs for his life.

5. Amor post mortem. Love after death; overcoming the menial, human barriers of a heart beating. Love as the only eternal thing in a life full of the fleeting.  

Ponyboy sighs and lies back on his bed. 

Usually, Johnny would be lying next to him, bouncing ideas off him to see if anything inspired him. Dally would come storming in, not even bothering to knock. Mom would ask if he made any progress when he came back down to dinner. Dad would tell him it was fine, that he’d think of something like he always did. 

It’s hard to come to terms with. 

Maybe part of him will always be in denial. Maybe part of him will always turn to Mom to ask where the oven mitts are. Look for Johnny whenever he steps into a room. Trust that Dally’ll get back at whoever tries to hurt him. Want to ask Dad to tell that story about when they were kids again. 

Is that what love is? 

This can’t possibly be it. It can’t possibly be something that follows Ponyboy around, wakes him up when he thinks he’s finally worked past his nightmares, seems to disappear then comes back to haunt him, crawling up from behind to see if it can finally get a scream out of him.

No, it can’t be. It isn’t. 

What it is is Darry staying up late to calm him down from a nightmare. It's Steve knowing when to quit the teasing. It's Two-Bit leaving books on his nightstand without a word about it. It's Soda asking him about his day, every day without fail, no matter how tired he is. 

What it was was Dally offering to teach him to fight. Johnny listening to him every time he went on a rant or monologued about whatever book he’d just read. Mom setting aside a couple hamantaschen for him when he had track until late on Purim. Doing his bar mitzvah in the same tallit his father had done his in. 

And maybe it didn’t change anything. In fact, it didn’t. 

Love doesn’t bring people back to life and it doesn’t give them a happy ending and it doesn’t take away all the struggles that come with just being alive. Sometimes it’s just there, and that’s all that matters. 

[hungharrington]

ok this is filth adjacent but would u ever write a lil blurb or fic about Steve with a gf whose super insecure about her stretch marks and body? And May be she doesn't want to disappoint Steve bc his exes seem prettier

would i ever! i love these type of requests i love ppl getting a little bit of respite and comfort through fic esp in smut! i hope this makes u feel even a little bit hotter babe <3 1.6k, afab!reader, and just filth adjacent sry! MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve's mouth is on your neck, his tongue hot where it teases against your skin, and his hands are searching your body with a lustful fervor.

Your head tips back. It's so easy to let him in, let him slide his body closer to yours, to get more of whatever he's giving. The hot press of his mouth on your neck feels damn good enough to make your blood sing—and heat travel between your thighs, wetness beginning to pool.

You want to rub your thighs together, if only for a little relief. Steve's toned thigh between them prevents it. You scrunch his polo between your hands instead, trying to wrestle the courage to slip your hands beneath it.

You're lying back on his bed, propped up lightly by the pile of pillows the two of you had stacked when the evening had begun. The television at the end of the bed runs a film idly in the background, completely unnoticed by this point.

"How we doin'?" Steve's voice rumbles out, barely parting his lips from your skin before he's swooping back in to nip at it again. The bastard.

Your hands flex again, finally mustering the nerve to dive beneath the fabric of his shirt. Steve's warm. You feel the muscles of his tummy shudder as you skim your fingers across it, a pleasurable shiver running down your spine at the trail of hair you can feel leading into his pants. Steve's breath hitches, close to your ear.

He nudges your jaw with his nose lovingly, planting another row of sloppy, wet kisses down the expanse of your neck.

"Hmm," He hums, questioningly. "Still doing good?"

You realise you hadn't exactly answered him and something glows in your chest at his insistent checks. Extremely reluctantly, you manage to drag your hands away from his torso, shifting them up to subtly nudge his face out the curve of your neck.

Steve's eyes dart up to your face as he pulls himself back, his expression turning dopey the moment your hands cup his jaw. His cheeks are flushed ruby and his hair has been mussed in all his steamy motions. He looks fucking delicious.

You kiss him — surging up to connect your mouths, warmth exploding in your chest and trickling down, down when Steve responds with a revere hunger. His plush lips scrape against yours filthily, his tongue always so perfectly teasing. You're gasping for air when you pull away.

"So good," You say breathily, finally answering the question.

Steve takes a moment longer to register what you've said—but that dopey look crosses his face the moment he does.

He plants his hands on the bed and shifts his weight back, sitting back on his heels. His thigh is still situated right between yours and you have to shove down the lustful urge to grind against it, lazy pleasure still pooling low in your gut. Though you're pretty sure Steve wouldn't oppose the idea.

Chest heaving lightly, you watch as Steve reaches for the edges of his polo and tugs upwards. It comes off in one smooth motion and you're rewarded with a fine sight. You're pretty sure your mouth actually waters in response. Tan chest, scattered moles, the smattering of hair. Oh god, you want to lick him.

Something in your face must give away your train of thought because Steve laughs. He leans back down, one hand moving to your waist, and nuzzles his nose against yours. He steals a kiss from your lips.

"See somethin' you like?" He says, the smirk evident in his tone. You feel like you might vibrate out of your skin.

"Shut up," You aim for fiesty and fall far, far short. You sound on the verge of a whine when you say, "You know I do."

Steve grins wider. His hand on your waist tucks under your shirt seamlessly, his thumb drawing maddening circles into the skin. Your breath catches, even as your arousal hikes.

"What about you?" He whispers the question between his kisses as he mouths along your jaw again, finding that same damn spot on your neck again. It'll be violet coloured by the morning. "Do I get to see something I'll like?"

He's asking permission. It takes a long moment to realise that—too distracted between the touch of his fingertips skating across your skin and the addicting feel of his lips against your pulse.

