#I'm weak for this trope

[mionkings]

Making Heads Turn 🫨

Jason had become a father to a little baby boy, taking him in when he found the poor thing on the streets, in a cardboard box, wrapped in a space themed blanket.

While the obstacles a new parent goes through is tough. He knows it's worth it to have Danny, his baby, his son in his life. He doesn't regret adopting him.

Danny is now at the stage of his little life that he babbles and giggles, Jason always had fun having a conversation with his baby. Although Jason's sure that his hair is getting whiter with the chaos Danny brings now ever since Danny's baby brain realized that he can CRAWL to PLACES >:D

However this new development... is a little strange.

Whenever Jason puts Danny down in his crib to make dinner or any other important errand. Danny will begin to babble to the air, as if his little tyke is trying to talk to someone, making grabbing hands and scooching over to grab someone's attention.

It sent a slight shiver down his spine...

Ever since he made his introduction to Gotham as Red Hood, for the first time to those gang leaders with the bang of the AK-47. Taking over the Gotham underworld by storm with anger and precision.

He always felt a chill down his spine... When he was alone, yet... the Pit Madness flared everytime, making him feel enraged and paranoid. As if he was just waiting for a fight... for a confrontation...

Being alone in his apartment, having nightmares, more like repressed memories of what he had done... Lots of things, but for some reason—his mind... keeps going back to the moment he threw that duffel bag at the table infront of the gang leaders that night... the night he went after the lieutenants, taking their heads.

He doesn't know why.

But ever since the precious cargo that was his baby Danny, arrived in his life. That all went away as he took care, fed, and loved his baby boy.

Jason never had an episode with Danny; he couldn't bare the thought of hurting the child.

Jason was even having less episodes when he was with the Bats!

The chills; however, Jason still feels them occasionally... but they would always disappear the moment Danny would demand attention or to nap.

And instead he would feel something else hang over his baby everytime Danny slept peacefully...

———

Second ever DPxDC prompt that I've ALSO been getting brainrot over ❤️ I'm having fun 😄

Basically this prompt idea is Jason adopting a baby Danny, while seemingly unaware that he's being haunted/watched by the people's he's killed to become a crime lord. More specifically, being haunted by the heads/headless ghosts of the lieutenants Jason killed as Red Hood.

While Jason can't seem to see them, he can feel 'chills' from them. Danny, however, CAN see them mostly because I based this on that thing where babies/toddlers can see spirits in those typical YouTube videos that list ToP 5 ScArY gHOstZ VidEOz!1!1

Whatever happened though, this causes the ghosts to instead focus more on Danny than on Jason.

How much will Jason freak the fuck out when he finds out? Who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Although Danny is absolutely having fun here ^^

Anyways, I might add extra stuff soon to this!

[cinnamelle]

don't ever let go of what's beloved

[shenzhiheng]

Love Senior The Series » Episode 1

[gaishnik]

mentally I'm here

[lily-s-world]

I don’t know who oversees the casting of the Ocean’s movies, but the person that took a look to these two siblings:

And said, “You know who their parents should be? Barbie and Ken!!”

Deserves a gigantic raise.

[escapingarchives]

Consider:

Nureyev’s going undercover as a hypnotist for a show at a grand party of the wealthy (somewhere in the estate is a safe with some very important schematics he'd like to get his hands on).

He researches extensively, first pouring over books and then spending hours choosing outfits, rehearsing flourishes and precise movements. He’s also researching the heist itself, of course. But this time, Juno seems more annoyed with all the time he spends on his research. Juno lounges on the bed watching his boyfriend practicing his entrance over and over, only interrupted by occasional dives to double check his books.

Juno huffs and breaks the silence.

“What a bunch of bullshit, can you believe people actually think this hypnosis shit works? Controlling other people with your voice, my ass.” He rolls his shoulders, they've been tense for days, and the pain is worsening his mood.

“Oh now, it’s a performance like any other,” Nureyev replies, “but my research shows people can be put in a trance, can be hypnotized, provided they want it themselves. One cannot make someone do something against their will. They must want to be hypnotized, to let go and be open and obedient. It's quite interesting."

“Can’t see why anyone would want that at all.” Juno says in a snappy retort, but he considers it in his head. Being in a trance, mind blank, just floating and being open to... whoever’s in control. He’d hate it, of course, he’d feel way too vulnerable. Even more so in front of a crowd, at a show of all things. He needs to always be alert.

But…

Sometimes he just wants a break from it all, even his own head. Especially his own head. To relax and leave himself in the hands of... well. Maybe he can see the appeal, just a little.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. Nureyev just hums, practising how he'll pick his pendant out of his front pocket.

“Juno,” he says after a while, “since you’re not receptive to actually being hypnotized, can I test the act on you? Then you can tell me how it looks, without being distracted.” He smiles, one of his canines peeking out.

“Yeah, alright,” Juno replies, trying to sound nonchalant. He sits up at the edge of the bed, stretching a little, ignoring the little jump of excitement he feels for a brief moment. “But I’m still gonna tell you whenever you sound way too ridiculous.”

Nureyev's smile widens, and Juno's eye focus on his sharp teeth. “Wonderful, Juno.”

Nureyev starts with his grand entrance, speaking to the imaginary audience. Juno’s both in awe at his confidence and ability to glide seamlessly into the role, through the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

He resists the temptation to make a snide remark when Nureyev adresses an invisible audience member with the tales of his past deeds.

“… and I shall do it all, with this!” Nureyev reveals the crystal pendant he’s fastened to a chain in a dramatic flourish. “Now, esteemed audience, please quiet down so I can demonstrate my abilities on this lovely lady.”

He sits on a chair in front of Juno. “Now please Juno, focus on the crystal. Let your thoughts clear. All that matters is to keep your eye on the crystal, and listen to my voice…”

Juno rolls his eye, but still leans forward. Nureyev holds the crystal up by the chain so it catches the light, and starts swinging it slowly back and forth.

"That looks really stupid," Juno remarks.

Nureyev shushes him.

It’s a pretty jewel, probably worth quite a lot. Juno wonders where Nureyev stole it. It’s a deep violet that shifts from a sparkling, deep blue, into a gold-speckled pink. It naturally grabs his attention, swinging back and forth. The swinging part still looks stupid. But maybe it would be nice to...

The pendant swings, and Nureyev keeps talking in his smooth voice. This might not be so bad, after all. Juno doesn’t feel vulnerable, there’s nothing to be worried about, he knows he’s safe with Nureyev. Who’s currently speaking, but Juno can’t recall what he’s been saying. He focuses on Nureyev’s steady voice again; he loves listening to that melodic voice.

“You feel the tension leave your jaw, your neck, your chest, arms, that’s it, relax…”

It’s surprisingly easy, Juno thinks, to relax. Usually it’s hard to let go of all the tension that sits in his body. It's such a constant part of him that it almost feels strange how easy it melts from his limbs.

“… your stomach, your legs..."

He's breathing more deeply now, he notices. It's comfortable where he sits on the bed, letting his eye follow the pretty pendant that catches the light. He's safe here.

"...very good, relax for me, you're doing so well."

Juno feels warm at that. He's glad he's doing well. Nureyev's voice really suits this kind of thing, he thinks. Smooth and low and inviting. Juno wants to tell him he sounds nice, but he's so relaxed. It can wait. He struggles to keep his eye open.

"... even more relaxed and sleepy, and you'll only let go on my count - wait, Juno?"

The pendant stops for a moment. Juno lets out a low, protesting sound. It's very hard, but Juno lifts his heavy eye to Nureyev's face. He was doing well, wasn't he?

"Are you really -?" Nureyev says softly.

Juno's so relaxed and comfortable, he felt so close to letting go and now he's confused about what Nureyev's even talking about. He manages a questioning "hmm?"

Nureyev stares at him for a long moment, considering, and then he smiles again, showing his sharp teeth. He cups Juno's face, and it feels nice, so Juno leans into it.