You nod without thinking.

Steve pulls your shirt up no more than a few inches before your brain catches back up. Your hand moves abruptly, grabbing his hand and yanking it and your shirt back down in a split second.

Steve's halting in an instant, pulling back from working lovebites on your neck to see what he's done wrong. There's a string of spit connecting his lips to your neck.

Steve frowns in concern, shifting his hand up wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, as he makes an effort to put a little distance between you.

"You okay?" He asks. You're still holding his wrist, which is still holding the edge of your shirt. "What happened?"

Your mouth opens uselessly and closes. You know precisely why you had stopped him and now you're facing up with the fact you have to tell him, lest Steve believe you're actually having second thoughts over being with him.

It's just... you've probably spent far too many hours in the mirror. You've seen it from every angle. Seen it in every lighting. You can't quite ever seem to make your body look good.

You don't look like any of the girls Steve's been with in the past.

Comparison is killer, you're aware of this, but infuriatingly you just can't seem to stop. You think of what Steve will see the moment he gets your shirt off, what he'll realise, and your hand tightens around his wrist subconsciously. Your throat tightens up too.

Steve's face melts into a softer expression, eyes big. "Hey, hey, it's totally fine if you said one thing and- and you realise that you didn't mean it, it's okay."

Words continue to evade you and humiliatingly, it feels more likely that tears will escape you before any explanation will. He's being so nice.

"But..." Steve continues, his tone wary as if aware he's treading on uneven ground. "You seemed like you were into it. Like, comfortable, I mean. Then it was like a flip switched and you froze."

"I-" You finally find your voice. You clear your throat as you try to find the right words, breaking Steve's intense gaze to study the ceiling.

This is worse. This has got to be worse that just Steve taking your shirt off and being disappointed because— because you're goddamn building up to it. Your eyes screw shut and you decide it's better to rip the band-aid off.

"I'm just," You can't quite keep the quiver out of your voice. "I'm not like- like girls you've dated before."

Steve makes a noise of confusion and it's enough to force your eyes open. You glance down, taking in Steve's adorably furrowed brow.

"Okay...?" He says, clearly still a bit confused.

"I mean, Steve," You say, voice a little steadier. Your hand around his wrist finally remembers to relax.

You release the hold on him and tuck your hand under your shirt discretely, covering the skin of your stomach you know is warped with stretch marks. "I don't look like the girls you've dated before. My- my body is different."

The wrinkle between Steve's brow shifts, moving from confused to something a little harsher.

"So?"

You blink. Of all the possibilities that you had run, not one of them had ended with Steve saying that.

"So?" You echo meekly. "So... so you might be like, I don't know, disappointed or think—mfh"

The words get smushed beneath Steve's fervent kiss, stealing one kiss off your lips and all your words with it. You blink up at him again, all your endless arguments of why Steve would be so disappointed suddenly silenced.

Steve grins, evidently pleased with his reaction.

Tentatively, moving slowly so you could intervene if you wished, he drags his hand along the sheets and onto your hip again. This time, however, he pushes the fabric of your shirt up and doesn't pause til it's bunched up, most of your torso on show.

Your nerves gather, gnawing at the edges of your chest. You can't bring yourself to move the hand that's trying to hide part of you, even if a dozen other stretch marks are visible now.

Then Steve leans down and he kisses your skin, right in the middle of your tummy.

"I think," He says, lips dragging across your skin and setting it aflame. He's looking up at your through his lashes, your gazes locked, his eyes dark. Another kiss, this time longer, with just a flash of tongue. "You're hot shit."

Instinct makes you want to scoff. But Steve says it so seriously that you almost believe him off the bat. Believe that he believes that.

He lowers himself onto his elbows, letting both of his large hands settle onto your waist, fingers pressing into the skin lightly. You shiver at the feeling and start to consider the possibility that he actually does think that.

"And I will gladly," He punctuates the word with another kiss, this one evolving into a soft, sensual lick up towards your breasts which peak lustfully in response. Your breath hitches. "Spend all the time needed if you need some convincing of that."

His hands move, sliding down til he's gently knocking yours aside, big warms hands spread across your hips. His thumbs are moving, drawing soft motions down, you realise, towards your waistband. Your pulse jumps between your legs, the heat in your body uncaring about the brief interruption.

Steve kisses your tummy again, further down this time. You acutely realise you've got Steve Harrington between your thighs, looking up at you with darkened eyes and promising filthy things with his fingers. Or mouth. Both if you're lucky.

"So," Steve murmurs, voice raspy and low. His thumbs slip beneath your waistband, just an inch. "You gonna let me convince you?"

You're feeling pretty damn lucky.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

imagine being a shy little intern at jujutsu high and getting the fattest crush on gojo because he’s just. so strong and cool. you idolize him. you want to be his friend. and he seems to take a liking to you; he’s cheery and encouraging and sweet in a roundabout way. you feel like you’ve grown pretty close to him.

imagine him falling asleep right next to you on a sofa in the cafeteria. you can barely tell, with his blindfold still on. but you scurry away to find a blanket, happy that he trusts you enough to rest in your proximity, ready to wrap it around him —

only for it to slip right off. rejected by his infinity.

(he never turns it off, around you.)

[ramshackledtrickster]

I cant take Sade seriously when he pops up in unity this is just grimy discount Preminger

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

CW! needle n blood mention!! nothing graphic!! Just the sillies!!

When Darry pulls up in front of the house, the living room windows are thrown wide open. There's a breeze shifting the curtains gently back 'n forth 'n he can can just quietly hear the sounds of Dallas, Soda, Steve, Two, 'n Johnny from inside. Darry cuts the engine 'n rests his head against the truck door, window still rolled down.