"Oh Juno, you are too lovely, " Nureyev says and holds up the pendant again, swinging the beautiful crystal. "Look back at the crystal and keep listening. That's it, well done, and you feel yourself gliding back into the comfortable feeling. Just focus on my voice and how good it feels."

Juno's eye is following the jewel again, how it catches the light, his breathing evening out. He feels like he's enveloped in a soft blanket.

"When I count down, you will feel even more relaxed at every step. When I reach zero, you will sleep for me. You'll be fully under, open, and relaxed. No need to be distracted, just be in the moment, no need to think of anything else..."

Distantly, Juno hears Nureyev speak for another minute, then he starts to count down from ten. For every number, he feels heavier, and more and more comfortable. It's so easy to let go. He wants to let go, to let Nureyev take care of him. Vaguely, he realizes he's wanted it ever since Nureyev introduced him to his newest con. Blank, soft, mindless. Quiet. Juno wants that, and he trusts Nureyev. Of course he does.

"Zero. Sleep for me, Juno."

Juno does.

[slime-sandwhich-nom]

I love them alright, they are so insane

[gusucloud]

“Foreheads have more stars than the night sky.” M.B. Johnson

[andtheirmoonlight]

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 14

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | AO3

-----

Everyone does end up having to go home. Except him, obviously, and Steve, whose house Eddie has learned he's apparently going to be squatting in until they can figure out a way to clear his name.

Is it squatting if he's invited? Eh, whatever.

Nancy and Robin swing by to drop off the prescriptions they'd picked up for Eddie. Both of them linger, long enough that Eddie thinks they might just stay - kind of wants them to stay, torn between wanting to be alone with Steve and not wanting to be alone with Steve.

Robin hugs Steve really tight, and he folds her up in his arms and holds her close, just staying like that for a long, long few minutes, talking so quietly they can't be heard. Nancy takes both their hands and squeezes when they're done, and surprises Eddie by giving his hand a squeeze as well. Robin looks like she kind of wants to launch herself at Eddie and hug him, too, but she settles for ruffling his hair, and then grimacing when her hand comes away grimy.

He laughs at her, and they promise to check in tonight, then they both leave.

Mrs. Sinclair comes to pick up Lucas and Erica and Max, and Eddie stays out of sight with his heart hammering in his throat, but they don't venture beyond the front hallway. Eddie can't quite make out what she says as she picks them up, but her tone is low and worried, and there's an underlying note of a familiarity, a gratitude, as she speaks briefly to Steve.

Eddie wonders, again, how long they've all been doing this. How many times their parents have worried about them, how many times Steve has apparently brought them home safely, looking beat to hell.

Mrs. Henderson is much louder when she comes to collect Dustin, though she doesn't go into the living room either. He can hear her fussing over the bandages around Steve's neck, asking how bad it is, sounding only mildly reassured when he tells her that it wasn't as bad as Starcourt. She asks him to come stay with her and Dustin, and Eddie thinks he can hear something like longing in Steve's voice when he declines, promising to come to dinner next week instead.

Then it's just him and Steve.

Steve collapses on the recliner, tipping his head back. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the long line of his throat, the stretch of tendons and muscle broken up by white gauze.

His mouth goes dry.

"I've got a guest room ready for you upstairs," Steve says.

His throat works as he speaks, and it takes Eddie a moment to process it.

"Fuck," Eddie mumbles. "Stairs, really?"

Steve laughs softly, tipping his head back up. "Yeah. It's got an ensuite and the bed's decent, we can set you up a lot better in there."

Eddie swallows. He wants to ask why Steve's doing this for him, but he's a little bit afraid of the answer, so he just makes an exaggerated whine of complaint.

It works to make Steve chuckle again, at least, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be glad once you're in an actual bed. Look, I'll get you some food and your next dose of meds first, just hang tight for a bit."

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, but honestly, Steve's probably right. He must doze off a little, because the next thing he knows, Steve is gently shaking him awake, helping him sit up, and giving him something.

"What's this?" he asks, blinking blearily down at the bowl Steve handed him. It kind of looks like chunky baby food, though it smells pretty good.

"Oh, uh, frozen shepherd's pie," Steve says. "Not a lot to work with right now, we'll have to see about a grocery run soon. But I figure it's probably at least better than snacks and hospital food."

Eddie shrugs. "Not exactly a picky eater over here," he says as he digs in.

It's warm, and tastes a hell of a lot better than it looks. Like meatloaf and mashed potatoes all mixed up together, all hearty and comforting.

"S'good," he mumbles around a full mouth, prompting Steve to make a face at him.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, gross," Steve bitches.

Eddie feels compelled to stick his tongue out at him, still with some mashed potato remnants stuck to it, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"You make this?" Eddie asks, once he's swallowed the rest of the potato.

"Yeah." Steve scratches the back of his neck, just above the bandage. "Sometimes I'll freeze up smaller portions if I make something big, so I have stuff to grab when I'm in a hurry. Or when I've got recuperating metal-heads in my living room."

Eddie huffs a little laugh. "That a common occurrence? And here I thought I was special," he teases.

"You're something," Steve returns, though the grin he gives him is wide and fond as he reaches for the prescription bag Robin'd dropped off, pulling out the pair of bottles within and reading them over. "You're not due for your antibiotics yet, but you can have the pain meds."

He opens the bottle up, then pauses, frowning down into it. "Did they give you the wrong prescription?"

Ah.

"No," Eddie says, feeling exhausted.

"But we have the same meds, and mine is like. Four times this amount, even though your injuries are way worse, infection aside," Steve says, looking back up at him with his brow furrowed.

"They said it's because I left against medical advice."

Steve snorts. "That's a load of crap."

Eddie sighs. "What do you want me to tell you, Steve? You know what my side job is. The whole town does. Every time I go to the ER for something, to them, I'm just drug seeking."

Steve looks stricken, and god, Eddie's not sure he can take any well meaning pity right now. He kind of wants the couch to just swallow him up.

There's just silence, though, and then Steve's jaw sets in determination. He gets up, leaving Eddie floundering a little and staring after him as he walks into the kitchen, returning with a bottle that looks almost identical to the one Eddie was given.

He sits back down, popping them both open, and promptly tips his bottle to start dumping his own pills into Eddie's.

"Whoa, hey, what the fuck!" Eddie struggles to get up without hurting himself or dropping his bowl, gives up, and tries his best to glare at Steve from his position on the couch under the blankets.

"You need them more," Steve says stubbornly. "It's not like I'm going to take them, anyway."

Fuck, that's worse than pity, and Eddie feels his blood boil.

"No, of course not." Eddie sneers. "Is His Majesty above such petty things like pain? Would he rather muscle through on sheer meathead determination than turn to drugs like the lower class?"

Steve goes very still. "Do you really think that?" he asks quietly.

Eddie opens his mouth to snap that he doesn't have to think it, that Steve just showed him it, but - he looks at the expression on Steve's face instead, how it's gone closed off but it isn't hard, isn't angry. It's just blank. Abruptly, Eddie feels wrong-footed, like he'd fallen back on old habits and responded as the guy everyone thinks he is, to the guy he used to think Steve was.

"No," he says, just as quietly. "I don't really think that."

Steve's frozen exterior melts a little, and he shakes a pair of pills out into his hand, holds them out for Eddie to take. Eddie does, swallows them dry, and shovels another spoon of shepherd's pie into his mouth to keep it occupied. Steve looks like he's thinking about something, and Eddie doesn't want to risk saying something to throw him off.

"It's not that I'm trying to muscle through," Steve says, apparently coming to a decision. "I was drugged last time we dealt with Upside Down shit, it was a whole thing." He waves his hand. "I was high as hell for some of what was going down, and it was. Not a great time."

Eddie tries to imagine fighting off the demobats while drugged out of his mind, and goes a little pale. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Steve says. "I can't really do anything stronger than alcohol or the occasional joint now."

"Fuck," Eddie says, softer and with more feeling. "Jesus Christ, I'm such an ass, why do you even like me?"

Steve opens his mouth, and Eddie flails, slapping his hand over Steve's mouth before he can say anything.