He liked doin' this now 'n then. Pullin' up 'n just listenin'. Though Pony had accused him of bein' nosy, 'n it had come in handy a few times when Steve 'n Pony had gotten into fights since Pony was incapable of recountin' events without makin' himself sound better 'n Steve often acted like Pony was committin' a cardinal sin just by existin'. However, more often than not, Darry just liked to listen to 'em foolin' around. He was like his mama in that sense. She'd always loved just bein' in the kitchen when he would be horsin' around with the boys in the living room. Darry had never got it back then, but he could understand now.

'N then there were times like today.

"OUCH!" Pony hollers at the top of his lungs, followed quickly by Soda shushin' him.

"Oh hush, you're fine." Dallas dismisses the kid but Darry's already out 'n slammin' the truck door.

"Oh shit, was that Darry?'

"Pony shh you're fine-"

"Shit that's a lot of blood, is it supposed to bleed that much?" Darry throws open the front door 'n is greeted with the general sounds of all five boys rustlin' around.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" Pony's half crawled up in Soda's lap, starin' resolutely at the wall away from Darry. "Pony lemme see right now."

Pony glances over at him 'n Darry feels vomit crawl up his throat, throwin' his fist up in front of his mouth like he could push it back. Pony's got a needle juttin' through one nostril, blood pourin' down his face. Once Darry's gotten a look at him Pony immediately gives up the facade 'n throws himself at Darry.

"It huuurts!" Darry grabs him by the shoulders 'n holds him at arm's length. It's really not all that bad, if Darry has to guess they just managed to stick a vein 'n that's why he's bleedin' like a stuck pig. He pulls Pony in, adjustin' his head so he's turned to the side.

"Anyone wanna explain?" 'N now that he's really lookin' at them he realizes somethin' else.

"Uh, Darry?"

"Hey, man-"

"So, the thing is-"

"Oh my God." Soda's got a piece of ice chipped off the ice box pressed to his ear, where a silver stud is glintin'. Steve tries to tilt his face away but Darry catches the matchin' one in the top of his left ear. Two grins twistin' the ring through his lip. Dallas wiggles his eyebrow 'n then winces, the bar they've shoved through apparently still sore. That only left-

"Johnny. Do I wanna ask?" Darry fixes him with a stern glare 'n Johnny pales, glances at Dallas, 'n sticks out his tongue where they've managed to jab yet another earrin' through.

"Oh my God!" Darry digs his hands into Pony's shoulders 'n Pony winces. "Dallas Winston, you get that needle out of his nose, I'm gonna get the peroxide." Darry spins Pony around 'n gives him a none too gentle shove towards Dallas. He's grabbin' the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet when he hears Pony howl again 'n this time he doesn't feel nearly as bad.

When he returns to the living room they're all lined up, (mostly) shamefaced. Johnny's starin' down at the carpet, occasionally stickin' his tongue out to push the piercin' against his teeth 'n furrow his brow. He's rubbin' a hand between Pony's shoulders as Pony pouts Soda's twiddlin' his ear between his fingers 'n tryin' hard to not laugh. Steve's got his ears pinched between his fingers, moanin'. Two's still smirkin' a little 'n bitin' back on a snort every time he catches Soda's eye. Of the bunch, the only one without the decency to at least pretend to be remorseful is Dallas. Of course.

"Anyone wanna fess up?" Suddenly the walls, celin', 'n floor are infinitely more interestin' than usual. "Fine then, I'm gonna enjoy this. Pony, c'mere." Pony reluctantly shrugs off Johnny's hand 'n Soda 'n Two send him salutes like he was walkin' to the gallows.

Darry rolls his eyes, takin' him by the shoulder 'n guidin' him to the kitchen sink. "This is gonna hurt, sorry kiddo." He tilts his head over the drain 'n pours peroxide onto the pinprick hole through his nose. Pony wails like he was bein' shot. Darry lets out an almighty sigh.

"Glory, Pony, is he skinnin' you in there?" Two cracks 'n Darry leans back so he can see him through the doorway.

"You watch it or you're next, Two-Bit Mathews." Two throws his hands up in mock surrender 'n Soda stifles a laugh.

"Hey, a man just wants to know what he's got comin' to him."

"A kick in the ass if you don't shut up." Two clutches both hands to his heart 'n swoons into Soda's arms. Soda, who wasn't prepared even a little, immediately drops him. Steve howls. Darry rolls his eyes again 'n focuses back on Pony.

"Now hold still." He wets a paper towel 'n makes quick work of cleanin' up the dried blood. Pony pouts but doesn't fight back. "Now whose fool idea was this?"

Pony bites his lip, darts a glance into the living room. "No one." Darry whacks him a good one around the head 'n Pony whines again.

"Well, no one is about to earn everyone an ass kickin'." Pony hmphs but doesn't look like he's gonna offer any other explanation so Darry grabs him by the ear 'n leads him back into the living room, droppin' him unceremoniously on the couch. Steve chuckles 'n Pony flips him off.

He takes another good look at them 'n clocks Soda's still bleedin' a little so he snaps him up next 'n marches him to take his place at the sink.

"RIP Sodapop Curtis." Dallas mutters 'n Two 'n Steve snicker.

"Lilies at my funeral guys, Lillies." Soda calls over his shoulder 'n Darry gives him the same clip he gave Pony.

"You got anythin' to add?" Soda blinks up at him from where Darry has him craned down in the sink.