"Nope, nuh-uh, this is an apology, not a ploy to get you to say nice things about me," Eddie insists. "Okay?"

Steve's laughing at him, he can tell just by his eyes, but he waits until Steve nods before he pulls his hand away.

"That's not what I think of you," Eddie says again. "I got defensive and lashed out, and it wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

The laughter in Steve's eyes fades, and he looks - caught out, all surprised and vulnerable, and he's staring at Eddie with something like wonder.

It makes Eddie squirm, feeling both like he doesn't know what he did to get that look and like he never wants it to stop.

"Thank you. Apology accepted." Steve's quiet for a moment before adding, "I'm sorry, too. I could tell you were upset but you didn't want sympathy, so I just."

He shrugs, and Eddie's going to press him more about what he just, but first - "You could tell?"

"Yeah. Your face does this thing - you're usually so expressive, but you just kind of shut down, like you're resigned."

Oh. Fuck. He hadn't realized Steve noticed him like that, and he focuses really hard on the other thing he wanted to push about to avoid thinking about it too much. "So you just?"

Steve gives him a crooked little smile. "Jumped to fixing it. Robin says I have this thing, where if someone I care about is upset and I don't know what else to do, I try to fix it. But sometimes how I try to fix it and what they want are different things."

Eddie's mouth opens, and before he knows it he's said, "I'm okay with that."

Steve blinks at him. "Really?"

Eddie'd shrug, but he's not sure his shoulder - or his entire torso - is up for the motion right now, so he just tries to look as casual as possible while half huddled on the couch, in hospital scrubs. "Yeah. People don't try to fix things for me, not unless it's my uncle. Might be kind of nice."

"Oh." Steve's got this look on his face like he doesn't know what to do with that - maybe he hasn't gotten many people who let him try to fix things for them.

Which, fair enough. Under any other circumstances, Eddie'd probably be one of those, just - he doesn't think he's lying, even not touching the fact that Steve hadn't reacted to what he said. "I'm probably going to be a dick about it when I'm not recovering from being half dead, though," he adds, just to be safe.

Steve snorts. "You've met just about all of my friends, man, that's nothing new. Usually I do a decent job at figuring out when they're just being dicks and when I'm actually going too far, but they're good about telling me when I don't get it right. They do it when I'm being too much of a dick, too."

"I can do that," Eddie decides. "Tell you if you're going too far."

He probably shouldn't make decisions right after leaving the hospital against medical advice, but screw it, he's doing it anyway.

"Okay," Steve says after another moment of consideration, then narrows his eyes at him. "I'm still taking a rain check on telling you all the things I like about you. It's getting to be kind of a long list."

Eddie gapes at him. Fuck, he can feel his cheeks burning, and he really hopes he can blame it on the bite wounds or the pain meds.

Hopes Steve won't ask, because he knows that would be a lie.

"Go away," he says, curling over his bowl so he doesn't have to look at Steve. "Let me eat my luxury baby food in peace before I have to drag my ass up all those stairs."

Steve laughs at him again, but it isn't mean, and he does leave, heading upstairs to - Eddie doesn't really know what Steve Harrington does with his free time when he's not ripping apart demobats or complaining about babysitting, actually.

Huh.

He thinks he might like to find out.

He shovels the rest of his shepherd's pie down methodically, then sets the bowl down on the coffee table and eyes the stairs. Despite his earlier words, he's pretty sure there's no way he's going to make it up them on his own. He pulls in a breath and lets it out, then calls, "Hey, Steve?"

Steve emerges almost immediately, a couple of towels tossed over one shoulder and an armful of plastic bottles. "You done?" he asks, tromping down the stairs.

Eddie eyes him. "What's all that?"

"The hospital did a pretty good job at getting most of the Upside Down grime off of us, but I thought you might want to wash it out of your hair," Steve says.

And fuck, yeah, Eddie really, really wants to - it's not just Upside Down grime, honestly, what with the whole being on the run for a week thing, and it just feels gross. Still, Eddie grimaces.

"Not, uh. Not really sure I can stand up long enough," he admits. "Plus I'm not supposed to lift my arms that high yet."

Steve's ears turn just a little bit pink, and Eddie struggles to keep his expression neutral, not to let his eyebrows raise up or to lean in too hungrily.

"I can wash it for you," he offers. "The laundry room's got a pretty deep sink, and I can pull up a chair and have you lean back a little."

He looks so fucking earnest that it makes Eddie flounder a little, once again having to restrain himself from asking why. Why is Steve doing any of this? Is it just because this seems to be what he does, because he thinks of Eddie as part of their Upside Down fighting group now and is focused on taking care of a party member? Were the handful of stolen moments during all of the fuckery and in the hospital real, or is Eddie just fooling himself that this is something he could actually have?

"Yeah," he says before he even realizes he's agreeing, while his thoughts are still a tangled up mess. "Appreciate it, man."

Steve shoots a smile at him. "Gimme a sec, I'll be right back."

He disappears down the hall for a few minutes, then comes back to help Eddie up. It's slow going, with Steve taking most of Eddie's weight, but he knows it's not going to be near as rough as the stairs will be, so he tells himself it's a practice run.

There's a low backed chair pulled up in front of the sink when they get to the laundry room, a folded up towel already pillowed on the edge of it. Steve guides him to sit down and tilt his head back, neck cushioned by the towel and hair spilling into the sink.

And then -

Fuck, Steve is close.

He's been close before, obviously, he let Eddie get all up in his personal space when they were walking through the Upside Down and he leaned over Eddie's shoulder a few times to watch what he was doing, and Eddie's literally been leaning on him to walk since he got here, but - with all of that, there was something else going on, some kind of other purpose or at least a buttload of pain he was trying to ignore.

Sitting like this, Steve leaning over him as he fiddles with the knobs to get the water to a good temperature, he's just close. Eddie can feel the body heat coming off of him, and he can count every freckle and mole on Steve's forearms, where he'd pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He's not trying to look, but he can still see the scrawl of writing that disappears under the sleeve of his left arm, can just make out I don't think. He can hear the heavy beat of his own heart and the way his breath quickens, and he forces himself to breathe slow and even, trying not to draw attention to it.

Then Steve's fingers are in his hair, gently sweeping it all together as he starts rinsing it out.

"Shit, man, this might take awhile," he says apologetically. "The water's coming out as black as it did for mine, and I've got less hair."

Eddie hums noncommittally, afraid if he says anything he'll end up telling Steve that's fine by him, they can stay like this all night if he wants to. There's the sound of a shampoo bottle opening, and on his next breath in he's hit with the scent of something, he has no idea what, like a honeyed summer day, all sunshine and sweet and clean.

And then Steve's hands are on him again, fingertips rubbing small circles over his scalp, blunt nails scratching in just the right way to send shivering goosebumps down his spine.

He's not proud of the way it makes him fucking whimper, but mostly because the sound prompts Steve to freeze.

"That hurt?" Steve asks softly.

"No," Eddie manages to get out. "It, uh. Feels nice."

Nice is an understatement, but not a lie, so it's the best he's got right now. It makes Steve continue, at least, so Eddie's taking the fucking win.

His eyes slide shut, and he thinks he might drift off to sleep right there if it weren't for the fact that he really wants to cling to how fucking good this feels. God, he can't remember the last time he felt a physical sensation that wasn't pain or discomfort, and he tells himself that's the reason that this is making him react so strongly.

No one's ever done anything like this for him before. No one's ever wanted to, even before the murder accusations, and between the exhaustion settling over him and the pain meds kicking in and the euphoria of feeling good - Eddie's dangerously close to begging, here. To saying please, just, please can he keep having this, please can this mean something, can this be because Steve wants to and not because he feels obligated.

"You okay?" Steve asks quietly as he rinses Eddie's hair out, and starts lathering up for a second wash.

Eddie hopes it's just a general are you okay, in light of the whole everything, and not a specific hey you look like you're going through something right now. Doesn't actually matter, he guesses, because he still has to say something, and he doesn't know what to say that isn't a lie or isn't something that's too much.