"You're lookin' mighty tired, maybe your favorite brother could offer you a back rub 'n we could pretend nothin' happened?" Soda tries for his best charmin' grin 'n Darry raises an eyebrow.

"Wrong answer." Darry pours the bottle out again 'n Soda hisses. "I expect you to use your head, lil buddy. Maybe I'd reckon this from Two or Dallas." He raises his voice a little so the offendin' parties can hear 'n they both make the huff indignantly.

"But you should know better. Pony too. 'N Johnny."" Pony whines wordlessly from the couch 'n Darry barrels on. He doesn't mention Steve. Though he'd expect better from him alone the two followed each other into trouble more than out of it. Darry pauses, pulls Soda out of the sink, pushin' his bangs away 'n studyin' the piercin'. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't heard anythin' from Johnny.

"You ok, kid?" There's half a second ok silence 'n then both Two 'n Dallas crack up.

"Uh Dar, I think the kid's havin' some trouble talkin'." Both Darry 'n Soda lean dangerously far back to see Johnny through the doorway. The kid is frantically noddin', dark curls boppin' across his forehead.

"I'm good." He answers but it comes out closer to thood. He immediately sticks his tongue out, silver bar gleamin', like the word tastes bad in his mouth.

The room, minus Darry, clingin' to seriosity by his fingertips, instantly dissolves into laughter. Darry snorts 'n quickly muffles it behind a cough. He releases Soda 'n points a finger to the space beside Pony on the couch. Soda plops down, takin' Pony's face in his hands 'n turnin' it this way 'n that.

"Think it'll scar?"

"I'd be more worried about the mark Darry's gonna leave on your ass if I were you." Pony shoves him off but Soda just laughs.

"C'mere, kiddo." Darry beckons a finger to Johnny 'n he pales. "I ain't gonna hurt you, hon. Ignore Soda." Soda gasps 'n Pony chucks a throw pillow at him.

He sits the kid down at the table 'n reaches into the ice box, breakin' off a chunk of the crystals around the sides. "Put that in your mouth. It'll stop hurtin' after a while." Johnny takes it gratefully. Darry watches him a moment more before returnin' to the living room. "Alright Dallas, get in here."

He makes quick work of the final three, who shed no further light on the situation. By the time he's got them all back on the couch he's gettin' dangerously close to stringin' them all up 'n callin' it a night.

"I'm goin' to take care of Johnny 'n if by the time I'm done y'all don't have a better answer to what compelled you all to this foolishness none of y'all will be steppin' out of this house but to go to work or school for the next two weeks, y'hear me?" The group nods sullenly 'n Darry turns on his heel back to the kitchen. Glory, he hopes they come up with somethin'. Havin' all six of 'em crowded in for that long might actually be more of a punishment for Darry.

"Alright kid, ready?" Johnny's lookin' a little sick but he nods again. Darry hands him the last dregs of the peroxide. "Don't swallow it, alright? Just swish it around for a minute 'n then spit it out." Johnny takes it, dutifully puttin' it in his mouth 'n wincin'. Darry tilts his head forward so he doesn't choke. He can hear the others frantically whisperin' in the other room 'n hopes for a good sign. Johnny's eyes keep dartin' back 'n forth between the doorway 'n Darry.

After a minute Darry hauls him up 'n leads him to the sink to spit. The second his mouth it empty he whips around with wide eyes.

"It wath my id-uh." Darry's jaw falls open 'n Johnny barrels on. "I'm thorry! I though it would be thuff. 'N Da-th-as already had the th-erwlry I'm thorry!" He stops solely to stick his tongue out again like he couldn't get used to the feelin'. He's still blinkin' at Darry with big eyes, bitin' at his lip like he's worries he's gonna pop him one. Darry's silent for a long moment before he can't help it anymore.

"Johnny Cade, what the hell am I gonna do with you." 'N he's suddenly laughin' so hard his ribs hurt. When he finally manages to stop howlin' the others have filed into the kitchen, Dallas has an arm slung around Johnny's shoulders 'n Johnny's lookin' only microscopically more relaxed.

"Well, that's that huh!" Two pulls the ice box open 'n pulls out the cake Soda had made last night.

"Oh absolutely not it isn't. Y'all are still on lockdown for the next week for not usin' your heads."

"Aw Darrr-"

"C'monnn-"

"Darryy-"

"Oh no, I won't hear anythin' about it." Dallas elbows Two in the ribs 'n they both get convinin' grins on their faces.

"Well, at least you'll be trapped in here with us." Soda hoots 'n Steve grins 'n they exchange a mischievous glance like they're already cookin' up some scheme.

"Oh, no siree. I'm gonna be out havin' myself a good ol' time without you bunch." Pony shrugs a shoulder 'n shoots him a dismissive scoff.

"Then whose gonna make us stay here 'n behave?" Steve elbows him hard 'n Pony yelps.

"Well," Darry reaches over 'n cuts himself a heapin' slice of the cake. "Johnny's your ringleader now, dealin' with y'all is punishment enough!"

[starryeyed-seer]

me: I'm not a bat

Mr pages: (stuffing novels under its robe): I must abscond

[raven-cl]

For day 9's prompt for @stmarchmm, fake dating/courting!

You Wanna Piss Off Your Parents (Date Me to Scare Them)

WC: 3,201 | CW: none | Rating General Audience | Read on AO3

Eddie stared at the amount of money left in his account, finding it to be way too short of all the presents he was about to have to get in the incoming month. He hummed to himself thinking when Dustin threw his head over his shoulder, pausing his reading of the latest X-Men comic.

"What're you humming about?" he asked.

Sighing, the alpha just shook his head, "nothin, I'm just looking at my account right now. It's a little low for Christmas."

Dustin nodded his head in understanding, staring off in thought before brimming a bright smile, chirping, "why don't you do that boyfriend for his thing, but like if you wanna piss off your parents?"

Eddie looked at him with annoyed belief at the suggestion. "What?"

"You know how people will post up flyers saying they'll be a bad boyfriend for hire for a day at Thanksgiving when people are with their families? You should do that," the beta elaborated.

Scoffing, the alpha said, "that's stupid, I'm not gonna do something like that," moving to put his money related items away.

"Suit yourself, I'm telling you, you'll knock it out of the park with just your looks alone," Dustin sighed, closing his comic. Eddie threw him a glare, about to say something before the beta interrupted him to say, "I gotta go now though, I told the guys I'd go to the arcade with them."

And with that Dustin made his way out of the trailer, comic book in hand leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts.

Even though the beta had already left, and he was doing other things, the alpha couldn't get the suggestion out of his head, finally he decided that it was worth a shot, heading towards the library to go get his flyer printed out.

----------

Steve walked on the sidewalk stewing, having left the house when his parents showed up, particularly pissed off at the way they started picking apart his appearance and life choices again. He hated having to spend Thanksgiving with them, having to deal with them for a whole week and he was still a few days away from being free of them.

He paced while he waited for the crossing sign, wondering what the hell to do to get back at them, to do anything to annoy them as much as they annoyed him when a piece of paper stuck to the walkway caught his eye.

The title of the paper read "Mad at your parents? Hire me as your alpha to ruin Thanksgiving by being obnoxious!"and it immediately piqued his interest. The omega read it over, checking out everything the alpha said he'd do and his prices, noting the tier system he had for what he'd do for what price.

The most expensive package was set to 200 where'd be willing to be overbearing at dinner, act incredibly unsavory towards the customer in front of their parents and be an overall annoyance as much as they could. There was a number listed at the bottom that he assumed had to be the alpha and decided that he'd give him a call, that this would be the way he'd get back at his parents.

Choosing to let off some more steam before he went home, he walked around for a little while more, finally choosing to go home when his feet started to hurt and luckily managed to go back just as his parents were leaving.

Immediately he headed straight for the phones, picking it up and dialing the number that was written on the flyer that he'd seen. He listened to the dial tone, waiting for it to switch to a voice when someone finally picked up and answered, "'Munson residence."

"Hey, is this uh, the piss off your parents alpha?" Steve started, his voice unsure.

Quickly the voice confirmed, "oh yeah, that's me. You inviting me out?"

"Yeah, yeah I do, I wanna get the full package, the most expensive one," the omega told him.

"Okay, can do. I accept cash payment up front before we hangout with your parents," the alpha said. Continuing on his sentence, "are there anything specific you want or need when I show up?"

Shaking his head as if the man on the other end could see, he answered, "no not really, just don't dress like you're some super rich pretentious asshole."

The alpha hummed into the phone then asked, "m'kay sweetheart, what's the address I'm showing up to?"

Steve rattled off his address to him and they worked out the little details of the alpha coming, like time and parking. Once they were finished, the omega hung up and began counting the seconds until Thanksgiving came.

----------

Eddie drove his van up the street of Loch Nora, looking for the house number that he was told over the phone. When he finally found it, he pulled in to their driveway, parking right where he was told to. He looked around, slightly nervous but powering through it, opening his door and stepping out.

Swiftly though the front door opened and closed and he heard footsteps jogging against the concrete towards him. The alpha was greeted by a rather cute omega nearly as tall as he was, with fluffied brown hair and matching brown eyes, wearing a long sleeved polo with a button up underneath and jeans.

"Hey, so you're Eddie right?" the omega asked, looking at him up and down.

Nodding his head, "yup, that's me. You're Steve?"

Steve confirmed his name, checking him out from head to toe again stating, "wow, yeah you look great, they'll hate you."

The omega chuckled as he gawked at him, the alpha giving him a humored huff, glad Steve was apparently happy with the fact Eddie wore something he'd wear anywhere else. "Anything's okay? Nothing you want me to specifically not do?" he asked, checking one more time for good measure.

"Everything's fine, just nothing too over the top I guess? Be obnoxious, not too crass," Steve clarified before reaching into his pocket. "Oh, here you go by the way, before I forget," stretching out his hand for the alpha to take his money.

With a smile the alpha pocketed it, saying, "okay let's go then," and placed a hand on the omega's hip, right by his ass as they made their way up the steps.

On they way up the steps, he began scenting Steve enough that he had a faint scent of the alpha on him. Once they passed the threshold, he subtly took in the house, amazed at just how large it was inside and how much free space was inside. When they entered there was a couple walking around the house, an older male alpha and an equally as old female omega, who he assumed were the parents he was there to piss off.

"Hey so this is my alpha Eddie that I was telling you about," the omega said, ushering Eddie to shake their hands. "Eddie, these are my parents."

He could see the way both of his parents, breath stilled as they looked at him, the father staring intently for a second at the hand on his son's hip, but still reached both their hands out to shake his.

"Hey it's nice to meet you guys," Eddie said with a smile, choosing to go a rather casual way of getting them but nothing too informal.

He could see the way the mother had a bit of a strained smile and thought about what a joy it was gonna be to mess with them. They greeted him back and they stood there rather awkwardly for a moment before the older omega broke the tension by suggesting they head over to the dinner table.

"So… Eddie," the older alpha started with an emphasize on his name, "what do you do for a living?" he asked as they all got seated, the parents sitting next to each other while Steve sat next to Eddie.