"Haven't, uh. Haven't had anyone do this before," he admits, because that seems like the safest thing to acknowledge.

He thinks what he means by this was pretty obvious, but apparently not, because Steve gives a thoughtful little hum.

"Take care of you?" he asks, cradling Eddie's skull in his hands so delicately it makes him want to weep.

Or shove him off and run until he can't anymore, but that's not any better.

"Fuck, Steve, not holding back any punches here, huh?" he asks, his voice a little raspy.

"I mean. We almost got eaten by demobats together, and we're in kind of a bathroom. That's prime bonding time, for me."

Eddie'd shake his head, but he doesn't want to do anything to dislodge Steve's hands, so he settles for heaving a pointed sigh. "No, Steve, people haven't been lining up to take care of the freak. It's not like I need it, anyway."

Steve makes this little sound - Eddie's not sure he's even aware that he does it, really, but it's like the verbal equivalent to rolling his eyes. "Everyone needs it, sometimes. It's okay to want that, especially after all of this. This isn't the first time some of us have stayed together in the aftermath."

"Yeah? Who looks after you, then?" Eddie asks.

"Robin, usually, sometimes Dustin. Why, you volunteering?"

He can't see Steve's face, but he thinks that was probably meant to come out as teasing. It doesn't quite land there, though, a little too soft, a little too genuine, and it makes Eddie swallow.

"Maybe," he says, feeling his heart beat in his throat.

"Oh," Steve breathes out, his hands stilling for a moment.

Eddie fights not to open his eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, a little too carelessly, fingertips scratching back over his scalp again. "I look after you, you look after me."

That's not quite what Eddie meant, but he doesn't know how to say what he meant, so he just says, "You don't have to. Take care of me, I mean. Just because you think it's okay to want to be taken care of, you know, it doesn't have to be you."

He waits for Steve to point out that Eddie'd just said that no one else was lining up for the job, maybe make a joke about how it's him or nothing.

Instead, Steve says, "I know. I want to."

Fuck.

If this is the way Steve always is, Eddie can see why so many girls were into him in high school.

When he's reasonably sure his voice isn't going to shake, he says, "Thanks, man. For - all of this."

He's kind of worried Steve is going to tell him that he's doing it because he wants to again, but fortunately that seems to be enough talking about not quite emotions for both of them, because Steve just hums as he starts rinsing Eddie's hair again.

Eddie lets himself relax, sinking into the soft, floaty feeling that wants to pull him down, and just enjoying the feel of Steve's fingers in his hair, the edge of pain blurred and fuzzy from the meds, and finally, finally feeling like maybe he's safe.

It takes another round of lather and rinse for Steve to be satisfied with how clean his hair is, but Eddie sure as hell isn't protesting. Time kind of slips and wobbles, anyway, as he doesn't doze so much as just fucking melt into the chair and under Steve's hands, like all the tension from the last week plus is oozing out of him. He thinks Steve murmurs something about conditioner, but he honestly doesn't care, as long as he can keep sitting here like this.

Eventually, the water's shut off, and Steve's tilting his head up, draping his hair over a towel and gently scrunching it before wrapping it up.

"You awake?" Steve asks, voice a little sing-song like he's teasing.

"Depends on how you're measuring awake," Eddie mumbles back, not entirely sure he managed to get all those syllables out in the correct order.

Whatever he says, it makes Steve laugh softly. "Come on, Munson, up you go. Let's get you to bed."

Eddie's hindbrain immediately takes over, and the next thing he knows he's saying, "Fuck, yes please, finally."

Fortunately, Steve seems to take his eagerness as an eagerness to be in bed in general, and not in Steve's bed specifically, because he just says, "You gotta stand up for that."

Eddie whines, and Steve's hand on his elbow where he'd been tugging him to get up slips, and Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide.

Steve's staring back at him, and holy shit, Eddie might be high on pain meds and a boneless mess from what was basically a head massage, but he knows what desire looks like, knows Steve's eyes are probably a mirror of his own right now.