"I work as a mechanic," he lied, answering him with a warm smile as he accepted his plate from the omega. The table was already set and he immediately began scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate before the omega's father could get a chance to.

He purposefully ignored the subtle incredulous stare he got from the older couple, although he did notice the way Steve was biting his cheek to keep from smiling. From the moment they met, the omega's scent was sweet, blooming happy vanilla sweet pheromones as he had gotten closer to the alpha.

It was cute and smelled delicious, and Eddie couldn't help but keep his scent matching his, even with the way he was purposefully getting on Steve's parents nerves.

After blinking away the shock at the sheer audacity and reaching for the spoons, the father asked, "are you in school?

"Nope, I'm just mainly working for right now," the alpha answered easily, carefully peering out the side of his eye to not make it obvious, watching as Steve was hiding his face while he served his own plate.

Not skipping a beat, the older omega asked, "do you ever plan on going to school for something, I don't know," taking a breath and looking around as if she was figuring out how to phrase her words, "for a grander job?"

"Maybe at some point, not right now for sure though," Eddie said, getting a quick glance from the both of them.

It was quiet for a while, neither parent apparently knowing what to say before Steve's mother quipped up, "so, where did you guys meet?"

"At the mechanic shop actually, I was the one working on his car," Eddie said, organizing the his plate to have a spot for the turkey.

"Oh, was there something wrong with his car that he just… hadn't told us about?" She questioned.

"No, nothin' like that, just getting a check up is all," he finished, looking up towards the turkey once he felt he had sufficient space.

Sighing, his mother huffed, "Steve, why don't you have some peas, they're not there for just decoration."

Taking a deep exasperated breath, the omega said back, "I've said I don't like them."

Rolling her eyes she meanly pointed out, "well at least your boyfriend isn't a picky eater," looking down at his plate that had a little bit of everything on it. From this close, he could smell the way Steve's scent slightly faltered. Hoping to cheer him up just a bit, he brushed their ankles together, sneaking in a look at him.

The older alpha held out his hand stopping Eddie even though he hadn't made a move at all, saying out loud to everyone although he knew he was specifically talking to him, "I'll be carving the turkey for us." The young alpha shared a small glance with the omega, a grin blooming on his face once he saw Steve was smiling about how his parents were clearly bothered.

As the omega's father started cutting into turkey, plating his wife's plate, Steve's mother asked the pair, "so how long have you two been going out?"

A smile still plastered on his face, he turned to look at the omega, not knowing how long they were supposed to be dating when Steve swiftly spoke up, answering, "just for a couple months."

"A couple months? And we're only hearing and meeting him now?" his father asked incredulous.

"Well it just never came up and I didn't know when to introduce you guys. Thanksgiving seemed as good of a time as any," the omega told him. That earned him an unapproving look from the older alpha but that was the last of it. Steve reached his plate over, letting his father plate it with the turkey. Once his was done, Eddie mimicked the motion, letting himself be served as well.

When everything was set, Eddie immediately began eating alongside Steve, shoving the food into his mouth without being too messy.

The mother looked at him for a minute with her brow furrowed before she began eating herself. She tried making conversation again, referring to the alpha, "so did you grow up around here?"

Eddie hummed an affirmative, "yeah I've been in Hawkins my whole life."

"So you went to the same school and everything as Steve here?" the older alpha quipped.

Nodding his head, "yup, I was just two years above him."

"Oh so you're older than he is?" she asked, looking over at him.

Once again he just hummed a confirmation, not answering them properly and he could see out the corner of his eye the way they were becoming more agitated with him.

"Are you planning on staying in Hawkins or do you plan on trying to move to a new city at some point?" his father asked, though with his tone it was starting to be more of an interrogation.

Casually, like he had no idea that he was annoying them, "uh, I'm just going with the wind y'know, going wherever it wants to take me." He could practically see the gears turning in the older alpha's head, forming a highly negative opinion about Eddie.

They ate in an awkward silence for a little bit, Steve and Eddie occasionally bumping their feet together want sharing pleased glances. After awhile, his parents foolishly tried again to make small talk. "Do you ever plan on courting of having children with our little Steve?" his father asked, gesturing towards the omega as he spoke.

"Oh I hope to pup your son someday," Eddie said with a smug grin, putting a hand that was clearly high up on the omega's thigh even from their obscured view on the other side of the table.

Nervously chuckling the older omega said, "don't do anything too hasty," shifting her eyes back and forth from Eddie and her son's now flushed face.

"Don't worry I won't do anything too untoward until I've courted him proper and we're together" and it was obvious that his mother did not like that, not with the way her eye slightly twitched at his implication that they'd still be doing things before being tied down together. The older alpha also gave him a disapproving look, lightly tapping his fork against his plate.

They left it at that, finally deciding that it just wasn't worth it trying to talk to him anymore, eating in silence. Soon after they finished their meal, all of them getting up once everyone was done. Eddie grabbed his plate, planning on taking it to the sink only to have it taken from him by Steve's mother.

He put his hand back on Steve's waist, watching as the omega's parents walked around. Steve guided him back into the main room where they stood, waiting for his parents to finish up so the alpha could leave as per their agreement.

It didn't take long for the married couple to come meet them, both of their postures tense as they stared the alpha down.

"Okay, well I think I gotta get out of here, gotta making stuff everything's alright at home with my uncle y'know?" the alpha said with a grin, stroking Steve's side before giving it a few pats.

His parents nodded and Eddie reached out his hand towards them to shake it, waiting for one of them to take it up before he said, "it was nice to meet the both of you."

"Same to you," the older alpha gritted out, settinghis hands on his hips as he waited for the Eddie to leave.