Then Steve's eyes are closing, and he visibly shakes himself like a fucking dog, before his hand finds its spot on Eddie's elbow again, nice and firm.

"Steve," Eddie murmurs, even though he knows he's missed his moment to speak, because Steve is already guiding him up and wrapping his arm around him to help him walk.

"Not too far, Eds, I promise," Steve says. "We'll be there before you know it."

"Steve," Eddie says again, and this time Steve pauses, swallowing once before he looks at him.

Steve's arm is still around him, and he's so close they're practically breathing the same air - so close he can see the flecks of hazel in Steve's eyes, see the way his lashes brush against his cheek, and Eddie -

He doesn't want to do it like this. Eddie knows he's pretty far gone right now, a little floaty and a little loopy, and he's honestly not sure what words he can even get out of his mouth, let alone if he's going to remember this tomorrow.

"This is gonna have to be mostly you," he says, not letting himself think about how it could mean more than one thing. "I'm barely standing after that, let alone navigating stairs."

Steve laughs softly, steering him out of the laundry room and towards the stairs. "Long as you keep your feet on one side of the steps, you'll at least have one up on Henderson last time I had to help him up the stairs."

"No promises," Eddie replies, but that does make him look down at his own feet, trying to be careful and deliberate about how he places them as they slowly make their way upstairs.

With the meds, it doesn't hurt as much as it probably should. It mostly just takes so much goddamn effort, feels like walking through jello, and Eddie's not ashamed to admit he's breathing heavily by the time they make it to what must be the Harringtons' guest room.

It's… well. It's boring, honestly, minimally decorated, but the bed looks huge and insanely welcoming at the moment, all the blankets turned down and the pillows carefully arranged to resemble the way he'd found was the most comfortable at the hospital. The lamp on the nightstand is glowing softly, and there's a glass of water and Eddie's bottles of pills next to it.

Clean clothes are laid out on the bed - a pair of black boxers, black track pants with a white stripe down the leg, and a dark blue Henley.

Another lump forms in his throat, and he swallows past it as Steve points out the door to the bathroom.

"I'm just down the hall," Steve tells him.

Eddie manages to mumble out a thanks, and only stares at him a little as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Honestly, Eddie's too fucking exhausted to sort out anything about anything right now, so he just shuffles his way over to the bed. He strips out of the hospital scrubs, leaves them in a pile right where they fall, and struggles into the clothes Steve's loaned him.

Like the stairs, it doesn't hurt, but he knows that doesn't mean he can risk overdoing it. He's careful, moving gingerly to pull the shirt on and sitting on the bed to step into the boxers and pants. Then he collapses back, tugging the covers over him. His head lolls to the side for a moment as he stares at the lamp.

If he's honest, his decision to leave it on is part that it feels like too much effort to turn it off, and part that he's not sure he wants to be alone in the dark right now.

Maybe in a bit, he thinks, but he's asleep before he can think anything else.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

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Part 15

[martii-art]

Two 🩸✨Astarion's✨🩸 portraits I've made referencing some random screenshots. Icons like this and other commissions are open~

[adhd-merlin]

None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin — and none of us can escape it.

[lesbianmaxevans]

Ana & Alberto || 1.02 'La Costurera'

[lesiasmadness]

Im at work but MS Paint is my friend and O had to get this out of my system

[namtanlovesfilm]

pro life tip: rewatching cooking crush when feeling bad will turn a shitty day into better one 💚

[bitacrytic]

Korean school violence dramas are always like:

see this poor girl? she's been beaten everyday and dragged across the classroom floor because her mother sells fish. Look at her, she can't afford a new uniform because the rich bullies have torn hers and now she's coming to school in sportswear. Her family is about to be thrown out and she's just watched her older sister sleep with a loan shark to keep the family's debt at bay. She can't read, can't eat, can't think because she's poor and the bullies are ruthless.

HOWEVER...

being rich isn't fun because... when the rich bully goes home, he has to sit at the huge, beautiful dining table and eat alone because his father is too busy to eat with him. uwu.