Looking over to Steve who was glancing at the three of them, he finally spoke up, "I'm gonna walk him out," pulling at him. The pair turned on their heel and walked out the door, strolling down the driveway.

"Oh my god, did you see they faces?" Steve giggled, "man they couldn't stand you, I'm sure they're glad the both of us are outside right now."

The alpha laughed with him, letting his touch linger longer than he needed to on his waist, still keeping a warm hand on it. The alpha moved to stand in front of him, about to make his way to the driver's side when he noticed a movement in the window.

"By the way, Steve, don't look now but your parents are standing right in the window staring at us," he told him, keeping a subtle eye on what they were doing.

"Holy shit, no way they're watching us right now," the omega huffed, rolling his eyes though he was still smiling.

Giving him an amused look Eddie asked, "you wanna seal the deal? Make em really think we're together?"

A blush spread brightly across the omega's cheek and he thought he was the cutest thing, happy when Steve agreed to it. The alpha cradled the omega's face before leaning in to kiss him, checking to make sure his parents were still watching when they pulled back. Sure enough they were though they quickly left and he smirked, finally bidding Steve goodbye and driving all the way home, slightly mourning the fact that he'd probably never get to see Steve again.

----------

"Who was the person you went out with anyways?" Dustin asked, as he watched Eddie sew on a patch on his jacket.

"Some little rich omega named Steve," Eddie answered, focused on pulling the needle through the denim material.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, he lives on Loch Nora," the alpha replied, holding back the jacket to check how much he had left to do.

You went out with my fucking babysitter?!" that caused the alpha to look up from his planning, staring at him with wide eyes, the beta staring at him with an equal expression.

"Steve?? Steve is your babysitter? Tall, brown hair, lotta moles?" Eddie asked, gesturing to his body.

"Yes, that's him!" the beta exclaimed, pausing and squinting his eyes before asking, "did you like him?

His tongue got stuck in his throat before he managed to cough out, "yeah I thought he was really cute."

"Do you wanna date him? He's looking for an alpha he's just bad at flirting," Dustin said bluntly, watching the alpha for an answer.

"I mean- yeah, okay sure. I'd love to take him on a date, a proper one this time. Where I'm not… Trying to just upset his parents," Eddie replied honestly.

Nodding his head, he replied, "okay it's settled then, you guys are going out then."

"Hold on, how do you even know he wants to go out with me?" the alpha asked puzzled, looking up with a confused look on his face.

Shrugging like it was nothing, the beta told him, "well he mentioned that he met an alpha he likes but doubts he'll meet again and you're the only alpha he was with recently so. It has to be you."

At those words, the small grin began spreading on the alpha's face, Steve liked him and liked him enough to hangout again but didn't want to ask. Knowing that the beta was not going to let this go, Eddie continued sewing patches on his jacket, knowing soon enough he'd be meeting the omega again to have a date proper.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: he still dreams of you and wishes for another chance to make you his, some lines are inspired by hakujitsu by king gnu

warnings: reader is rather lively/bubbly,

notes: TYSM FOR 100 !!!, a/n (yapping) in tags

wc: 1800

Hoshina Soushirou still dreamt of you. Every once in a while, you’d come to visit him in his sleep and it would make him believe that a miracle had occurred, that he had another chance. Every time, he would tell himself that he would never let this go, that he would give it his absolute all this time.

Yet, every time, he would wake up from this dream.

And every time, he would feel his heart drop at the realization of that. He was disappointed, and he knew, but there was no reason to be. It wasn't like anything had happened between the two of you. He liked to believe there was something going on— something more than mere acquaintances or friends, but he knew there wasn't. It must've been all in his head because the last time he had heard of you was before you were moved to the first division. He hadn't heard a single word from you since then, nor has he said anything— but that was just the way it was. There was nothing to do at this point anyway.

He wasn’t with you for all that long, and it was probably just the fact that both of you joined at the same time that naturally started the first conversation. He was far more weary of everything and far less cheerful at the time, and you didn't even work with him most of the time being a researcher, but you didn’t mind that one bit. If you had something you wanted to say, you would tell him and he’d just have to listen. At first, he had no idea why you kept talking to him when he paid hardly any mind, but after a while, he found comfort in your conversations. He had started to look forward to talking to you.

It had only been a few months before the defense force noticed how spectacular your work was and quickly called you over to the first division. There wasn’t a tearful farewell, or even a casual goodbye for that matter. You disappeared along with a cheerful ‘I’ll see you around!’ while you were moving your boxes out and he would hear those words ring in his head for the years to come— in your voice. Yet, at the time, all he could do was force a smile and nod.

It had been so many years since you had moved, he didn’t even know what you looked like now. Probably still stunning. Definitely still stunning. Although he had the chance to see the 1st division officers a lot, you were a researcher who worked behind the scenes. Naturally, there was no reason he'd bump into you, and he didn’t. He never did.

He loved to remember you, but he hated to think about you. He loved to remember the way you would laugh at his silly jokes, the way you would ramble on about the work you had to do daily but would still put in your all, and the way you would always visit him with some cold tea when he trained late into the night if you were still up as well. Actually, he hated thinking about the tea— it would make him start thinking about you. He would think about how you were now, if you were still pilled with work, and if you remembered him.

If he bumped into you, would you remember his name? Maybe if he cracked a lame joke. Maybe if he gave you a few days to think about it. Maybe if he started listing the things you talked about— his most treasured memories. Maybe then you’d say his name again.

See? This is why he hated thinking about you— he had things to be doing.

It wasn't like this happened everyday and it wasn't that big of a deal. It just ruined his day a little when it did happen. So if he had to say, he hated dreaming of you.

As you took over his thoughts again, the emergency alarm started to buzz, as if to tell him to snap out of it. He was thankful, he couldn't still be daydreaming like this.

A smaller-sized identified grade kaiju had appeared near the first division quarters, so the third division was doing more backup work this time. Hoshina was taking care of the smaller kaiju in the vicinity that had spawned from the presence of the honju. It felt nice for him to be doing work, it took his mind off his ramblings and cleared his head. He wasn't too worried about the honju, however. Although it was an identified grade, it wasn't anything they hadn't dealt with before and as much as he liked to tease Narumi about how he was always better at smaller kaiju neutralization, he knew Narumi was extraordinary at what he did.

At least that would have been true for any other kaiju of that size and strength, but Narumi seemed to be struggling far more than expected with this one. From his earpiece, he heard Okonogi notify him that the 1st division was asking to send Narumi some help if possible, and he immediately rushed over.

Yet, by the time he got there, Narumi had already neutralized the kaiju in question, although horribly beat up.

“I don't need your help, Hoshina!” Narumi still managed to yell while on the floor, absolutely bleeding out.

“Oh, shut up, do you want to die?” Hoshina asked. It didn't take an expert to see that Narumi’s condition was concerning.

Narumi soon fell quiet, probably unconscious, while Hoshina found his earpiece lying on the floor near him. He picked it up, hoping it'd connect to the first division just in case they had lost connection to his vitals.

“He's unconscious right now, but he seems to still be breathing. However, he's bleeding dangerously from multiple spots. I think a few ribs might also be broken,” Hoshina said. “There aren't any kaiju nearby at the moment and I'll take care of them if any do come— bring the stretcher right away.”

He waited a moment, but there was no response from the earpiece.

“Hello?” he asked, hoping for a response. After another moment, he heard it.

“Hoshina…?”

It was you. He would still recognize your voice from anywhere. Oh, how he missed you. His eyes were wide and he had nothing to say all of a sudden. You remembered him. You recognized his voice.

You remembered his name.

“Thank you for your report, we lost connection to some of his vitals halfway through. The medics should be there in a few minutes,” you said.

“I'll stand by,” Hoshina said and kept Narumi's earpiece in his ear. He had nothing he wanted to tell you, not one thing in mind, but he wanted to be on the line with you— even in silence. The medics came in a few minutes like you had told him and took care of Narumi right away.

“They got here, he should be fine now,” Hoshina said, as if you didn't already know. He just wanted something to say to you.

“I missed working with you,” you said and he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps he'd wake up from this dream again. Perhaps he'd open his eyes and be utterly disappointed again. But he knew there wasn't even a hint of romantic affection in your words, just the respect you've always had for the work he did, and how you missed doing this job with him. And he did too.

“Yeah, I did too,” he said. “I still do.”

You chuckled a little and he could still picture you smiling. “That made my entire year,” you said. “Probably not the time for this, but we should catch up sometime. If you don't mind, of course.”

Made your year. What did you mean by that? And If he didn't mind? Oh, you didn't know how many times he's dreamed of this day.

“I'd love to,” he said. While he was a little embarrassed to imagine the rest of the first-division team hearing this conversation, that was not going to stop him. He'd be an absolute fool to let this chance go. He has promised himself to give it his all this time.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked quietly.

“Sorry?” you asked, hoping he'd repeat that. You heard it, but you were afraid you were so delusional you were starting to hear things. Your heartbeat quickened and you waited patiently, hoping it wasn't all in your head.

“Do you have a lover?” he asked a little more clearly, but obviously still nervous and flustered. You had never seen him like this, ever.

“No,” you replied, a little too quickly. “I do not.”

Relief washed over him and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Oh, thank goodness you didn't have access to his vitals. He was going to make you fall for him somehow.

“…do you?” you asked quietly, after a moment.

“Me?” he asked. “No, I don't.”

“I see,” you said, but he could hear the soft delight in your voice. He would never miss it.

Perhaps he'd just go for it. There was nothing for him to lose at this point, and he had made his feelings plenty obvious already. If you didn't want him, he'd just try again. He's tried countless times in his dreams already, what's a few more?

“But I'd love to be yours,” he said and heard you gasp quietly. That one he couldn't read. Was that a little too bold? Far too sudden?

“Did I hear that right?” he faintly heard you scream, asking your fellow first division coworkers. That made him laugh, you hadn't changed one bit. “I’ve loved you forever, Hoshina.”

There was absolutely no way. He was going to wake up soon, he just knew it. Well, might as well indulge in the dream for now, then.

“I've definitely loved you for longer,” he said.

“Hoshina, I'm going to kill you if this is a dream,” you said, and that caught him off guard. Yet, even that sounded nice to him, and that made him smile. He'd get to see you, at least.

But it wasn't a dream. The way your voice fluttered his heart could never be felt through a dream. The way your laugh filled his soul could not possibly make him feel so warm through a mere dream.

“I cannot wait to see you,” you said softly, your voice so full of love it made him melt.

He couldn't either, but that wasn't exactly what he had on mind this entire time.

“And I cannot wait to kiss you.”

[francy-sketches]

hating on game of thrones in current year is a bit cringe like girl move on etc. However my complaints are more specific than the average person so I can at least feel like I'm bringing something new to the table. Instead of writing the one bilionth 'they butchered dany we were robbed' post I'm instead going on coke rants about how they character assasinated jaime by making him unfunny and how they didn't give my favorite irrelevant minor characters enough emotional depth and actually now that I'm saying it out loud that sounds worse

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game